Spells (11 page)

She took the plate to the kitchen and scraped the remaining stir-fry into the trash. She’d have to wash the plate too. Couldn’t have her mom finding out just how badly she’d screwed up while trying to show off. After stowing the plate in the cabinet, Laurel took one more look at her father, snoring away at the table. She hoped he would wake up in the morning. She had no idea what she would do if he didn’t.

“I am the lamest faerie
ever
.”

A WEEK INTO SCHOOL, LAUREL WALKED TOWARD
Mark’s Bookshelf with David, her hand in his, their arms swinging in the last warm gasps of summer. With a kiss he peeled off to head to his job at the pharmacy and Laurel opened the door to the bookstore, a cheery chime sounding as she did.

Maddie looked up at her with a broad smile. “Laurel,” she said brightly, the way she did every time she saw her. It was a constant in her life that Laurel loved. No matter what was happening with her parents, or trolls, or Avalon, or whatever, Maddie was always behind the counter at the bookstore, ready with a smile and a hug.

Laurel laughed as Maddie squeezed her tightly. “Where’s my dad?” she asked, looking around.

“In the back,” Maddie said. “Inventory.”

“As usual,” Laurel said, heading toward the swinging doors at the back of the store.

“Hey, Dad,” she said with a smile as he looked up at her. Even though she doubted it was necessary, she’d been watching him closely. He hadn’t come out of his stonewort-induced nap until eight o’clock the following morning. Aside from a sore neck, he seemed unaffected. Her mom had chastised him for both working too hard and staying up too late, but luckily she hadn’t seemed suspicious beyond that. Still, Laurel had stayed out of her parents’ food since then. Better safe than sorry.

She slid onto a chair across from the computer and fingered a small stack of bookmarks.

“How was school?” her dad asked.

“Fine,” Laurel said with a grin. “Easy.” After Avalon, everything seemed easy. Seven hours of school a day? No problem. An hour or two of study each night? Piece of cake. Her trip to Avalon had improved Laurel’s entire attitude toward human schooling. If only they had more skylights.

“Do you need any help today?” Laurel asked, looking around at the back room.

“Not really,” her dad said, standing straight and stretching his back. “Actually, I’ve been catching up on my paperwork, it’s been so slow.” He looked out the small window behind his desk. “Gorgeous day. Apparently people would rather be outside enjoying the weather instead of finding something to read at the stuffy old bookstore.”

“Your store’s not stuffy,” Laurel said with a laugh. She paused for a moment. “Do you think maybe Mom needs some help?” she asked without meeting his eyes.

He looked up at her for a second, then asked casually, “Do you need money?”

Laurel shook her head. “No, I thought…I thought maybe…it could help make things better between us, less tense. Maybe we’ve both been waiting for the other to make the first move,” she said, her voice low.

Her dad paused, his fingers poised above the keyboard. Then he took off his glasses, walked around the desk, and hugged her. “Way to be proactive,” he said in her ear. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Laurel shouldered her backpack and turned to wave just before heading toward the front of the store. She took a deep breath, forced herself not to hesitate any longer, and walked next door to Nature’s Cure. In the weeks since Laurel returned from Avalon she’d only been in her mom’s store a few times, and the attention to detail never failed to impress her. She pushed the front door open and instead of a mechanical chime, the corner of the door hit a small silver bell that tinkled softly. Potted plants filled the windowsills, and a serenity fountain gurgled in the corner where it sat in a small Zen garden. There were even sparkly crystal prisms strung up in the window. Laurel took a moment to touch one, pleased that her mother had taken a decoration idea from Laurel’s room to use at her store. Despite the current tension with her mom, Laurel suspected she would enjoy working here even more than at the bookstore—which was saying something.

Laurel turned as her mom came through a bead curtain from the back room, lugging a large box. Her face was a little red and she was breathless. “Oh, Laurel, it’s you. Good. I can put this down for a second.” She plopped the large box down in the middle of the floor and wiped her brow. “You’d think they would send this stuff in smaller boxes. So what did you need?” her mom asked, bending over and sliding the box across the floor instead of lifting it.

“I just came to see if you needed help. Things are slow next door,” she added, and then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want her mom to feel like her second choice.

“Oh,” her mom said, smiling in a way that at least
looked
genuine. “That would be perfect. I’m stocking today and I can always use an extra hand.” She laughed. “Your dad gets employees; I’m not to that point yet.”

“Great,” Laurel said, shedding her backpack and coming to stand by the new shipment. Her mom explained the contents of the box—most of which Laurel was familiar with from years of living with a naturopath—and then showed her the system of tags on the shelves that she could match with the bottles and boxes.

“I’m going to go fill out the invoice and start preparing my order for next week, but you just holler if you need any help, okay?”

“I will,” Laurel said, and smiled. Her mom smiled back. So far, so good.

Laurel was surprised by how many of the elements in the herbal remedies she could remember from her summer of intense study. The note cards
were
worth it. As Laurel pulled the different items out of boxes and placed them on their appropriate shelves she recited their uses in her head.
Comfrey, use as an oil to calm inflammation, reduce the life span of weeds, and for the eyes when sight is failing. Winter savory, for clarity of mind and sleeplessness. Also good for koi, if you add it to their water. Promotes oxygenation. Raspberry leaf tea, for seedlings who refuse to eat. Add plenty of sugar to increase the nutritional value. Energizing when you have to be up late at night.

She particularly liked sorting the homeopathics, which were completely safe for faerie consumption since they were generally preserved in sugar, but almost always did the opposite thing for humans as for faeries. St. Ignatius Bean, for example, could be used as a remedy against grief for humans. For faeries, it was used as a sedative. And white bryony would reduce fevers in humans, but for faeries it was extremely effective in staving off freezing. Tamani had told her that the sentries who guarded the gate in Japan drank a cold tea made from white bryony every day during the winter months, when it could get very cold in the high mountains.

Thinking of Tamani distracted Laurel for a while and her hand was still—clutched around a cylinder of Natrum muriaticum—for almost a minute before her mom walked over and pulled her from her thoughts.

“Everything okay, Laurel?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” she mumbled, looking up at her mom before bending back down to grab more cylinders from a small box. “Just lost in thought.”

“Okay,” her mom said, looking at her a little funny. She turned, then stopped for a second. “Thanks for coming in to help out,” she said. “I appreciate it.” She put one arm around Laurel and hugged her sideways. It was an awkward hug, the kind you give someone when you’d rather just shake their hand. An obligatory kind of hug.

The phone rang, and with a hollow longing in her chest Laurel watched her mom walk back up to the register. It was strange to miss someone who was standing right in front of her, but that was how Laurel felt. She missed her mom.

“Excuse me,” said a voice just behind her.

Laurel turned to see an older woman she vaguely recognized from town. “Yes?”

“Could you help me?”

Laurel looked up toward her mom, who was still on the phone. She turned back to the woman. “I can sure try,” she said with a smile.

“I need something for my headaches. I’ve been taking Advil, but it’s not helping as much anymore. I think my body’s getting used to it.”

“That happens,” Laurel said, nodding sympathetically.

“I want something a little more natural. But effective, too,” she added.

Laurel was trying to remember what it was she had put on the shelves just a few minutes earlier. She had held the small bottle for several seconds, wondering if she should get some for herself—with the stress of the last few months, Laurel had more than a few headaches of her own. She moved an aisle over and found the bottle. “Here,” she said, handing it to the woman. “It is a little pricey”—she pointed to the price tag—“but it will be so worth it. I’m considering getting some for myself. It will be much better than Advil.”

The woman smiled. “Thanks. It’s certainly worth a try.”

She carried the bottle up to the register as Laurel went back to sorting homeopathics. After a minute Laurel’s mom led the woman over to Laurel’s display and, after a pointed look at Laurel, grabbed one of the green cylinders. “This will work much better,” she said. “It’s cyclamen, and I’ve given it to my husband for years for his migraines. Works like a dream.” As they were walking back up to the register Laurel’s mom explained how to use the homeopathic pilules and soon the woman was on her way.

Her mom stood by the door for a few seconds to wave at the woman, then walked toward Laurel. “Laurel,” she started, and Laurel could hear the frustration she was holding carefully in check, “if you don’t know what to recommend, come get me. Don’t just pull random bottles off the shelf. I wish you had waited for me to finish my phone call. These people are looking for help, and all of these herbs work very differently.”

Laurel felt like a little child being scolded by an adult who was being very careful not to hurt her feelings. “I didn’t just pull a random bottle,” Laurel protested. “That stuff’s really good for headaches. I picked it on purpose.”

“Really?” her mom said dryly. “Somehow I don’t think it’s
that
kind of headache.”

“What?”

“Pausinystalia johimbe? Do you even know what Pausinystalia johimbe is marketed for? It’s a male-enhancement herb.”

“Eww, gross!” Laurel said, repulsed now by her thought that she should get a bottle for herself. She knew most herbs affected faeries differently, but that was just wrong!

“Exactly. I only carry it because there’s a guy who came in last week and asked if I could special-order it. There’s something I didn’t need to know about my sixty-year-old banker,” she added.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel said genuinely. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t expect you to. But that’s what I’m here for. I’m really glad you came in to help, but handing out sex pills for headaches isn’t helping. You need to ask for advice when you need it, Laurel. You could potentially kill someone by giving them the wrong herbs, depending on their health conditions. Please think about that next time.”

“I did think,” Laurel retorted, suddenly angry at her mom’s attitude. “It would have helped
me
!” she added impulsively.

Laurel’s mom sighed heavily and turned away.

“I got mixed up,” Laurel said, following behind her. “I forget that herbs don’t work the same for humans as for fae. I just made a little mistake.”

“Laurel, not now, please.” She walked around to the other side of the counter.

“Why not now?” Laurel said, slapping her hands down on the counter. “When? At home? Because you don’t ever want to talk about me being a faerie there, either.”

“Laurel, lower your voice.” Her mother’s voice was sharp—a clear warning to watch her tongue.

“I just want to talk, Mom. That’s all. And I know this isn’t the ideal place, but I can’t wait for ideal anymore. I’m tired of what’s been happening to us. We used to be friends. Now you never want to hear anything about my faerie life. You don’t even like to look at me anymore! Your eyes slide right by me. It’s been
months
, Mom.” Tears welled up in her throat. “When are you going to get used to me?”

“That’s ridiculous, Laurel,” her mom said, raising her eyes to meet Laurel’s as if to prove her wrong.

“Is it?”

Laurel’s mom held her gaze for a few seconds and Laurel saw something change in her eyes. For just a second, she thought her mom would give—would really talk to her. But then she blinked and cleared her throat and it was gone. Her mom looked down and began sifting through receipts on the counter. “I can put the rest of the homeopaths away later,” she said quietly. “You can go.”

Feeling as though she’d been slapped, Laurel stood still, dazed. Her mom had dismissed her. After taking a couple of quick breaths, Laurel spun on her heel and opened the door, the cheerful bell mocking her.

A strong gust of wind hit her in the face as the door closed, and Laurel realized she had no idea where to go. David was working; Chelsea was at cross-country practice. Her next instinct was to go talk to her dad, and she even got as far as putting her hand on the door handle before she stopped. It wasn’t fair to pit her parents against each other, to run to one when the other had hurt her feelings. She stood just out of sight, behind a big poster announcing the newest Nora Roberts novel, and watched her dad and Maddie help a customer with a big stack of books. The man said something Laurel couldn’t hear, and her dad threw back his head and laughed as he wrapped the books in tissue paper while Maddie looked on with a gentle smile.

After one last look at her dad, Laurel turned away and headed to her empty house.

LAUREL AND DAVID STOOD TOGETHER IN THEIR
chemistry lab, watching their first graded experiment fail miserably. David was scouring their calculations, looking for a step they’d missed or math they’d done incorrectly. Laurel wrinkled her nose at the pungent mixture bubbling over their Bunsen burner.

“Did we put in the sulfuric acid?” David asked. “We did, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Laurel said. “Fifty milliliters. We balanced the equation three times.”

“I don’t understand!” David vented under his breath. “It should have turned blue, like, two minutes ago!”

“Give it a few more minutes. Maybe it will.”

“No. It’s definitely too late. Look, it says right here, ‘The solution should turn blue within one minute after reaching boiling temperature.’ We totally screwed up. And she said this was just a simple lab.” He raked his hands through his hair. For some reason David had decided that four AP classes weren’t too much for one semester; Laurel wasn’t convinced. Just two short weeks into the school year and already he was more than a little high-strung.

“David, it’s okay,” she said.

“It is
not
okay,” he whispered. “If I don’t get an A in this class, Mr. Kling won’t let me into AP physics. I
have
to get into AP physics.”

“You’ll be fine,” Laurel said, a hand on his shoulder to soothe him. “I hardly think one funky experiment is going to keep you out of Mr. Kling’s class.”

David hesitated for a moment, then his eyes darted back to their shared paper. “I’m going to balance this one more time, see if I can find where we made our mistake.”

It was so unlike David to freak out over anything, but here he was on the verge of melting down. Laurel sighed. She took a deep breath and put her fingers over the steaming beaker, far enough away that it didn’t burn her fingertips. “It’s just supposed to turn blue?”

David looked up at her even tone. “Yeah, why?”

Laurel shushed him as she concentrated, wiggling her fingers in the steam for a few more seconds. After a quick glance at David, still bent over their calculations, Laurel closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to clear her mind the way her instructors in Avalon had taught her. Her fingers tingled vaguely as she tried to sift through the elements of the solution, but there was no plant material to identify. This was going to be tricky.

“Laurel,” David whispered close to her ear, “what are you doing?”

“You’re distracting me,” Laurel said levelly, trying to maintain her tenuous hold on her concentration.

“Are you doing faerie stuff?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

David’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why, because I might ruin our
perfect
experiment?” she said sarcastically.

“I’m a little concerned you’re going to blow up the school,” he said, his voice still a low murmur.

She yanked her hand out of the steam. “I’m not going to blow up the school,” she said, just a little too loudly. The team at the table behind them looked up and exchanged amused glances.

“Come on,” David said, his hand on her arm. “Things haven’t exactly been going well in the potion-making department.”

He had a point. She didn’t feel like she’d made any progress since returning from Avalon, despite practicing for at least an hour every day. Jamison had told her to be vigilant, and she was doing the best she could. But it wasn’t working. Yet. “So I should just give up?”

“No, of course not. But should you really be experimenting here at school, and on a
graded
assignment?”

Laurel wasn’t listening. “Be my lookout, okay?”

“What?”

“Just tell me if Ms. Pehrson looks over.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, but his eyes stayed locked on their teacher.

Laurel reached into her backpack and unlatched the lid of her kit—a permanent fixture at the bottom of her bag. She sifted through its contents and unscrewed a small bottle of valerian oil and squeezed a drop onto her fingertip. She grabbed another bottle and shook a sprinkle of powdered cassia bark into her palm. After blowing on it, Laurel rubbed the oil onto the palm of her hand, mixing it with the gritty powder. “Give me our little spoon thingy,” she whispered to David.

“Laurel, you can’t do this.”

“I can! I really think I’ve got it this time.”

“That’s not what I meant. This is an assignment. We’re supposed to—”

Laurel cut him off by reaching across the table for the long-handled, stainless-steel spoon he’d refused to hand her. She scraped the mixture off her palm and, before David could stop her, popped it into the boiling mixture, stirring carefully in one direction and then the other.

“Laurel!”

“Shh,” Laurel ordered, concentrating on the mixture.

As she watched, the mixture slowly began to take on a bluish tinge. The longer she stirred, the bluer it became.

“Is that good?” Laurel asked.

David just stared.

Laurel glanced behind her where two other students had completed their project. The blues looked about the same. She went ahead and stopped stirring.

“See if you can get her to come to our table next,” Laurel said. “The mixture’s too hot for the color to hold very long.”

David stared at her with an expression Laurel couldn’t quite identify, but he didn’t seem pleased.

“Very good, David and Laurel,” Ms. Pehrson said, catching them both off guard as she walked up behind them. “And just in time. Bell’s about to ring.”

David looked up as Ms. Pehrson marked something down on her clipboard and turned away. “Wait, Ms. Pehrson!”

Ms. Pehrson turned, and Laurel shot David a warning look.

“Um…”

Laurel and Ms. Pehrson both stared at David.

His eyes looked determined for a second, then relaxed. “I just wondered if it’s safe to dump this stuff down the sink.”

“Yes. Didn’t I put that on the handout? Just make sure you don’t burn yourself,” she said, moving on to the next lab table.

Laurel and David cleaned up in silence, both jumping when the bell rang. As they walked into the hall Laurel slipped her hand into David’s. “Why are you mad?” she asked. “I just got you an A.”

“You cheated,” David said quietly. “And I let her give me an A for it because there was absolutely no way to explain
why
it was cheating.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Laurel said, offended now. “I figured out how to make the solution turn blue. Wasn’t that the whole point?”

“The point was to follow the directions.”

“Was it? I thought the point was to figure out what to mix together to get blue stuff. Isn’t that just as important?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I suck at chemistry.”

“No, you don’t,” Laurel said, but her tone wasn’t very convincing.

“I do. I just don’t get it like I get biology. It doesn’t make sense to me. We’re two weeks in and I already feel overwhelmed. What’s the rest of the semester going to be like?” He sighed. “I study so much for this class.”

“I know you do,” Laurel said. “And you deserve a good grade. So what if I helped a little? I think all the studying you put in justifies a little tampering. Besides,” she added after a pause, “you’re the only reason I got into AP chemistry. I think it’s only fair that I help you get into AP physics.” They were silent for a moment before Laurel elbowed his ribs gently. “She did say that we should think of our lab partner as a team member.”

“Are you sure it’s not really cheating?”

“David, for all I know, the reason the experiment failed is because something about my”—she lowered her voice—“Fall faerie abilities was interfering. She said she gave us an easy one for the first lab. All we had to do was follow the directions. It should have worked. I really think I made it
not
work.”

He stared at her for a long time. “You may have a point,” he said. “The directions have never failed me before.”

“See?”

Now David started to laugh. He backed up against his locker and slid down onto the floor. Laurel joined him warily. “How bad is it that I don’t know whether to be mad or think that’s the coolest thing ever?” David asked. He slung an arm around her. “You did it, though. You did it right.”

Laurel smiled. “I did, didn’t I?” She laughed now. “I don’t suck.”

“You don’t suck,” David agreed, then pulled her in, kissing her forehead. “Good job.”

“Get a room!”

David’s head jerked up, but it was just Chelsea, who grinned at them from across the hallway before turning back to Ryan.

“I’m still not used to that,” David said, shaking his head with a smile.

“I know,” Laurel said, feeling intrusive watching someone else kiss, but unable to tear her eyes away.

“I wonder how long before they have to come up for air.”

“Be nice,” Laurel said, just a touch of seriousness to her tone. “She’s happy.”

“I hope so.”

“We should do something with them. I mean, the four of us.”

“Like a double date?”

“Yeah. We haven’t done anything all together since they hooked up. I think we should. I like Ryan. He has great taste in girls.”

David laughed. “My taste is better.”

Laurel raised her eyebrows. “I think anyone who has kissed me would have to agree that I have the best taste of all.”

“Not all of us can taste like nectar,” David said teasingly, his hand at the back of her neck as he kissed her. “You have an unfair advantage,” he murmured against her mouth, his hand sliding down her back and pressing her against him.

“Ow!” she said, pulling away.

David looked down at her, confusion plain on his face. “I’m sorry?” he said—both a pronouncement and a question.

Laurel glanced around the hall. “I’m getting ready to blossom,” she whispered. “Another two or three days, I think.”

David grinned, then coughed to try to hide it. It didn’t work.

“It’s okay,” Laurel said. “I know you like it. And since I know what it is this time around, it doesn’t bother me, really. It’s just sensitive.”

“Well, I’ll be careful,” he promised, leaning in for another kiss.

They both jerked as the door to the chemistry lab flew open, smacking loudly against the wall beside it. The earsplitting clang of the room’s smoke detector filled the hall as blue smoke billowed out of the doorway and several students emerged from the cloud, coughing. “Out, out!” Ms. Pehrson’s voice sounded above the din as she shooed a bunch of sophomores from the classroom. The blue haze spread down the hallway and somebody pulled the fire alarm, setting off the entire building’s cacophonous alert system.

David looked at the blue haze and the students running toward the exits. He stood and helped Laurel to her feet. “Well,” he said wryly, his mouth close to her ear, “whose experiment do you think
that
was?”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Laurel stood in front of the mirror in her room, staring at the pale blue petals that rose just above her shoulders. After her dad’s return from the hospital last year, their family had decided that home would be a safe haven for Laurel—that she would never have to hide what she was. But agreeing to that and actually walking downstairs without hiding her blossom were two very different things. She had to leave for school in half an hour; maybe it would be understandable if she came down with her petals already bound.

But her dad would be disappointed.

Of course, her mom might be relieved.

Laurel looked down at the sash in her hand. This year she was spared the fear of having some strange disease, but for some reason, the trepidation she associated with her blossom hadn’t really abated.

Clenching her teeth, Laurel wound the sash around her wrist. “I’m not ashamed of what I am,” she said to her reflection. But her stomach still twisted as she turned the doorknob and opened the door, her petals spread out behind her for everyone to see.

She tiptoed halfway down the stairs, then changed her mind—not wanting to appear as though she were sneaking around her own house—and clomped down the rest of the steps.

“Wow!”

Laurel’s eyes shot up to meet David’s. His gaze flitted to her exposed navel and snapped back up to her face. Leaving her petals unbound had a tendency to slightly raise the front of her shirt as well as the back. David seemed to appreciate the effect, but Laurel had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to have her shirt bunched up around her ribs, crowding the tiny leaves at the base of her blossom. Several of the tops she’d brought back from Avalon had low-cut backs, perfectly suited for wearing while in bloom, but what she needed today was concealment.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked.

“I’m glad to see you too,” David said, raising one eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Laurel said, squeezing his hand. “You surprised me.”

“I knew you were close yesterday; thought I’d stop by and offer support. Or whatever.”

Laurel smiled and hugged him. It did feel better to have him here. Even if he was really here to get an early peek at her new blossom.

In the kitchen, Laurel’s mother fussed with the coffeemaker, studiously avoiding Laurel’s gaze. From the corner of her eye, however, Laurel caught her mother sneaking furtive glances as she poured fresh coffee into a take-along cup. Nothing had changed after their fight at the store. No apology but no added awkwardness, either. It was as if Laurel had never showed up that day, which was somehow worse. Their relationship seemed to increasingly revolve around ignoring problems in hopes that they would go away. But they never did.

“Where’s Dad?” Laurel asked.

Her dad shook his paper from the couch, just out of sight through the living room doorway. “I’m here,” he said distractedly.

“She blossomed,” David called.

Laurel brought one hand to her forehead as she heard her father get quickly to his feet. “Oh, yeah? Let’s see.”

“Tattletale,” she whispered to David.

Her mom grabbed a canvas tote and passed by as her dad was coming through the doorway. “I’m headed to the store,” she said, her eyes avoiding his.