They wouldn't let Faye take any glowing apples from the fairy kingdom, no sentient stones or singing fish, but they could not prevent her from taking her dreams. 

``If you leave, there's no coming back,'' her father had said, but why would she want to come back?  The glistening dew made the grass slippy; the pixie dust made her sneeze.  The other fairy children always laughed at the mole on her left wing.

So Faye flew to New York: the city of humans, the city of dreams.  They said that people sang in the streets in New York, that every new year they celebrated under confetti printed with wishes.  Tall or short, skinny or fat, anyone was welcome to set up a bakery, a bookshop, a luxury boutique.  I'll find a little tailor's shop, she told herself.  I'll sew beautiful dresses with embroidery finer than any human hand.

The sun gleamed golden on the tops of skyscrapers, but the trees were still shrouded in mist as she descended over Central Park.  Her foot slipped as she landed on a damp bench, and she tumbled headfirst into a nearby fountain.  The pigeons roosting in the center scattered in an affronted rush of feathers before turning to stare at her from a few feet away.  Faye frowned.  Birds were more respectful in fairy land.

She wandered down a broad avenue.  The smell of roasted peanuts filled the air; shopkeepers were arranging their wares in a canopied market that seemed to go on forever.  Faye fingered a shawl that a woman had just draped over her table.  ``Can I sew for you?  I'm very good with patterns.''

``Sorry honey, this all comes from India.''  She sprayed the stall with morning freshness that came in a can, sending Faye into a fit of sneezes.

The next woman said the same thing.  And the next.  And the next.  Faye reached the end of the market, sad and hungry.  She stared at a pretzel cart, but she had no money.  She had only her dreams.  She heard girls giggling behind her.  ``Hey silly wings,'' said one, ``Halloween was ages ago.''

I should have stayed home, thought Faye, brushing back tears.  She rushed away from the children.  In the fairy kingdom, the dryads would have given her a hug; the flowers would have shared their nector.  But she had nothing here.  Nothing but dreams.  Sad, silly dreams. After several turns, she found herself in a small alley.  She sat on a stoop, wiping her eyes.  What was she going to do?  There was no going back.

After a few minutes she realized that she was not alone.  A small boy was playing with a cat.  She looked at him, and he smiled.  She smiled back.

He picked up the cat and came by the stoop.  ``Want to pet him?''

Faye reached out a hand.  The cat's fur was warm and soft.  He purred as she pet him.  The boy had a little ball on a stick.  He waved it front of the cat and it ran to pounce on it.  Faye smiled.  He offered her the toy.  ``You can play with him too, if you want.''

That afternoon he shared the sandwich that his mother had packed for him.  Sitting in the alley with her new friend, Faye was happy.  She only noticed something odd when a yellow bus went by, filled with children.  She had heard about human schoolbuses, so much boxier than the swan that took fairy children to lessons.  ``Were you supposed to be at school?''

The boy shrugged.  ``What's the point?''

Faye thought about all the things she had learned in fairy school: flying, poetry, arts and crafts.... ``It's fun,'' she said.  ``What do you want to be when you grow up?''

``I dunno, I never thought about it.''

They played the rest of the afternoon.  When the boy announced he had to go home, Faye grasped his hand.  How could she thank him?  She had nothing, nothing but her dreams.  She could hardly give them away, could she?  What would she have left?  But a fairy never left a good deed unrewarded.  ``I give you my dreams,'' she said, ``for the kindness you have shown me today.''

The boy rushed off, and Faye thought she spied an extra spring in his step.  What now?  Did it matter?

#

Twenty years later the fashion designer Nico Bianco strode through midtown Manhattan, past the glitzy avenues and the tiny alleys of his youth.  Tourists and locals alike turned their heads as he walked by.

``Some espresso, Mr. Bianco?'' asked a cafe owner.

``Some donuts?'' asked the baker.

``We sell all your styles,'' said a shopkeeper, ``won't you autograph our window display?''

Nico smiled and shook his head, walking on, winding through the streets until he reached a quiet alley, an alley he had not visited in twenty years.  A young woman was sitting on the stoop, surrounded by cats.

``Mind if I sit?'' he asked.

The woman shrugged.  Nico joined her on the stoop.  His agent might complain about the grime that was staining his suit, but Nico did not care, not here, not now.  ``So you just hang out here, play with cats?''

The woman nodded.

``Ever want something more from the world?''

``I dunno.  I never thought about it.''

Her teeth were yellow, her clothes stained and torn, but Nico recognized her eyes, her fairylike cheekbones.  He put an arm over her shoulder and felt her wings under her shawl.  ``There was a little boy that used to play out here in the streets, no idea what he wanted from life.  No idea what he could even ask for from life.  You gave me your dreams.  Now I've come back to make yours come true.''

#

As he spoke those words, the memory returned to Faye's mind.  ``I remember,'' she said.  A wide grin spread across her face as she heard the muted bustle of the market, as she saw the smile on Nico's face. She remembered why she had come.  ``I remember!'' she shouted.

She took Nico's hand, and together they went back down the alleys, down the glitzy streets, to the city of dreams.