Wings

THIRTEEN

LAUREL STARED INTO THE MIRROR OVER HER SHOULDER at her bare back. There was a tiny white line down the middle — like a long-forgotten scar — but it was scarcely noticeable.

She sighed as she pulled a tank top over her head. This was so much better.

The idea of being a faerie had seemed so real last night. Today, it was a million miles away. She scrutinized the angles of her face, half-expecting them to have changed.

“I’m a faerie,” she whispered. But her reflection didn’t respond.

It felt silly to say it. She didn’t feel like a faerie — she didn’t feel any different than she ever had. She felt normal. But no matter what, she knew the truth now — and normal was not a word that would ever describe her life again.

She needed to talk to Tamani.

She tiptoed downstairs and picked up the phone, dialing David’s cell phone number. Only when he answered with a gravelly voice did she think of the time. “What?”

There was no point in hanging up now — she’d already woken him. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“What are you doing up at six o’clock in the morning?” he asked sleepily.

“Um, the sun’s up.”

David snorted. “Of course.”

Laurel looked up at her parents’ room with its door slightly ajar and slid around the corner into the pantry. “Will you cover for me today?” she asked in a half-whisper.

“Cover?”

“Can I tell my parents I’m at your house?”

David sounded more alert now. “Where are you actually going?”

“I have to see Tamani, David. Or at least, I have to try.”

“You’re going to the land? How’re you going to get there?”

“The bus? They’ll have something going down the 101 on a Sunday, don’t you think?”

“That’s how you’ll get to Orick, but how far is it to your old house?”

“I can put my bike on the front of the bus. It’s only a mile or so from the bus station; it won’t even take me ten minutes.”

David sighed. “I wish I had my license.”

Laurel laughed. He whined about it frequently. “Two more weeks, David. You’ll make it.”

“It’s not that. I’d like to go with you.”

“You can’t. If he knows you’re there he might not come out. He wasn’t real keen on the idea that I’d told you about the blossom in the first place.”

“You told him that?”

Laurel wrapped the phone cord around her wrist. “He asked if I’d told anyone and I just blurted it out. He’s kind of different — persuasive. It’s like you can’t lie to him.”

“I don’t like this, Laurel. He could be dangerous.”

“You’re the one who’s been saying he was right all week. He says he’s like me. If he told the truth about everything else, why would he lie about that?”

“What about Barnes? What if he’s there?”

“Papers aren’t signed yet. We still own it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Mom mentioned it just yesterday.”

David sighed and the line was silent.

“Please? I have to go. I have to find out more.”

“All right. One condition — when you get back you tell me what he said.”

“Everything I can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know what he’s going to tell me. What if there’s some big faerie secret I’m not supposed to tell anyone about?”

“Fine, everything except the big secret of the world if there is one. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Laurel?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. Be very, very careful.”

After chaining her bike to a small tree, Laurel hefted her backpack onto one shoulder. She passed the empty house, then hesitated at the edge of the tree line where several paths snaked into the thick bushes and forest. She decided to take the path to the place he found her last time. That seemed as good a plan as any.

When she reached the large rock by the creek, Laurel looked around. Sitting by the beautiful stream made her feel calm and happy; for a moment she considered just sitting there for an hour, then returning home without speaking to Tamani at all. It was just so nerve-racking to talk to him.

But she forced herself not to wimp out, took a deep breath, and yelled, “Tamani?” Rather than echoing off the rocks, her voice seemed to absorb into the trees, making her feel very small. “Tamani?” she called again, a little softer this time. “Are you still here? I want to talk.” She turned in a circle, trying to look everywhere at once. “Tam—”

“Hey.” The voice was welcoming but strangely hesitant.

Laurel turned and nearly ran into Tamani’s chest. She threw her hands up over her mouth to silence a scream. It was Tamani, but he looked different than before. His arms were bare, but his shoulders and chest were covered in what looked like armor made from bark and leaves. A long spear stuck up over his shoulder, its stone tip sharpened to a razor edge. He was as stunning as before, but an air of intimidation hung around him like a thick fog.

Tamani looked at her for a long time, and though she tried, Laurel couldn’t look away. The side of his mouth tugged up into a half grin and he pulled the strange armor over his head, shedding it along with his intimidating air. “Sorry about the getup,” he said, stowing the armor behind a tree. “We’re on high alert today.” He straightened and smiled hesitantly. “I’m glad you came back. I wasn’t sure you would.” Under the armor, he was dressed all in dark green — a tight shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and the same style of baggy pants he’d been wearing last time. “And you came alone.” It wasn’t a question.

“How’d you know?”

Tamani laughed, his eyes sparkling. “What kind of sentry would I be if I didn’t know how many people invaded my turf?”

“A sentry?”

“That’s right.” He was leading her down the path now, toward the clearing they’d talked in last time.

“What do you guard?” she asked.

He turned with a grin and touched the tip of her nose. “Something very, very special.”

Laurel tried to catch her breath and only just succeeded. “I came to…um…to apologize,” she stammered.

“For what?” Tamani asked, not slowing his pace.

Is he teasing, or did it really not bother him? “I overreacted last time,” she said, falling into step beside him. “I was already freaked out about everything that was happening, and the things you told me just put me over the edge. But I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. So I’m sorry.”

They walked a few more steps. “And…?” Tamani prompted.

“And what?” Laurel asked, her chest growing tight as his green eyes studied her.

“And everything I said was true, and now you’re here to learn more.” He stopped abruptly. “That is why you’re here, right?” He leaned against a tree and looked at her playfully.

She nodded, unable to speak. She’d never felt so awkward. Why was he so utterly tongue-tying? She couldn’t think or talk around him. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable with her.

Tamani sank gracefully to the ground, and Laurel realized they’d reached the clearing. He gestured to a spot a few feet away. “Have a seat.” He grinned lopsidedly and patted the grass beside him. “Of course, you can sit by me if you prefer.”

Laurel cleared her throat and sat down across from him.

“I’m not that lucky yet?” He laced his fingers behind his head. “There’s still time. So,” he said as she settled in, “your petals wilted.”

Laurel nodded. “Last night.”

“Relieved?”

“Mostly.”

“And you’re here to find out more about being a faerie, right?”

Laurel was embarrassed at being so transparent, but he was right and there was nothing to do but admit it.

“I don’t know that I really have a lot to tell you — you’ve survived for twelve years on your own; you don’t need me to warn you not to eat salt.”

“I’ve been doing some research,” Laurel said.

Tamani snickered. “This should be good.”

“What?”

“It’s just that humans never get it right.”

“I’ve noticed.” After a moment’s hesitation she asked, “You don’t have any wings hidden under that shirt somewhere, do you?”

“You want to check?” His hand went to the bottom of his shirt.

“That’s okay,” Laurel said quickly.

Tamani turned serious now. “There are no wings, Laurel. Not on anyone. Some blossoms resemble wings, the way some flowers resemble butterflies — your blossom was pretty wingish, actually. But they’re just flowers — as you’ve discovered.”

“Why are the stories so wrong?”

“I suppose humans are just good at misinterpreting what they see.”

“I’ve never read anything about faeries being plants. And trust me, I looked,” she said.

“Humans like to tell stories about other humans, but ones with wings or hooves or magic wands. Not about plants. Not about something they aren’t and could never hope to be.” He shrugged. “And humans look so much like us, I guess it’s a reasonable assumption.”

“But still. They’re really off. I don’t have wings. And I certainly don’t have magic.”

“Don’t you?” Tamani said with a grin.

Laurel’s eyes widened. “Do I?”

“Of course.”

“Really?!”

Tamani laughed at Laurel’s excitement.

“So there’s magic? Real magic? It’s not just all scientific like David says?”

Tamani rolled his eyes. “David again?”

Laurel bristled. “He’s my friend. My best friend.”

“Not your boyfriend?”

“No. I mean…no.”

Tamani stared at her for several seconds. “So the position’s open?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “We are so not having this conversation.”

He stared pointedly at her for a few seconds, but she refused to meet his eyes. He looked at her so possessively, as if she were a lover he had already won and he was just waiting for her to realize it.

“Tell me about the magic,” she said, changing the subject. “Can you fly?”

“No, like the wings, that’s just folklore.”

“What can you do?”

“Aren’t you curious about what you can do?”

“I can do magic?”

“Absolutely. You can do very powerful magic. You’re a Fall faerie.”

“What does that mean?”

“There are four kinds of faeries; Spring, Summer—”

“Fall, and Winter?”

“Yep.”

“Why am I a Fall faerie?”

“Because you were born in the fall. That’s why your blossom grows in the fall.”

“That doesn’t sound very magical,” Laurel said, a little disappointed. “It sounds like science.”

“It is. Not everything in our lives is magical. Actually, faeries are pretty normal, for the most part.”

“Then what about the magic?”

“Well, each kind of faerie has its own kind of magic.” His face took on an air of reverence. “Winter faeries are the most powerful of all faeries, and the most rare. Only two or three are produced in an entire generation, often less. Our rulers are always Winter faeries. They have dominion over the plants. All of them. A mature redwood would bend itself in half if a Winter faerie asked it to.”

“It sounds like they can do almost anything.”

“Sometimes I think they can. But Winter faeries mostly keep their abilities — and their limitations — to themselves, passing them down through the generations. Some say the greatest gift of the Winter faeries is their ability to keep a secret.”

“So what do Fall faeries do?” Laurel asked impatiently.

“Fall faeries are the next most powerful, and like Winter faeries, more rare. Fall faeries make things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things from other plants. Elixirs, potions, poultices. That sort of thing.”

That didn’t sound very magical at all. “So, I’m like a cook? I mix stuff together?”

Tamani shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not a matter of simply mixing things together — otherwise everyone could do it. Fall faeries have a magical sense for plants and can use them for the realm’s benefit. Give me every book ever written on tonics and I still couldn’t even make a mixture to stop mold. It’s magic, even if it seems sensible.”

“It just doesn’t sound like magic, that’s all.”

“But it is. Different Fall faeries have different specialties. They make potions and elixirs to do all sorts of things — like creating a mist to confound intruders or making a toxin to put them to sleep. Fall faeries are crucial to the survival of the fae as a species. They’re very, very important.”

“I guess that’s cool.” But Laurel wasn’t entirely convinced. It sounded like chemistry to her, and if her biology class was any kind of indicator, she wouldn’t be very good at it.

“What do Summer faeries do?”

Tamani smiled. “Summer faeries are flashy,” he said, resuming his conversational tone. “Like summer flowers. They create illusions and the most incredible fireworks. The sorts of things humans typically think of as magic.”

Laurel couldn’t help but think that being a Summer faerie sounded a lot more fun than being a Fall faerie. “Are you a Summer faerie?”

“No.” Tamani hesitated. “I’m just a Spring faerie.”

“Why ‘just’?”

Tamani shrugged. “Spring faeries are the least powerful of all the faeries. That’s why I’m a sentry. Manual labor. I don’t need much magic for that.”

“What can you do?”

Tamani looked away. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because I did it to you last time you were here.”