Wings

“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.”

FOURTEEN

“DID WHAT?” LAUREL’S VOICE ROSE.

“You have to promise not to get upset.”

“You cast some kind of spell on me and now you expect me to just smile and tell you that’s okay? Well it’s not!”

“Look, it didn’t even work very well…never does on other faeries.”

Laurel crossed her arms. “Just tell me.”