Marie stared at the golden man, unblinking, her brain unable to comprehend what he meant. She hadn’t made any deal with him. This was the first time she’d ever seen him. For a moment, she felt unanchored to the world. She wondered if she’d been given too much pain medication. Her head seemed open to the sky, as if her thoughts were floating away.

“I wished that we could go back to the hospital,” she said. Her head felt more solid as she said the words.

“And I delivered for you,” the man said.

“But…I didn’t mean…” she began.

“Oh, I’m afraid you didn’t specify,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes, feeling anger burn her face. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I’ve had many names,” he said, his voice like velvet. His softness smoothed away the anger. He was magical, she decided. A magician. A wizard. He was like one of those characters from a fairy tale: impossibly sure of himself, full of mystery and powers that no regular person could comprehend.

“Oh, that’s it,” she said. “You must be one of the fae.”

A smug little grin spread over his mouth, but he tucked it away for later rather than let it grow. He tapped a finger to his lips, indicating to her that it was a secret. “And now that I’ve done something for you, you will do something for me.”

“But you haven’t done anything for me,” she said.

“Did I not?” he asked. He stood, paced to the window. He laced his hands together behind his back. “It’s such a shame when you mortals are ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” she asked. She tried to sit up, but everything still hurt. She grunted against the pain and the tubes. “What you do you mean, ungrateful? Should I be grateful for this?” Her voice was sharp with ire.

“And what do you think would have happened that night without my intervention?” the man asked, snapping his head in her direction. “Do you think you’d be alive at all? Do you think your daughter would have been saved? And what of dear Ned?” The golden man came towards her, slow step by slower step, creeping forward, almost eerily. He lowered his face to hers. He no longer seemed beautiful. “I think you know that all of you would be in the morgue had I not come at your call.”

The scene in the car returned to her. The pounding rain. The sticky icing of the donut. The fear. Her knuckles white as they gripped the door handle. Ned’s irritation. The sharp, sudden kick of the baby. That other car which showered them as it drove through standing water on the highway.

But she didn’t remember the crash. No ambulance ride. No surgery. She was in the car. Then there was nothing. Then she was here, in this bed.

Had she died?

Marie couldn’t argue with him at the moment. “What do you want from me?” she asked.

“Not anything so great that you can’t give it,” he said. “Just a name.”

“A name?” she asked.

He wore a wide smile now. “Just a name,” he said. “The baby’s name.”

“No,” she said fiercely. She shook her head, hoping to clear the fog that had descended on her. “No, you can’t have her name.” In every fairy tale she knew, names were power. You never gave away your name.

The smile melted from his face. In its place, he wore a sneer so filled with malice that she drew back from him, pressing herself as far into the bed as she could. She gripped the sheet in her fists, and drew it up. It couldn’t hide her from him.

“I could snap my fingers and send you back to the scene of the accident,” he growled.

His naked anger painted stars across her vision, but she held her gaze steady. “Tell me,” she said, taking care not to betray her nerves or her suspicions, “where was the accident?”

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