It turned out Byam was good at working with pipes—better, perhaps, than it had ever been at understanding the Way.
At night, Byam still dreamt of the past. Or rather, it dreamt of the future—the future as Byam had envisioned it, once upon a time. They were impossible, ecstatic dreams—dreams of scything through the clouds, raindrops clinging to its beard; dreams of chasing the cintamani through the sea, its whiskers floating on a warm current.
When Byam woke up, its face wet with salt-water, Leslie was always there.
§
Byam got home one night and knew something was wrong. It could tell from the shape of Leslie's back. When she realised it was there, she raised her head, wiping her face and trying to smile.
"What happened?" said Byam.
"I've been – " The words got stuck. Leslie cleared her throat. "I didn't get tenure."
Byam had learned enough about Leslie's job by now to understand what this meant. Not getting tenure was worse than falling when you were almost at the gates of heaven. It sat down, appalled.
"Would you like me to eat the committee for you?" it suggested.
Leslie laughed. "No." The syllable came out on a sob. She rubbed her eyes. "Thanks, baby, but that wouldn't help."
"What would help?"
"Nothing," said Leslie. Then, in a wobbly voice, "A hug."
Byam put its arms around Leslie, but it seemed poor comfort for the ruin of all her hopes. It felt Leslie underestimated the consolation she was likely to derive from the wholesale destruction of her enemies. But this was not the time to argue.
Byam remembered the roaring in its ears as it fell, the shock of meeting the ground.
"Sometimes," it said, "you try really hard and it's not enough. You put in all you've got and you still never get where you thought you were meant to be. But at least you tried. Some people never try. They resign themselves to bamboozling monks and devouring maidens for all eternity."
"Doesn't sound like a bad life," said Leslie, with another of those ragged laughs. But she kissed Byam's shoulder, to show that she didn't think the life of a wicked imugi had any real appeal.
After Leslie cried some more, she said, "Is it worth it? The trying, I mean."
Byam had to be honest. The only thing that could have made falling worse was if someone had tried to convince Byam it hadn't sucked.
"I don't know," it said.
It could see the night sky through the windows. Usually the lights and pollution of the city blanked out the sky, but tonight there was a single star shining, like the cintamani did sometimes in Byam's dreams.
"Maybe," said Byam.
Leslie said, "Why aren't you trying to become a dragon?"
Byam froze. "What?"
Leslie wriggled out of its arms and turned to face it. "Tell me you're still working towards it and I'll shut up."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Byam, terrified. "I'm a celestial fairy. What do dragons have to do with anything? They are far too noble and important to have anything to say to a lowly spirit like me –"
"Byam, I know you're not a celestial fairy."
"No, I am, I – " But Byam swallowed its denials at the look on Leslie's face. "What gave it away?"
"I don't know much about celestial fairies," said Leslie. "But I'm pretty sure they don't talk about eating senior professors."
Byam gave her a look of reproach. "I was trying to be helpful!"
"It wasn't just that…"
"Have you told Jean and Eun-hye?" Byam bethought itself of the other creature that was important in their lives. "Did you tell the cat? Is that why it doesn't like me?"
"I've told you, I can't actually talk to the cat," said Leslie. (Which was a blatant lie, because she did it all the time, though it was true they had strange conversations, generally at cross-purposes.) "I haven't told anyone. But I couldn't live with you for years and not know, Byam. I'm not completely stupid. I was hoping you'd eventually be comfortable enough to tell me yourself."
Byam's palms were damp. "Tell you what? 'Oh yeah, Les, I should've mentioned, I'm not an exquisite fairy descended from heaven like you always thought. Actually I'm one of the eternal losers of the unseen world. Hope that's OK!'"
"Hey, forgive me for trying to be sensitive!" snapped Leslie. "I don't care what you are, Byam. I know who you are. That's all that matters to me."
"Who I am?" said Byam. It was like a rock had lodged inside its throat. It was hard to speak past it. "An imugi, you mean. An earthworm with a dream."
"An imugi changed my life," said Leslie. "Don't talk them down."
Though it was incredible, it seemed it was true she didn't mind, and wasn't about to dump Byam for being the embodiment of pathetic failure.
"I just wish you'd trusted me," she said.
Her eyes were tender, and worried, and red. They reminded Byam that it was Leslie who had just come crashing down to earth.
Byam clasped its hands to keep them from shaking. It took a deep breath. "I'm not a very good girlfriend."
Leslie understood what it was trying to say. She put her arm around Byam.
"Sometimes," she said. "Mostly you do OK."
"I wasn't good at being an imugi either," said Byam. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It wasn't like the name. This, I didn't want you to know."
"Why not?"
"If you're an imugi, everyone knows you've failed," explained Byam. "It's like wearing a sign all the time saying 'I've been denied tenure.'"
This proved a bad comparison to make. Leslie winced.
"Sorry," said Byam. It paused. "It hurts. Knowing it wasn't enough, even when you gave it the best of yourself. But you get over it."
You get used to being a failure. It was too early to tell her that. Maybe Leslie would be lucky. Maybe she'd never have the chance to get
