Tee drifted through the museum, a ghost in faded coveralls, trailed by a utility cart that rolled along the hardwood on silent wheels. In every room she policed the floor and all the crevices for litter, swept the wood for dust, dirt, and debris, then emptied any rubbish bins before she got to her favorite part of the job. Once she completed all her other tasks, she picked up a small container of polish and an old, soft rag. Moving with the slow, deliberate actions of active meditation, she went from artwork to artwork, carefully cleaning the cases protecting them from the environment.

As she wiped the dust from each case, whatever was underneath made itself more beautiful just for her. Metal gleamed, varnished wood glistened as if wet, and ceramic shone as if she'd been polishing it rather than the case around it. When each was done, she stood for a while, doing nothing but admiring the beauty of the art.

"Dunno how you put up with this jawns, Sweet Tee."

The words filtered into Tee's consciousness without disturbing her adoration of the primitive sculpture before her. Some part of her mind examined them, recognized the voice, and realized that X would never say something without expecting a reply.

"The art is beautiful."

"Ain't that, Tee. Cleanin' up other people's trash. Just don't seem... you."

Again, she waited before answering. The small statue before her consumed every ounce of her attention. She reveled in the broad curve of hip and breast, so different to her own profile, adored the rough texture of the primitive stone, and wondered at the dye that had lasted for all the time it was lost beneath the earth. Finally, when it was satisfied with her, the beauty of the sculpture released her, and she turned to the impatient pixie.

"I clean the dwellings of those who cannot clean themselves. In return, they share themselves with me."

X looked at her like she had spouted gibberish. "Girl, you cracked. Or you on crack. Don't matter. You gone take all night with this?"

Tee moved on to the next display, a case containing a small but impressive selection of Egyptian jewelry and other small carvings. The unknown sculptors had painstakingly hand-carved each piece from lapis, gold, or a mosaic of gems and precious metals. The scarab looked as if it would fly away if startled. The small picture of men approaching a seated pharaoh for justice was exquisite, capturing the essence of the wisdom of the pharaoh and the respect and awe of the petitioners.

After a time, she turned back to X, who had just finished closing the latch on one of the displays. "X! Did you take anything?"

"Nah. Just testing Stone-killah's locks. They not bad. You gone be here all night?"

"This is where I belong, X. This is what I do. I love things of beauty. I give them a clean, bright place to live, they give me the only thing they have, the beauty that makes them what they are."

"You sure, Tee Baby?"

"I am sure. It takes six nights to complete a circuit of the museum. By the time I return, the memory of these beautiful things will have faded. Perhaps they will renew it. Perhaps they will be gone. While they are here, and willing, I etch them on what little memory I have. These are my... my friends."

X shook his head. If he was really an artifact of her subconscious, trying to help her survive despite her disability, she really ought to listen to him, but she found herself unable to.

"I wonder where Tama-sensei is. He has usually checked in on me by now. He will want his keys back soon, too."

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X shook his head sadly. "I... He... I'll go look for him, Tee-child. You need anything, you call out my name."

Tee said nothing. The next display had already consumed her attention.

***

Phil sat in her studio, staring at the work of art standing in the middle of the floor. She’d restored the huge wooden triptych once before, nearly eight decades previous. Today it only needed a touch up, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the personal history Phil had with the piece.

Nearly eighty years before, a woman going by the name of Teresa Gelt had loaned the piece to the museum Micah guarded. Ophilia had been the museum's restorer of choice, with a particular knack for restoring old or exotic artwork that no one else would touch. Since the work was painted on three huge slabs of hardwood rather than canvas, the museum called her in.

She still had no idea why she'd dropped Micah a hint about where she'd be the night she finished it. She hadn't done it consciously, but he'd gone looking for her. Of course, she had come to the museum looking for him that same night and run afoul of a group of supernatural hooligans bent on destroying the works of art under Micah's protection. Leading the various Goblins and Vandals and Redcaps had been none other than the owner of the triptych, Teresa Gelt herself.

Teresa, like Ophilia, was a Sidhe, one of the noble Faerie. Unlike Ophilia, Teresa was of the Seeleigh court, the Court of Light, the Court of the Sun. Where Phil had done everything in her power to contain her darker nature, Teresa seemed to have gone out of her way to embody the worst of hers. She was greedy, vain, and utterly amoral. She'd planned on blaming the robbery on Ophilia, but when Ophilia discovered her, decided to murder Ophilia and blame it on nameless 'robbers'.

Micah had saved her life, and he and Phil had been happy together ever since. Teresa had gone to jail, where she'd spent four decades plotting her revenge. On her release, she'd tried to kill Micah and Ophilia again. Only the intervention of their godson and his angelic partner had kept Teresa from destroying the entire museum, along with dozens of innocent children.

Phil stared up at the triptych, her mind awash with questions. Her pixie godfather, Ricardo, had begged clemency for Teresa, and Phil had been too relieved to argue. Ricardo and his partner, X, had spirited the elf away to their island hideaway where they could keep an eye on her.

All the artwork Teresa had loaned out remained in the museum Micah and Phil owned and operated. She'd never requested it back. That bothered Phil in a way she couldn't quite define, but she accepted the explanation Micah gave her. If Teresa herself couldn't destroy her property when she had keys and faeries and even demons helping her, she must have thought it in good hands.

Phil shook her head. She just couldn't get anything more done on the restoration tonight. She stepped away from the triptych, then carefully went through the clean room doors, shedding her coverall and headgear as she went. Gone were the days when she restored art in nothing but her skivvies. Now she had to cover herself from head to toe and wear a breathing mask, so she could work in the same special low oxygen environment they stored the artwork in.

At that thought, her Power awoke. The Thinker floated clear of her temple, whispering thoughts of how easy the restoration would be if she simply willed it to happen. In front of her eyes, the drawing hands sketched out how beautiful it could look if she replaced the wood with a proper canvas, replaced the idiosyncratic compounds the original artist had used with modern oils, or even acrylics.

"That would ruin it. Make it... less."

Phil stood by the outer door of the restoration room and argued with herself. The whispered words hinted at replacing the wood with a dyed polycarbonate resin, indistinguishable from the original cellulose except under chemical analysis. The visions showed her how durable it would be, how resistant to the kind of damage she even now had to repair.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

Furious, Phil slammed her balled fist into the doorframe. Green light flared, lightning arced, and the floating apparitions disappeared, subsumed back into the artwork on her temples. She slid to the floor, back against the far side of the frame. The doorframe had a small burn mark on it, but the same steel reinforcement that had shorted out Phil's magic had shrugged off her punch without even noticing. While she was heir to dark powers beyond mortal ken, physically she was still one hundred twenty not very muscular pounds.

She stared at the burn mark across her knuckles, more evidence of the backlash of her power. Sidhe magic didn't do well around iron and steel. With that thought, she looked at her studs again.

"Dammit, now I really need new ones."

Fully half of her many studs had just vaporized, tiny red burns marking their demise. The remainder now had as much soot as they did tarnish. She pulled her tiny cell phone out of a pocket inside her blouse, swore when she realized it had been yet another casualty of her outburst. She pulled herself to her feet and started trudging to Micah's office.