“Hello I’m Erica Martin, welcome to Toil & Trouble. Are you currently in the province of Magical Enchantment?”

“Yes.” The voice was timid. The client fidgeted in his Norte Dame sweatshirt and khakis.

“So what brings you here, Eamon? Have you been in counseling before?” Martin asked.

“No, this is all new to me. My people don’t really ask for help. People always expect us to be happy. Unless they’ve watched those god-awful Leprechaun movies from the 90s then they expect us to be gold grubbing psychopaths. That was a rough time I tell you. No, I never saw the point in talking about your problems.” Eamon spluttered and fell silent.

“I’ve worked with many mythical creatures, your unique history can present many challenges,” Martin said soothingly. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help or focusing on your feelings. Think of it as maintenance.”

Eamon raked his fine fingers through his coppery curls. “I don’t know how to begin. I’m just off. I don’t care about me gold . I haven’t visited the end of the rainbow in weeks. I’m restless. I can’t eat. None of the old things in my life still to matter much. My world is gray.”

Erica Martin gave her client a warm smile. “Tell me about the new things in your life.”

“Well things being the way they are, crazy and upside down like, I thought I would take up some new hobbies. I tried bread making until I got sick o the sight of sourdough. Then painting, then throwing clay pots and finally,” Eamon shimmered nervously in and out on Martin’s screen. The counselor leaned in.

“I have taken up knitting. It’s just not done. If the lads knew what I was up to.”

Eamon flushed bright red from the tips of his toes to the roots of his head.

“Tell me what you like most about knitting. “

The sprite’s split in half from his grin. “O the colors you know. The reds and purples and gradients are to die for. I love cacophonous color combos when I make me socks. So much more interesting then making shoes. My teacher Coleen favors natural colors. She wants to teach me how to dye me own fibers, don’t cha know.”

“You know your whole face lit up when you talked about knitting and Coleen.” Martin slipped on a pair of sunglasses to block Eamon’s green glittery glow.

“Coleen is a lovely lass. When she’s not keening she’s cheerful and cheeky,” Eamon said. He looked off in the distance turning over a memory of the banshee’s warm arms reaching around his to correct his Kitchener stitch.

Martin waited patiently again. Her wings swayed and she cocked her head watching the leprechaun’s iridescent aura. Martin took a sip of hot chocolate and listened to Eamon fall in love.