Эприлинн Пайк: Spells

“Mixer?” Laurel said experimentally, liking the feel of it on her tongue. “Because we make things,” she said, laughing. “It’s fitting.”

Tamani shrugged.

“What’s a Summer?”

Now Tamani cringed a bit. “A Sparkler.”

Laurel laughed, and several of the cheerily clad Springs glanced her way before returning to their work with a little too much of an air of purpose. “What about Winters?”

Tamani shook his head. “Oh, we would never take Winter faeries so lightly. Never,” he added emphatically.

“What do you call yourselves?” she asked.

“Ticers,” Tamani said. “Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe everyone in Ticer-ville ,” Laurel said. “But I didn’t.”

Tamani snorted when she said Ticer-ville . “Well, now you do.”

“What does it mean?” Laurel asked.

“Ticer, like en- tice -ment. It’s what we all do. Well, what we can do, anyway. Mostly only sentries ever use it.”

“Oh,” Laurel said with a grin. “Ticer. Got it. Why do only sentries use it?”

“Um,” he began uncertainly, “remember last year when I tried to use it on you?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’d almost forgotten.” She turned to him in mock anger. “I was mad at you!”

Tamani chuckled and shrugged. “Point is, it didn’t work very well because you’re a faerie. So only sentries — and specifically sentries who work outside Avalon — ever really have a chance to use it on nonfaerie creatures.”

“Makes sense.” Her curiosity sated, Laurel began walking again. Soft fingers touched her waist, guiding her through the still-heavy crowds.

“To the right here,” Tamani said. “We’re almost there.”

Laurel was glad to find herself turning down a much less crowded side street. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious and wished she had asked the tall faerie at the kiosk to put the hair jewels in a box. No one else here was wearing anything even remotely similar. “Are we there yet?”

“That house up there,” Tamani said, gesturing. “The one with the big flower boxes up front.”

They approached a small but charming house made from a hollowed-out tree, though the tree wasn’t like anything Laurel had ever seen before. Instead of a thick trunk growing straight up, it had a wide base and grew out in a round shape, like an enormous wooden pumpkin. The trunk narrowed again at the top and continued to grow up, sprouting branches and leaves that shaded the house. “How does it grow like that?”

“Magic. This house was a gift to my mother from the Queen. Winter faeries can ask the trees to grow any way they please.”

“Why did your mother get a gift from the Queen?”

“As a thank-you for years of distinguished service as a Gardener.”

“A gardener? Aren’t there a ton of gardeners?”

“Oh, no. It’s a very specialized field. One of the most prestigious positions a Spring faerie can aspire to.”

“Really?” Laurel asked skeptically. She’d seen dozens of gardeners just around the Academy.

Tamani looked at her strangely for a moment before understanding blossomed across his face. “Not like human gardeners. We would call those Tenders here, and yes, there are a lot of them. I suppose you might call my mother a…a midwife.”

“A midwife?”

If Tamani heard the question, he made no sign. He knocked softly on the ash door of the strange tree house. Then, without waiting for a response, he opened it. “I’m home.”

A squeal sounded from inside the house and a flutter of colorful skirts wrapped itself around Tamani’s legs. “Oh, my goodness, what is this?” He detangled the young faerie and lifted her over his head. “What is this thing? I think it’s a Rowen flower!” The little girl squealed as Tamani tucked her against his chest.

The girl looked like she was maybe a year old, scarcely more than an infant. But she walked steadily and her eyes betrayed intelligence. Intelligence and, Laurel felt certain without knowing why, mischief.

“Have you been a good girl today?” Tamani asked.

“Of course,” the young faerie said, far more articulately than Laurel would have thought possible for a child so small. “I’m always a good girl.”

“Excellent.” He turned his gaze toward the inside of the house. “Mother?” he called.

“Tam! What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming today.” Laurel looked up and felt suddenly shy as an older female faerie walked into the room. The woman was beautiful, with a lightly lined face, pale green eyes just like Laurel’s, and a broad smile that was beaming at Tamani. She didn’t seem to have noticed Laurel yet, half hidden behind him in the doorway.

“I didn’t know myself until this morning.”

“No matter,” the woman said, taking Tamani’s face in both hands and kissing his cheeks.

“I brought company,” Tamani said, his voice suddenly quiet.

The woman turned to Laurel and, for a second, concern masked her face. Then recognition dawned and she smiled. “Laurel. Look at you; you’ve hardly changed a bit.”

Laurel smiled back, but her face fell when Tamani’s mother inclined her head and bent at the waist.

Tamani must have felt Laurel stiffen, because he squeezed his mother’s hand and said, “Laurel’s had enough formality for one day. She’s just herself in this house.”

“All the better,” Tamani’s mother said with a smile. Then she stepped forward and took Laurel’s face, just like she had Tamani’s moments before, and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome.”

Tears sprang to Laurel’s eyes. It was the warmest greeting she’d had from anyone except Tamani since arriving in Avalon. It made her miss her own mother acutely. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Come in, come in; no need to stand in the doorway. We have windows enough for that,” Tamani’s mother said, shooing them in. “And since we’re doing away with the formality, you can just call me Rhoslyn.”

THE INSIDE OF THE HOUSE WAS SIMILAR TO THE dormitory Laurel lived in, except that everything looked simpler. Buttercups specially treated to glow in the evenings— with ash bark and essence of lavender, Laurel recited automatically in her head — hung from the rafters and swung gently back and forth with the slight breeze coming in from the six open windows around the room. Instead of silk, the curtains were made from a material that looked more like cotton, and the coverings on the chairs throughout the room were the same. The floors were a soft wood rather than plush carpeting, and Laurel carefully dusted off her feet on the thick mat before stepping into the house. Several watercolor paintings hung from the walls in beveled frames.

“These are beautiful,” Laurel said, leaning forward to get a closer look at one that featured a flower bed full of very tall stems with a single bud at the top of each, ready to bloom.

“Thank you,” Rhoslyn said. “I’ve taken up painting since retiring. I enjoy it.”

Laurel turned to another painting, this one featuring Tamani. She smiled at the way Rhoslyn had so perfectly caught his brooding features. His eyes were serious in the painting, and he was looking at something just beyond the frame. “You’re very good,” Laurel said.

“Nonsense. I’m just entertaining myself with some cast-off Summer supplies. Still, you can never go wrong when you’re painting a subject as handsome as our Tamani,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Laurel looked at them — Rhoslyn, even smaller than Laurel, gazing proudly at Tamani, Tamani balancing little Rowen on his hip as she clung to his chest. Laurel momentarily felt disappointed realizing he had a life that didn’t include her, but she chided herself immediately. Most of her own life did not include him, so it was selfish to wish for more from him than she was willing or able to give herself. She smiled at Tamani and pushed away her gloomy thoughts.