Spells (9 page)

“My guardians?”

“After the incident last fall, we placed sentries in the woods near your new home. Shar did not want me to tell you—he feared it would only make you skittish—but I feel you have a right to know.”

“I’m being spied on again?” Laurel said, the old grudge rising up within her.

“No,” Jamison said firmly. “You are simply being guarded. There will be no faeries peeking into your windows or infringing upon your private moments. But your
house
is being watched and protected. It has also been warded against trolls; as long as you are in it, only the strongest of trolls can reach you. But be aware that the woods behind your house are home to more than just trees. The sentries are there to keep you from harm.”

Laurel nodded, her jaw tight. It still bothered her that she had been closely watched—and occasionally made to forget—by sentries for most of her life in the human world. Even this slightly less intrusive reinstatement of her personal guard felt instantly confining. But how could she argue? She had seen Barnes’s rage firsthand, watched him shoot Tamani, then drop twelve feet from a window and run off after Laurel shot him. He was a force to be reckoned with and even though Yeardley had faith in her fledgling skills, Laurel didn’t. She needed help, and there was no way to deny it.

Jamison was right, as usual. He exuded wisdom—even the wisest instructors at the Academy were pale, flickering candles next to the nourishing solar illumination of Jamison’s insights. It seemed silly that he was here, comforting her in the face of fear and self-doubt, when Avalon could be benefitting more directly from his guidance.

“Why—” But Laurel cut off her own question. She’d often wondered why, with so few Winter faeries to choose from, Jamison had not been selected as the ruler of Avalon. But it was none of her business.

“Go on.”

Laurel shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“You want to know…” Jamison studied her face, then smiled. He looked a little surprised but not at all displeased. “You want to know why I’m not King?”

Laurel drew in a breath quickly. “How did you—?”

“Some things in life are nothing more than chance, and this is one of them. The late Queen was a few years older than me but young enough to become the Queen at the time of succession. And by the time she passed to the earth”—he laughed—“well, I was no longer a sapling, to be bent and shaped into the role. Perhaps if there had been no other Winter faeries to take the crown…but thankfully, we have not been so desperate in many generations.”

“Oh.” Laurel didn’t know what else to say.
I’m sorry
seemed somehow inappropriate.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Jamison said, again seeming to read her thoughts. “I spent more than a hundred years as an adviser to one of the greatest Queens in Avalon’s considerable history.” The sparkle returned to his eye. “Or, at least, that is how I feel.” He sighed wearily. “This new Queen…well, with the growth that only time and experience can bring to fruition, perhaps her judgment will improve.”

His criticism of the Queen, though gentle, shocked Laurel. As far as she could tell, no one ever said anything untoward about her. But it made sense that another Winter faerie would have more freedom to speak his mind. She couldn’t help but wonder what, specifically, he thought the Queen was misjudging.

The thoughtful look on Jamison’s face made Laurel think of Tamani’s father. “Will you become a…a Silent One, Jamison?”

He looked down at her and laughed very softly. “Now who told you about them?”

She ducked her head in slight embarrassment and said nothing. When she looked up, Jamison was not looking at her but out the eastern window, where the World Tree’s gnarled branches and vast canopy could just be seen over the tops of the other, more ordinary trees, if you knew what you were looking for.

“It was Tamani, was it not?”

Laurel nodded.

“He’s brooded too much since his father undertook the joining. I hope you can help him find his happiness again.”

Again Laurel felt guilty and hoped Jamison didn’t know how long she had stayed away when Tamani had been expecting her.

“I’d have dearly loved to follow in Tam’s father’s footsteps,” Jamison said. “But the time has passed for me. I wouldn’t have the stamina anymore.” He looked back down at her, his smile crowding the sadness from his face—though not entirely. “I’m needed here. Sometimes one must put aside one’s own desires in order to serve the greater good. I fear Avalon is—as it has been so often in the past—balanced on a knife’s edge. I—” He glanced over at the guards, but they were studiously looking away. Nonetheless, he lowered his voice. “I have been to the tree, and I have listened to the wind.”

Laurel held her breath, her eyes locked with Jamison’s.

“There is a task for me still. Something no one but I can…or will…do. And so I am content to stay.”

Before she could question him further, Jamison stood and offered Laurel his arm. “Shall we proceed?”

They followed the familiar path out of the Academy, down to the walled square that housed the gates, and the sentries closed ranks behind them. Laurel was excited to see how Jamison would open her magical road home. She waited for him to do something amazing—a shower of sparks and flash of light or at least an ancient incantation—but all he did was reach out and pull on the gate, which glided on silent hinges. With a glance at the faeries behind him, he swung it all the way open and suddenly another group of sentries stood in a half-circle on the other side. At the center of the arc stood Shar—grave and gorgeous—and to his right, Tamani. All were in full sentry armor; an intimidating sight, but one Laurel was getting used to.

Jamison extended his arm once more, inviting Laurel to step through the gate. At the last second he grasped her shoulder gently and leaned close to her ear. “Come back,” he whispered. “Avalon needs you.”

But as she glanced over her shoulder, he was closing the gate. Two more seconds and the sight of Avalon melted into shadows and was gone.

“I’ll take that,” Tamani said, startling Laurel. She smiled and handed Tamani the large pink bag. He glanced at it and laughed. “Females and their clothes.”

Laurel grinned and turned to the gate for one last look. But it had already twisted into an average-looking tree again. She shook her head, still amazed at everything she’d seen this summer.

“As much as I wish we didn’t, we do need to hurry,” Tamani said. “We’re expecting your mother to be here soon and it would be better if you were waiting for her.” He placed a hand at her waist and Laurel sensed the other faeries melting into the forest as she and Tamani walked up the path.

Laurel felt awkward, the way she always did when it was time to say good-bye to Tamani. They walked in silence until they reached a spot just barely in sight of the cabin and the long driveway. “No one’s here yet,” Tamani said. “But I suspect it’s only a matter of minutes.”

“I—” Her voice caught, and she started over again. “I’m sorry there’s not more time.”

Tamani smiled softly. “I’m glad you’re sorry.” He leaned against a tree, lifting one leg up to brace himself against the trunk. He didn’t look at her. “How long will you stay away this time?”

Guilt burned in Laurel’s chest as she remembered what Jamison had said. “It’s not what you think.” She said. “I have to—”

“It’s okay,” Tamani interrupted. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I simply wondered, that’s all.”

“Not as long as last time,” she said impulsively.

“When?” Tamani said, and looked at her, his unaffected facade broken, if only for a moment.

“I don’t know,” Laurel said, not meeting his gaze. She couldn’t look into his eyes, not when they were so open and vulnerable. “Can’t I just come sometime?”

Tamani was quiet for a moment. “All right,” he said. “I’ll find a way to make it work. Just come,” he added fervently.

“I will,” she promised.

Both heads turned as they heard a motor turn off the highway and draw near.

“Your chariot,” Tamani said with a grin, but his mouth was tight.

“Thank you,” Laurel said. “For everything.”

He shrugged, his hands jammed into his pockets. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“You—” She tried to find words to articulate how she felt, but nothing seemed right. “I—” This time her words were cut off by a series of short blasts on the horn. “That’s my mom,” she said apologetically. “I have to go.”

Tamani nodded, then stood very still.

The ball was in her court.

She hesitated, then quickly stepped up to him and kissed his cheek, darting away before he could say anything. She hurried up the path and toward the car, which was now parked and silent. She stopped. It wasn’t her mom’s car.

“David.” The name escaped her lips an instant before his arms enfolded her, pulling her to his chest. Her toes left the ground and she was spinning, the same way Tamani had spun her outside the Academy. The sensation of her cheek against his neck brought back memories of snuggling with him on the couch, in the grass at the park, in the car, on his bed. She clung to him realizing—half ashamedly—that she had scarcely thought of him since she’d left. Two months of longing hit her all at once, and tears stung her eyes as her arms twined around his neck.

Gentle fingers lifted her chin and his lips found hers—soft and insistent. She couldn’t do anything but kiss him back, knowing that Tamani must be just out of her sight, watching the reunion with that guarded expression he wore so well.

“
LAUREL
?”

The tiny cylinder of sugar glass shattered as she startled. “Up here,” Laurel called wearily.

David strode through her doorway and slung an arm around her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. His eyes shot to the equipment in front of her. “What are you doing?” There was no disguising the excitement in his voice.

Letting the tiny shards of glass tinkle out of her hand and onto the table, Laurel sighed. “
Attempting
to make sugar-glass vials.”

“Are they seriously made out of sugar?”

Laurel nodded as she rubbed her temples. “You can eat those pieces there, if you want,” she said, not really expecting him to do it.

David looked dubiously at the pile of glass splinters, then picked up one of the larger pieces. He studied it for a moment before licking the flat side—far away from the sharp, pointed end. “Kind of like rock candy,” he said, putting the piece back on the table. “Weird.”

“Frustrating is more like it.”

“What are they for?”

Laurel turned to her kit and removed a glass vial—one Yeardley had made, not her. She hadn’t managed a decent one yet. She handed the vial to David. “Some potions or elixirs or whatever can’t be stored in their final form. So you make them in two parts. As soon as they mix, whatever effect you’re going for happens right away. So you store the different parts in sugar vials so you can mix them at the right time, or crush them in your hand in an emergency.”

“Sounds painful,” David said, handing the delicate vial back to Laurel with care.

Laurel shook her head. “It’s usually not thick enough to cut you. But even if it does, the sugar would dissolve and you wouldn’t have to pick bits of glass out of your hand or anything—that’s why you don’t use regular glass. Ideally you just dump them both into a mortar, or whatever, but you have to be prepared for anything.” I
have to be prepared for anything
, she added to herself.

“Don’t the potions dissolve the sugar?”

“They don’t seem to.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, David,” Laurel said tersely. “They just don’t.”

“Sorry,” David said softly. He pulled a pink padded stool over and joined her at her desk. “So how do you do it?”

Laurel took a deep breath and got ready to try again. “I have this powdered sugarcane,” she said, pointing to a cloth bag of fine greenish powder, “and I mix it with pine resin.” As she talked she followed her own directions, trying to concentrate despite David’s breath near her ear, his eyes studying her hands. She could almost hear his mind whirring as he tried to take it all in. “It gets all thick and sticky like syrup,” she said, stirring the mixture with a silver spoon, “and it heats up.”

David nodded and continued watching.

“Then I get this little straw,” she said, picking up what looked like a short drinking straw made of glass. She didn’t tell David it was one solid piece of diamond. “I dip it in the sugar mix and blow it, just like regular glass.” It sounded easy, and most of the Mixers her age had been making their own vials for years. But Laurel hadn’t quite gotten the knack.

She breathed in, sucking just a tiny bit of the sugar mixture into the tube, and then blew out, very slowly, while picturing—concentrating on—what she wanted it to look like. She turned the tube as she blew, and the small bubble on the end elongated, stretching out—contrary to all laws of physics—not into a round bubble, but a long cylinder. The opaque, muddy mixture whitened, then grew translucent.

Laurel gave the tube a little more air and turned it once more before hesitantly pulling her mouth away. She usually did well up to this point.

“That’s—”

“Shh,” Laurel ordered, lifting a small silver knife that resembled a scalpel. She scored the sugar glass all around the edge of the diamond tube, then pulled on the cylinder, slowly separating it from the straw.

The first side came easily and Laurel painstakingly rolled the cylinder in a circle, detaching the other edges. She held her breath as she pulled the tube away from the final point of connection. The still-flexible sugar bent, then stretched into a long string and, finally, broke away.

As it did, the cylinder shattered.

“Damn it!” Laurel yelled, slamming the tube down on her desk.

“Careful with that thing,” David said.

Laurel brushed his concern away with an annoyed wave of her hand. “Can’t break that,” she muttered.

A long silence followed as Laurel studied the pile of glass shards, trying to decide what she had done wrong. Maybe if she sucked up a little more of the sugar syrup, it would make the vial thicker.

“Can…can I try it?” David asked hesitantly.

“If you must,” Laurel said, although she knew it wouldn’t work.

But David grinned and scooted over to the chair she had just vacated. She watched as he tried to imitate what she had done, sucking a small amount of the sticky syrup into the straw and then blowing carefully. For a second it looked like it would work. A tiny bubble began to form, although it was round, rather than oblong. But almost as soon as it had formed, the bubble popped with a faint
blurp
and the liquid ran uselessly out of the diamond tube.

“What did I do wrong?” David asked.

“Nothing,” Laurel said. “You just can’t do it.”

“I don’t see why not,” David said, looking at the greenish blob hanging off the end of the tube. “It doesn’t make sense that we should do this exact same thing with such drastically different results. At the very least they should be similar.”

“This isn’t physics, David; it’s not science. It works for me because I’m a Fall faerie, and that’s the end of the explanation. Well,” she said, taking the tube from David, “it
almost
works.”

“But, why?”

“I don’t know!” Laurel said in exasperation.

“Well, do you blow it in a certain way? Is there a technique I can’t see?” David asked, not catching her tone at all.

“No. What you see is what I’m doing. No secret method or whatever.”

“Then what am I doing wrong?”

“What are
you
doing wrong?” Laurel laughed cynically. “David, I don’t even know what
I’m
doing wrong!” She slumped down on her bed. “In Avalon, I spent an hour every day for the last three weeks practicing blowing glass vials. And I haven’t managed to make a single one without breaking it. Not a single one!”

David joined her on the bed. “An hour every day?”

Laurel knew he was wondering if practice would help him blow vials too, but at least he didn’t say it. “My instructors keep telling me that if I’ve studied the components and the procedures, my intuition should do the rest, but that hasn’t worked yet.”

“So you’re just supposed to
know
what to do?”

“That’s what they keep saying.”

“Like…instinct?”

At that Laurel flopped down on her back, a frustrated breath whooshing out of her. “Oh man, instinct, that’s like the F-word in Avalon. Yeardley kept telling me, ‘You are trying to rely on instinct, you need to trust your intuition instead.’ But I looked up those two words and they mean the exact same thing.”

David lay down beside her and she rolled over, snuggling into the crook of his arm, her hand draped across his chest. How had she lived without this for eight weeks? “It’s just so frustrating. Everyone my age in Avalon is so far ahead of me. And they’re just getting farther ahead. Right this minute!” She sighed. “I’m never going to catch up.”

“Sure you will,” David said softly, his lips tickling her neck. “You’ll figure things out.”

“No, I won’t,” Laurel said sullenly.

“Yes, you will,” David repeated, his nose touching hers. His arms tightened around her waist and Laurel couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks,” she said.

She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss, but a rap on the doorway made her head jerk up.

“Can you at least not make out on your bed while I’m home?” Laurel’s mom said dryly. “You know,
pretend
you’re following the rules.”

David had already shot to his feet and stepped about three feet from the bed.

Laurel dragged herself up slowly. “I did leave the door open,” she said.

“Oh, good,” her mom responded. “Can’t wait to see what’s going on next time I walk by. I’m heading to the store,” she continued before Laurel could respond. “I want both of you to come downstairs, please.”

Laurel watched her mom walk away, wearing a nice skirt and blouse, with a very businessy-looking bag on her shoulder. Just one of the many changes that had greeted Laurel on her return from Avalon.

The first one had been awesome. David had driven Laurel back from the land yesterday and pulled into her driveway beside a black Nissan Sentra, complete with a red bow. “I figure, since you’re responsible for our current financial situation, you should reap some benefit from it,” her dad had said with a laugh as Laurel squealed and hugged him. The diamond Jamison had given Laurel last year to prevent her parents from selling their land had covered more than just her dad’s medical bills. But Laurel had not anticipated such a personal perk.

The second big change was one she knew about. Her parents had decided to renovate their very small house by adding on a rec room—with lots of big windows for Laurel—and enlarging the kitchen. Laurel’s being away for the summer had struck them as the perfect opportunity. The work was supposed to be done by the time she got back, but the first thing Laurel did after walking in the door yesterday was trip over a bunch of tools. The contractors promised to be out by the end of the week, but Laurel had her doubts.

The most drastic change, though, came as an even bigger surprise than her car. In the spring, Laurel’s dad had acquired some shop space next to his bookstore, intending to expand his store. But shortly after Laurel left for Avalon her parents decided to open a new store, instead—a naturopathy store for her mom. Nature’s Cure—which had opened just before Laurel got home—sold homemade remedies and a wide array of vitamins, herbs, and natural foods, as well as a nice selection of health and wellness books provided by the lovely bookstore next door. With all the time they both spent at their stores, her parents actually saw each other more now than ever before in their marriage.

Which is great!
Laurel told herself. After all, her mom should have something like this that was all her own. But in Laurel’s absence her mom had grown…distant. Her dad couldn’t seem to hear enough about Avalon, but during those discussions her mom would suddenly remember something she needed to do in another room. Laurel felt like the new store presented an additional avenue of escape; in the twenty-four hours Laurel had been home, she’d only seen her mom for a short dinner and once or twice as she rushed in and out on errands.

She sighed and stood from the bed. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

“Yeah, but…” David gestured at the glass-making supplies on Laurel’s desk.

“I’m done for today,” Laurel said. “Let’s go do something fun. We’ve only got a few days before school starts again.” Laurel pulled him toward the door. “My mom made cinnamon rolls this morning,” she added, trying to give him incentive.

He let Laurel drag him away this time, but not before giving the desk a long look.

In the kitchen David pulled a cinnamon roll from the pan and slathered it with cream cheese frosting. As he bit into it, he turned toward the large kitchen window—a new addition Laurel was quite fond of.

“I haven’t seen Chelsea yet. Should we call her and see if she wants to watch a movie or something tonight?” Laurel secured the plastic wrap back over the bowl of frosting. The smell always made her a touch nauseated.

“Sure, if she’s not hanging out with Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Laurel asked, stowing the frosting in the fridge. “Tall Ryan?”

“Yep.”

“Are they, like, together?”

“Chelsea’s been a bit closedmouthed about it—if you can imagine—but if they’re not together now, they will be soon. Maybe you can worm something out of her.”

“Maybe. That’s weird.” Not that Chelsea would have a boyfriend—Laurel was way excited about that—but that she would choose Ryan. Tall, gangly Ryan, who didn’t talk a lot and was particularly unobservant. Laurel was all for the idea that opposites attract, but maybe there was such a thing as
too
opposite.

And then, of course, there was the issue that Chelsea had been enamored with David for the last several years. But if she was over him now then, hey, all the better.

They were silent for several minutes, David finishing off his cinnamon roll and Laurel staring out the picture window, thinking about Chelsea. Finally David swallowed his last bite and took a deep breath. “I thought I saw Barnes yesterday, just before coming to pick you up.”

An icy shudder of fear clutched at Laurel’s chest. “You
thought
?”

“Yeah, wasn’t him. It was just that guy who runs the bowling alley.”

“Oh, I took a double take at him a few months ago too.” Her laughter was tense, and it died away completely when she saw David’s face.

“Why hasn’t he come back, Laurel?” he asked quietly.

Laurel shook her head as she looked out the picture window at the woods behind her house. She wondered just how many faeries were living there, watching her right at this moment. Maybe now was the time to talk to David about her conversation with Jamison. “I don’t know,” she said, putting it off a little longer.

“We ruined his plans. Big, big plans. And he knows where you live.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Laurel said wryly.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to scare you. But I feel like…I don’t know, like a string getting stretched tighter every day. I keep waiting for
something
to happen. And it’s just getting worse,” he continued. “I see trolls everywhere. Every time I see an unfamiliar face in sunglasses, I wonder. As big as our tourist season was this summer, you can imagine it was a paranoid couple of months. And with you gone…” He took her wrist and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her blond head. “I’m just glad you’re back.”