Spells

Woefully inadequate. Her mom hadn’t been too happy with that. But then, her mom hadn’t been too happy with much of anything involving faeries lately. After the initial revelation of Laurel being a faerie, things had been surprisingly okay. Her parents had always known there was something different about their adopted daughter. As crazy as the truth actually turned out to be — that Laurel was a changeling, a faerie child left in their care to inherit sacred fae land — they had accepted it with remarkable ease, at least at first. Her dad’s attitude hadn’t changed, but over the last few months her mom had grown more and more freaked out by the idea that Laurel wasn’t human. She’d stopped talking about it, then refused to even hear about it, and things had finally come to a head last month when Laurel got the invitation. Well, more like a summons, really. It had taken a lot of arguing from Laurel — and a fair bit of persuasion from her dad — before her mom had agreed to let her go. As if, somehow, she would come back even less human than when she’d left.

Laurel was glad she’d neglected to tell them anything about the trolls; she doubted she would be standing here today if she had.

“Are you ready?” Tamani pressed, sensing Laurel’s hesitation.

Ready? Laurel wasn’t sure if she could ever be more ready for this…or less.

Silently, she followed him through the forest, trees filtering the sunlight and shading their trek. The path was scarcely a path at all, but Laurel knew where it led. Soon they would come to a small, gnarled tree, a unique species in this forest but otherwise ordinary in its appearance. Though she had spent twelve years of her life living here and exploring the land, she had seen this tree only once before — when she brought Tamani back from fighting trolls, wounded and barely conscious. Last time she had witnessed the tree’s transformation and gotten a tiny glimpse of what lay beyond. Today she would go through the gate.

Today, she would see Avalon for herself.

As they walked deeper into the forest, other faeries fell into step behind them, and Laurel forced herself not to crane her neck and stare. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to these beautiful, silent guards who never spoke to her and rarely met her eyes. They were always there, even when she couldn’t see them. She knew that now. She wondered briefly how many of them had been watching her since she was just a child, but the mortification was too great. Her parents watching her juvenile antics were one thing; nameless supernatural sentries were quite another. She swallowed, focused forward, and tried to think of something else.

Soon they arrived, emerging through a stand of redwoods clustered protectively around the ancient, twisted tree. The faerie sentries formed a half circle and, after a sharp gesture from Shar — the leader of the sentries — Tamani dislodged his hand from Laurel’s viselike grip to join them. Standing in the middle of the dozen or so sentries, Laurel clutched the straps of her backpack. Her breathing quickened as each sentry laid one hand against the bark of the tree, right where its stout trunk split into two thick limbs. Then the tree began to vibrate as the light of the clearing seemed to gather around its branches.

Laurel was determined to keep her eyes open this time, to watch the entire transformation. But even as she squinted resolutely against the glow, a brilliant flash forced her eyelids shut for the briefest of instants. When they opened again, the tree had transformed into the arching gate of tall, golden bars, laced with curling vines dotted with purple flowers. Two sturdy posts on either side anchored the gate into the ground, but otherwise it stood alone in the sunlit forest. Laurel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, only to hold it again as the gate swung outward.

Tangible warmth rolled forth from the gateway, and even ten feet away Laurel caught the aromatic scent of life and growth she recognized from years of gardening with her mom. But this was stronger — a pure perfume of bottled summer sunlight. She felt her feet begin to move forward of their own accord and was nearly through the gate when something tugged at her hand. Laurel tore her eyes away from the gateway and was startled to see that Tamani had stepped out of formation to wrap her hand gently in his own. A touch on her other hand prompted her to look back through the gate.

Jamison, the old Winter faerie she had met last fall, lifted her free hand and set it on his arm like a gentleman in a regency movie. He smiled at Tamani cordially but pointedly. “Thank you for bringing us Laurel, Tam. I will take her from here.”

Tamani’s hand didn’t fall away immediately. “I’ll come see you next week,” he said, quiet but not whispering.

The three of them stood there for a few seconds, frozen in time. Then Jamison tilted his head and nodded once at Tamani. Tamani nodded back and returned to his place in the semicircle.

Laurel felt his eyes on her, but her face was already turning back to the bright glow pouring from the golden gate. The pull of Avalon was too strong to linger even on the sharp regret she felt at having to leave Tamani so quickly after their reunion. But he would come see her soon.

Jamison stepped just inside the golden archway and beckoned Laurel forward, releasing his hold on the hand lying on his arm. “Welcome back, Laurel,” he said softly.

With her breath catching in her throat, Laurel stepped forward and crossed the threshold of the gate, her feet stepping into Avalon for the first time. Not really the first time, she reminded herself. This is where I came from.

For a moment she could see nothing but leaves on a huge overhanging oak tree and dark, loose soil at her feet, lined with plush, emerald grass. Jamison led her out from under the canopy of foliage, and sunlight shone down onto her face, warming her cheeks instantly and making her blink.

They were in some kind of walled park. Trails of rich, black earth snaked through the vibrant greenery that ran up against a stone wall. Laurel had never seen a stone wall so tall before — to build such a thing without concrete must have taken decades. The garden was dotted with trees and long, leafy vines crept up their trunks and wound around their branches. She could see flowers all over the vines, but they were tightly closed against the warmth of the day.

She turned to look back at the gate. It was shut now, and beyond its golden bars she could see only darkness. It was in the middle of the park and wasn’t connected to anything at all — it was just standing upright, surrounded by about twenty sentries, all female. Laurel tilted her head. There was something. She took a step forward, and broad-bladed spears with tips that seemed to be made of crystal crossed in front of her vision.

“It’s all right, Captain,” came Jamison’s voice from behind Laurel. “She can look.”

The spears went away and Laurel stepped forward, sure her eyes were tricking her. But no, at a right angle to the gate was another gate. Laurel continued walking until she had circled four gates, linked by the sturdy posts that Laurel recognized from the other side of the gate. Each post attached to two of the gates, forming a perfect square around the strange blackness that persisted behind them, despite the fact that she should have been able to look right through the bars to the sentries standing on the other side.

“I don’t understand,” Laurel said, coming to stand by Jamison again.

“Your gate isn’t the only one,” Jamison said with a smile.

Laurel vaguely remembered Tamani talking about four gates last fall, when she had come to him battered and bruised after being thrown in the Chetco River by trolls. “Four gates,” she said softly, pushing back the unpleasant part of the memory.

“To the four corners of the earth. One step could take you to your home, the mountains of Japan, the highlands of Scotland, or the mouth of the Nile River in Egypt.”

“That’s amazing,” Laurel said, staring at the gate. Gates? “Thousands of miles in a single step.”

“And the most vulnerable place in all of Avalon,” Jamison said. “Clever, though, don’t you think? Quite a feat. The gates were made by King Oberon, at the cost of his life, but it was Queen Isis who cloaked the gates on the other side — and only a few hundred years ago.”

“The Egyptian goddess?” Laurel asked breathlessly.

“Only named after the goddess,” Jamison said, smiling. “As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, not all the major figures in human history are faeries. Come, my Am Fear-faire will worry if we tarry too long.”

“Your what?”

He looked at her then, his gaze questioning at first, then strangely sorrowful. “Am Fear- faire,” he repeated. “My guardians. I have at least two with me at all times.”

“Why?”