Spells (8 page)

Laurel’s mouth went dry as his eyes just looked at her and the living air swirled around her. Then Tamani smiled and gestured to a patch of thick grass several yards outside the shady canopy of the World Tree.

“Can’t we eat here?” she asked, reluctant to leave the trunk of the tree.

Tamani shook his head. “It’s not polite,” he said. “We leave the tree available for answer seekers as much as possible. It’s a very private thing,” he added.

Although Laurel could understand that, she was still a little sad to step out of the shadows and into the sun. Tamani set out a sparse picnic—there simply wasn’t much need to eat in the nourishing Avalon sunlight—and they both settled down in the grass, Laurel flopping onto her stomach and enjoying, for this brief interlude, just doing nothing.

“So how are your studies?” Tamani asked.

Laurel considered the question. “Amazing,” she finally answered. “I never knew how many things you could do with plants.” She rolled over to face him, her head propped up on her elbow. “And my mom’s a naturopath, so believe me, that’s saying something.”

“Have you learned a lot?”

“Kind of.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “I mean, technically I have
learned
a ton. More than I ever thought I could absorb in just a few weeks. But I can’t actually
do
anything.” She sighed as she slumped back down. “None of my potions work. Some of them get closer than others, but not a single one has really been right yet.”

“None of them?” Tamani asked, an undercurrent of worry in his voice.

“Yeardley says it’s normal. He says it can take years to get your first potion just right. I don’t have that kind of time; not here in Avalon, or before I need to protect my family. But he says I’m doing well.” She turned to look at Tamani again. “He says that even though I can’t remember, it’s obvious to him that I am relearning. That I’m catching on unnaturally fast. I hope he’s right,” she grumbled. “What about you? Your life has got to be more interesting than mine at the moment.”

“Actually, no, it’s really not. It’s been very quiet at the gate. Too quiet.” He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, looking at the World Tree. “I’ve been doing a lot of scouting lately.”

“What do you mean,
scouting
?”

He glanced over at her for a second before his eyes returned to the tree. “Leaving the gate. Venturing out to get a better lay of the land.” He shook his head. “We haven’t seen a single troll in weeks. And somehow, I don’t think it’s because they’ve suddenly given up on Avalon,” he said with a tense laugh. He sobered. “I’m looking for the reason why, but there’s only so much I can do. I’m not human—I don’t know how to blend in to the human world. So I can’t get all the information I want. I’m—I’m missing something,” he said firmly. “I know it. I can feel it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know what it is or where to find it.”

Laurel glanced at the tree. “Why don’t you ask them?” she asked, pointing.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. The tree’s not omniscient, nor is it a fortune-teller. It’s the combined wisdom of thousands of years, but it’s never been outside of Avalon.” He shook his head. “Even the Silent Ones can’t help me with this. I have to do it myself.”

They lay there for several minutes, sprawled back, enjoying the warm sunshine. “Tam?” Laurel asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?” Tamani’s eyes were closed and he looked almost asleep.

“Do…” Laurel hesitated. “Do you get tired of being a Spring faerie?”

His eyes popped open wide for a second before he closed them again. “How so?”

She was quiet, trying to think of a way to ask without insulting him. “No one thinks Spring faeries are as good as anyone else. You have to bow, and serve, and walk behind me. It’s not fair.”

Tamani was quiet for a while, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he thought. Finally he said, “Do you get tired of people thinking you’re a human?”

Laurel shook her head.

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I look like a human; it makes sense.”

“No, that’s the logical reasoning for
why
people think you are a human. I want to know why it doesn’t bother you.”

“Because everyone has always thought I was a human. I’m used to it,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she realized she had walked right into his trap.

He grinned. “See? It’s the same thing. I’ve always been a Spring faerie; I’ve always acted like a Spring faerie. May as well ask me if I’m tired of being alive. This is my life.”

“But don’t you, on some level, realize it’s wrong?”

“Why is it wrong?”

“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else here. Why should what kind of faerie you are define your social status?”

“I think the way human social status is defined is just as outrageous. More, maybe.”

“How so?”

“Doctors, lawyers—why are they so respected?”

“Because they’re educated. And doctors save people’s lives.”

“So you pay them more, and they have a higher place in society, right?”

Laurel nodded.

“How is this any different? Fall faeries are more educated; they save lives too. Winter faeries do even more: They keep Avalon safe from outsiders, protect our gateways, keep us from being discovered by humans. Why shouldn’t they be more revered?”

“But it’s just happenstance. No one chooses to be a Spring faerie.”

“Maybe not, but you choose to work as hard as you do. All the Falls do. It’s not like you just sit around and mix up an occasional potion. You’ve told me how much you study. Every Fall studies hard. Even if they don’t choose to be a Fall faerie, they choose to work and hone their skills to help
me
. If that’s not worth my respect, I don’t know what is.”

It did make sense, sort of. But it still rubbed Laurel the wrong way. “It’s not just that Fall and Winter faeries are revered,” she said, “it’s that Spring faeries are looked down on. There are so many of you,” she said, her conscience pricking a little when she remembered that Katya had said the same thing only a short time before—though not in quite the same tone of voice. “The Winter faeries may protect Avalon, but it’s the Spring faeries who make it function. You guys do almost all the jobs. I mean, Summers do the entertaining and such, but who makes the food, who builds the roads and houses, who sews and washes all my clothes?” she asked, her voice starting to rise. “You do. Spring faeries do! You’re not nothing; you’re
everything
.”

Something in Tamani’s eyes told her she’d hit a soft spot. His jaw was tight and he took a few moments to think before answering. “Maybe you’re right,” he said softly, “but that’s just the way it is. It’s the way it’s always been. The Spring faeries serve Avalon. We’re happy to serve,” he added, a touch of pride coloring his tone. “
I’m
happy to serve,” he added. “It’s not like we’re slaves. I’m a completely free faerie. Once my duties are done, I can do what I want and go where I please.”

“Are you free?” Laurel asked.

“I am.”

“How free?”

“As free as I want to be,” he replied a little hotly.

“Are you free to walk beside me?”

He was silent.

“Are you free to be anything more than a friend to me?
If
,” and she stressed the
if
heavily, “I ever decided to live in Avalon and wanted to be with you, would you be free enough to do that?”

He looked away, and Laurel could tell he’d been avoiding a conversation like this.

“Well?” she insisted.

“If you wanted it,” he finally said.

“If
I
wanted it?”

He nodded. “I’m not allowed to ask. You would have to ask me.”

Her breath caught in her chest, and Tamani looked at her.

“Why do you think David bothers me so much?”

Laurel looked down at her lap.

“I can’t just storm in and proclaim my intentions. I can’t ‘steal’ you away. I just have to wait and hope that, someday, you’ll ask.”

“And if I don’t?” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I guess I’ll be waiting forever.”

LAUREL STOOD IN HER ROOM, LOOKING OVER THE
wild assortment of things splayed across her bed. She had come to appreciate her faerie-made clothing for more than just its beauty; it was like nothing you could find in the human world. Most of it was made out of a silky gossamer-like fabric that—although Laurel couldn’t be certain they weren’t teasing her—several of the other faeries said was made from spider silk. Whatever it was made from, it allowed for full-body photosynthesis, so Laurel didn’t feel the need to always wear tank tops and shorts like she did at home.

And then there was the dress she’d found in one of the Summer kiosks during a short walk she’d taken to clear her head after an especially grueling day. It was beautiful and just her size; a dark blue gown, cut low in the back to accommodate a blossom, with a skirt that was fitted to the knees then flared out, mermaid style. An overskirt of soft, sheer ruffles wound around the dress and floated on the lightest breeze. She had felt a little guilty taking it—after all, she had no occasion to wear it to—but it was just too perfect to leave behind.

She also had lots of long, sweeping skirts, peasant-cut shirts that reminded her of Tamani’s, and a few short skirts and dresses that made her feel like a storybook faerie. Just for fun.

But only a fraction of it would fit into her backpack.

And she wasn’t leaving without her kit.

Of all the things they’d given her, that was the most precious. About the size of a shoe box, her kit—presented to her by Yeardley that morning—contained dozens of essences. Specifically, it held several troll-deterring potions made by Fall faeries with far greater skill than Laurel. It also held many of the extracts she could use to further protect her home and family. Assuming she improved with practice, at any rate. It was worlds better than nothing.

But the kit half filled her backpack.

As she stood pondering the bed full of clothes, Katya stepped into her doorway and tossed something onto the bed. “You look like you could use this,” she said with a laugh.

Laurel picked up a pink bag that looked like soft tissue paper. She had a sneaking suspicion it was much stronger than it appeared. “Thanks,” she said. “I was just going to ring for Celia to see if she could find something.”

Katya looked at the pile of clothes on the bed, then dubiously at Laurel’s backpack. “You weren’t really going to try to get all that in there, were you?”

“No,” Laurel said with a grin.

“Good,” Katya said with a tinkling laugh. “I think that would take Winter-level magic.”

Laurel laughed at the joke that only another faerie would get. She loosened the drawstring at the top of the bag and caught sight of a
K
embroidered on one side in beautiful calligraphy. “I can’t take this. It’s monogrammed.”

Katya looked over. “Oh? Honestly, I hadn’t noticed. I’ve got loads of them.”

“Really?”

“Sure. They used to come back like that whenever I sent out my laundry. I guess they’re using someone different now.”

Laurel started pushing clothes into the pink bag. She would still have to leave some things behind, but it was an improvement.

For several seconds Katya watched silently, then—almost timidly—asked, “Do you really have to leave?”

Laurel looked up in surprise. With a few notable exceptions, the other faeries had been nice to her—and very chatty—but Laurel would not have called any of them friends. Obviously Katya felt otherwise. “I’ll be back,” Laurel said.

“I know.” Katya forced a smile then asked, “But do you really
have
to go back? I’ve only heard bits and pieces, but word is that your assignment has been completed. You have gained title to the land that holds the gate. Can’t you come back now?”

Laurel looked down at the clothes she was folding, avoiding Katya’s eyes. “It’s more complicated than that. I have family, friends. I can’t leave them alone.”

“You could go visit,” Katya suggested brightly, but Laurel sensed solemnity in her intent.

“It’s more than just wanting to see them,” Laurel said seriously. “I have to protect them. They’re in danger because of me and I have a duty to them.”

“A duty to humans?”

Laurel clenched her jaw. It wasn’t really Katya’s fault. She didn’t know any better. She’d never even seen a human before. An idea struck her, and rather than responding, Laurel dug into a small pocket in her backpack and pulled out a small photo. It was a picture of her and David at a dance earlier that spring. David stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her. The photographer had caught Laurel just as she had turned to look at David, her profile a laughing silhouette, David looking down at her with longing in his eyes. It was one of her very favorite pictures. She handed it to Katya.

A smile streaked across Katya’s face. “You’re entwined already?” she squealed. “You didn’t tell me,” she said, her eyes wide in rapt fascination. She glanced around the room and lowered her voice. “Is he Unseelie? I’ve heard of them. They live just outside the gates and—”

“No,” Laurel asked, cutting her off. “That’s David. The human I told you about.”

Katya’s face fell with disbelief. “A human?” she said, aghast. She looked back down at the photo, a wrinkle of distaste forming between her eyebrows. “But…he’s
touching
you.”

“Yes, he is,” Laurel said hotly, snatching the picture back. “He’s my boyfriend. He touches me and kisses me and—” She forced herself to stop talking for a few seconds. “He loves me,” she said boldly but calmly.

Katya stared at her for several seconds before her face softened. “I just worry for you out there,” she said, her eyes still flitting to the shocking picture. “Humans have never been kind to faeries.”

“What do you mean?”

The look on Katya’s face was one of genuine concern. She shrugged. “It’s been a long time since Avalon involved itself in human affairs. I know it’s necessary, sometimes. But it seems like relationships between humans and faeries always end badly.”

Laurel’s head jerked back. “Really?”

“Sure. Sanzang, Scheherazade, Guinevere. And then there was that disgraceful incident with Eve.”

Katya didn’t notice the photo flutter, forgotten, out of Laurel’s frozen hands.

“And there are others. Every time Avalon reaches into the human world, something goes wrong. That’s all I’m saying.”

“My family loves me; David, too. They would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Just be careful,” Katya said.

Laurel packed silently for a few minutes, wrapping her hair jewels in one of her long skirts. After she scoured the room, looking for anything else she’d missed, she looked over at Katya, one eyebrow raised. “Eve? Seriously?”

“Of course. Why? What do the humans say about her?”

Laurel was waiting on a brocaded chaise when the doors of the Academy opened for Jamison and his ever-present guards. That was one reason not to wish to be a Winter faerie. Laurel certainly wouldn’t want to be followed around everywhere she went. Being followed around
half
the time was more than enough.

“Laurel, my dear,” Jamison said, his hands outstretched. He clasped her hands in his and smiled at her like a doting grandfather before settling down beside her on the chaise. “Yeardley tells me you were an excellent student.”

Laurel smiled at the praise from the stern professor.

“He was pleased to inform me that you have great talent,” Jamison continued. “
Phenomenal
was, I believe, the word he used. Though I wasn’t surprised in the least,” he said, turning a warm smile to her. “I sensed your incredible potential the first time we met.”

“Oh, no,” Laurel said, surprised. “I’m not like that. I’m so far behind already, I’ll never—”

“Oh, I think you will. You’ve even more potential than we suspected when you were just a seedling. With time and practice, I am sure your abilities will blossom spectacularly. You might even be as great as…well, never mind that. You just nurture your own considerable abilities. They are strong.” He patted her hand. “I happen to be an excellent judge of these things.”

“Are you?” Laurel said quietly, a little surprised at her own boldness. But being so woefully far behind the other faeries her age had been beyond discouraging; she longed to hear such confident proclamations.

The smile disappeared, replaced by a grave expression. “I am indeed. And you will need the skills you’ve learned. I suspect you will need them sooner, rather than later.” He turned to Laurel, his face very serious. “I’m glad you came,” he said earnestly. “The work we have for you is far more important than we ever expected. Your lessons this summer have been rigorous and taxing, but you must persevere. Practice the skills you have learned, master them. We may yet have need of you in the human world.”

Laurel looked up at him. “But haven’t you always intended for me to return to Avalon and resume my studies?”

“Originally, yes,” Jamison said. “But things have changed. We must ask more of you. Tell me, Laurel, what do you know of erosion?”

Laurel couldn’t imagine what this had to do with anything, but she answered anyway. “Like when water or wind wears away the ground?”

“That’s right. Given enough time, wind and rain will carry the tallest mountain into the sea. But,” he said, raising a finger, “a hillside covered in grass will resist erosion, and a riverbank may be held in place by bushes and trees. They spread their roots,” he said, extending his hands with his story, “and grab hold. And though the river will pull at the soil, if the roots are strong enough, they will prevail. If they cannot, they will eventually be carried away too.

“For nearly two thousand years, we have guarded our homeland from exploitation by trolls and humans alike. Where erosion threatens our defenses, we plant seeds—like yourself. When we placed you with your parents, you were only expected to do as most faeries do—to grow where you were planted. Your entire task was to live and grow and inherit the land, along with an unimpeachably human identity, which is helpful in concealing our transactions from the trolls. We didn’t intend to bring you back to the Academy until you reached adulthood in the human world.

“But now your role will be more active.” He placed one hand on her arm, and Laurel was filled with sudden trepidation. “Laurel, someone is moving against us, against our land and our people, and time is not on our side. We need you to stretch your roots, Laurel. We need you to fight the raging river, whatever it may prove to be. If you cannot—”

Abruptly he looked away, peering out the picture window at the countryside of Avalon spread out below them. It was a moment before he spoke again. “If you cannot, I fear that all of this will crumble into nothing.”

“You’re talking about the trolls,” Laurel said when she found her voice. “You’re talking about Barnes.” She hadn’t spoken his name aloud in months—there had been no sign of him since December—but he was never far from her thoughts. Ever since last fall she’d been jumping at shadows and peeking around corners.

“I would be a fool to believe that he acted alone,” Jamison said. He turned back to Laurel, meeting her gaze with his pale blue eyes that matched the barely distinguishable roots in his silvery hair. “And so would you.”

“Who would align with him? And why?” Laurel asked.

“We don’t know,” Jamison replied. “What we do know is that Barnes himself is alive and out there somewhere.”

“But he can’t use me anymore. He can’t make me sell him the land,” Laurel protested.

Jamison smiled sadly. “If only it were that simple. There are still many things he can use you for. Even though he knows where the land is, he doesn’t know where the gate is. He could try to use you to discover that.”

“Why does he need to know? Can’t he just come in with his hordes and raze the whole forest?”

“He could try, but don’t underestimate the skills of our sentries, or the strength of the gate and the magic of the Winter faeries. The gate can be destroyed, but it would require a tremendous amount of concentrated force. If he cannot find exactly where the gate is, he cannot destroy it.”

“I would never tell,” Laurel said fervently.

“I know that. And deep down, I suspect that
he
knows that. But that will not stop him from seeking revenge on you, anyway. There are no other creatures in whom the concept of revenge is rooted so deeply as trolls. They feel the desire for vengeance more acutely than almost any other emotion. For that reason alone, he will come for you.”

“Then why hasn’t he?” Laurel asked. “He’s had plenty of opportunities. It’s been more than six months.” She shrugged. “Maybe he really is dead.”

But Jamison shook his head. “Have you ever observed a Venus flytrap?” he asked.

Laurel snickered inwardly, remembering her conversation with David about flytraps last year. “Yeah,” Laurel said. “My mom had one when I was little.”

“Have you ever wondered how the flytrap is able to catch the flies?” Jamison asked. “The fly is faster, can see danger approaching, has the ability to flee with the greatest of ease. Logically, every flytrap should starve to death. Why don’t they?”

Laurel shrugged.

“Because they are patient,” Jamison said. “They are so still and seem harmless. They do nothing until the fly has wandered, complacently, into the heart of the trap. Only when capture is virtually inevitable does the flytrap move. Trolls are patient too, Laurel. Barnes will wait; he will wait until you relax and stop being careful. Then, and only then, will he strike.”

Laurel felt her throat tighten. “What can I do to stop him?” she asked.

“Practice what Yeardley has taught you,” Jamison replied. “That will be your greatest defense. Be especially careful when the sun is down—”

“Barnes can go out during the day,” Laurel interrupted. “We already know that.”

“It is not foolproof,” Jamison said, his voice betraying no annoyance at her interruption, “but it is still a fact that Barnes—any troll—will be at his weakest during the day, and
you
will be weakest when the sun has gone down. Being careful after sundown will not stop them, but it will at least cost them their advantage.” He sat a little straighter. “And it will give your guardians theirs.”