Saint Patrick's Day. A hint of four-leafed clover. My toothache gets in there. I like this one, it lends me a vision: I see it wielded by a pixie, a psychedelically angry leprechaun. The wee fairy fellow is pissed at you, human. You are treading dangerously close to their hallowed grounds with those clumsy rubber boots of yours. This is the Pixie Cross. These are the Pixie Croix: tiny crucial fictions wielded by the fair folk when they need to keep human vampires at bay.