Spells

said, her eyes wide in rapt fascination. She glanced around the room and lowered her voice. “Is he Unseelie? I’ve heard of them. They live just outside the gates and—”

“No,” Laurel asked, cutting her off. “That’s David. The human I told you about.”

Katya’s face fell with disbelief. “A human?” she said, aghast. She looked back down at the photo, a wrinkle of distaste forming between her eyebrows. “But…he’s touching you.”

“Yes, he is,” Laurel said hotly, snatching the picture back. “He’s my boyfriend. He touches me and kisses me and—” She forced herself to stop talking for a few seconds. “He loves me,” she said boldly but calmly.

Katya stared at her for several seconds before her face softened. “I just worry for you out there,” she said, her eyes still flitting to the shocking picture. “Humans have never been kind to faeries.”

“What do you mean?”

The look on Katya’s face was one of genuine concern. She shrugged. “It’s been a long time since Avalon involved itself in human affairs. I know it’s necessary, sometimes. But it seems like relationships between humans and faeries always end badly.”

Laurel’s head jerked back. “Really?”

“Sure. Sanzang, Scheherazade, Guinevere. And then there was that disgraceful incident with Eve.”

Katya didn’t notice the photo flutter, forgotten, out of Laurel’s frozen hands.

“And there are others. Every time Avalon reaches into the human world, something goes wrong. That’s all I’m saying.”

“My family loves me; David, too. They would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Just be careful,” Katya said.

Laurel packed silently for a few minutes, wrapping her hair jewels in one of her long skirts. After she scoured the room, looking for anything else she’d missed, she looked over at Katya, one eyebrow raised. “Eve? Seriously?”

“Of course. Why? What do the humans say about her?”

Laurel was waiting on a brocaded chaise when the doors of the Academy opened for Jamison and his ever- present guards. That was one reason not to wish to be a Winter faerie. Laurel certainly wouldn’t want to be followed around everywhere she went. Being followed around half the time was more than enough.

“Laurel, my dear,” Jamison said, his hands outstretched. He clasped her hands in his and smiled at her like a doting grandfather before settling down beside her on the chaise. “Yeardley tells me you were an excellent student.”

Laurel smiled at the praise from the stern professor.

“He was pleased to inform me that you have great talent,” Jamison continued. “Phenomenal was, I believe, the word he used. Though I wasn’t surprised in the least,” he said, turning a warm smile to her. “I sensed your incredible potential the first time we met.”

“Oh, no,” Laurel said, surprised. “I’m not like that. I’m so far behind already, I’ll never—”

“Oh, I think you will. You’ve even more potential than we suspected when you were just a seedling. With time and practice, I am sure your abilities will blossom spectacularly. You might even be as great as…well, never mind that. You just nurture your own considerable abilities. They are strong.” He patted her hand. “I happen to be an excellent judge of these things.”

“Are you?” Laurel said quietly, a little surprised at her own boldness. But being so woefully far behind the other faeries her age had been beyond discouraging; she longed to hear such confident proclamations.

The smile disappeared, replaced by a grave expression. “I am indeed. And you will need the skills you’ve learned. I suspect you will need them sooner, rather than later.” He turned to Laurel, his face very serious. “I’m glad you came,” he said earnestly. “The work we have for you is far more important than we ever expected. Your lessons this summer have been rigorous and taxing, but you must persevere. Practice the skills you have learned, master them. We may yet have need of you in the human world.”

Laurel looked up at him. “But haven’t you always intended for me to return to Avalon and resume my studies?”

“Originally, yes,” Jamison said. “But things have changed. We must ask more of you. Tell me, Laurel, what do you know of erosion?”

Laurel couldn’t imagine what this had to do with anything, but she answered anyway. “Like when water or wind wears away the ground?”

“That’s right. Given enough time, wind and rain will carry the tallest mountain into the sea. But,” he said, raising a finger, “a hillside covered in grass will resist erosion, and a riverbank may be held in place by bushes and trees. They spread their roots,” he said, extending his hands with his story, “and grab hold. And though the river will pull at the soil, if the roots are strong enough, they will prevail. If they cannot, they will eventually be carried away too.

“For nearly two thousand years, we have guarded our homeland from exploitation by trolls and humans alike. Where erosion threatens our defenses, we plant seeds — like yourself. When we placed you with your parents, you were only expected to do as most faeries do — to grow where you were planted. Your entire task was to live and grow and inherit the land, along with an unimpeachably human identity, which is helpful in concealing our transactions from the trolls. We didn’t intend to bring you back to the Academy until you reached adulthood in the human world.

“But now your role will be more active.” He placed one hand on her arm, and Laurel was filled with sudden trepidation. “Laurel, someone is moving against us, against our land and our people, and time is not on our side. We need you to stretch your roots, Laurel. We need you to fight the raging river, whatever it may prove to be. If you cannot—”

Abruptly he looked away, peering out the picture window at the countryside of Avalon spread out below them. It was a moment before he spoke again. “If you cannot, I fear that all of this will crumble into nothing.”

“You’re talking about the trolls,” Laurel said when she found her voice. “You’re talking about Barnes.” She hadn’t spoken his name aloud in months — there had been no sign of him since December — but he was never far from her thoughts. Ever since last fall she’d been jumping at shadows and peeking around corners.

“I would be a fool to believe that he acted alone,” Jamison said. He turned back to Laurel, meeting her gaze with his pale blue eyes that matched the barely distinguishable roots in his silvery hair. “And so would you.”

“Who would align with him? And why?” Laurel asked.

“We don’t know,” Jamison replied. “What we do know is that Barnes himself is alive and out there somewhere.”

“But he can’t use me anymore. He can’t make me sell him the land,” Laurel protested.

Jamison smiled sadly. “If only it were that simple. There are still many things he can use you for. Even though he knows where the land is, he doesn’t know where the gate is. He could try to use you to discover that.”

“Why does he need to know? Can’t he just come in with his hordes and raze the whole forest?”

“He could try, but don’t underestimate the skills of our sentries, or the strength of the gate and the magic of the Winter faeries. The gate can be destroyed, but it would require a tremendous amount of concentrated force. If he cannot find exactly where the gate is, he cannot destroy it.”

“I would never tell,” Laurel said fervently.

“I know that. And deep down, I suspect that he knows that. But that will not stop him from seeking revenge on you, anyway. There are no other creatures in whom the concept of revenge is rooted so deeply as trolls. They feel the desire for vengeance more acutely than almost any other emotion. For that reason alone, he will come for you.”

“Then why hasn’t he?” Laurel asked. “He’s had plenty of opportunities. It’s been more than six months.” She shrugged. “Maybe he really is dead.”

But Jamison shook his head. “Have you ever observed a Venus flytrap?” he asked.

Laurel snickered inwardly, remembering her conversation with David about flytraps last year. “Yeah,” Laurel said. “My mom had one when I was little.”

“Have you ever wondered how the flytrap is able to catch the flies?” Jamison asked. “The fly is faster, can see danger approaching, has the ability to flee with the greatest of ease. Logically, every flytrap should starve to death. Why don’t they?”