Spells

Laurel grabbed her kit, forcing herself not to look at the latest batch of shattered sugar-glass vials strewn across her desk, and hurried back downstairs. There was a Tupperware of stir-fry and noodles, one of her dad’s favorites. That would work. She opened her kit up beside the stove, dumped the stir-fry into a small saucepan, and lit a burner.

Laurel’s dad looked up as the pan clanked onto the stove. “You don’t need to do that,” he said. “The microwave works just fine.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to do something special.”

Her dad raised an eyebrow. “Special like how?”

“You’ll see,” Laurel said, waving her fingers in the steam rising from the pan as the sauce started to bubble.

She didn’t want to change the flavor — this wasn’t like just adding spices. She wanted to enhance the flavor that was already there. Her teachers in Avalon had told her repeatedly that if she was familiar with the plant, and trusted her intuition, she could do almost anything. This should be easy. Right?

She relaxed and closed her eyes — glad that the stove wasn’t facing the kitchen table — and soon the parts of the food seemed to come alive on her fingers, bathed in the vapor. She cocked her head to the side, feeling the garlic and soy, the ginger and pepper.

Crocus, she said to herself. Crocus oil and a touch of sage. That will bring out the garlic and ginger. She concentrated, feeling like there was one more thing she should add to make it perfect. Stonewort, she finally decided. Probably because it had high levels of starch that would emphasize the soy. And, well, pepper was pepper. It would be strong enough on its own.

She reached into her kit for a small mortar. She put in a few drops of crocus oil and a pinch of sage. The stonewort, however, came in a very small bottle with a tiny sprayer on it that would dispense less than a drop. Laurel sprayed a mist of stonewort into the stone bowl, considered, then sprayed once more. Using her pestle, she crushed the tiny sage seeds, mixing the three essences until the smell changed just a little. She turned the bowl over and let a couple of green speckled drops fall onto the bubbling noodles. A foamy vapor rose up, clearing as Laurel stirred the food, the extra drops blending into the brown sauce.

“Bon appetit,” Laurel said, placing the meal in front of her dad with flourish.

He looked up from his book a little startled. “Oh. Thanks.”

Laurel smiled, then went back around to the stove to begin cleaning up. She kept sneaking glances at him, wondering if he would notice without her saying anything.

She didn’t have to wait very long.

“Wow, Laurel, this is good!” her dad said. “I guess stovetop really is better than microwave.” He ate with vigor and Laurel smiled, irrationally proud that something had actually worked after messing up on so many things the last few weeks.

“Did you add something to this?” her dad asked after wolfing down about half the plate. “Because teriyaki has never tasted so good.” He paused and put another forkful in his mouth. “And I had it two days ago when it was fresh,” he said around the noodles.

Laurel turned with a conspiratorial smile on her face. “I may have added a little something to it,” she said.

“Well, you gotta tell your mom because this is the most amazing stir-fry I have ever had.”

Laurel grinned as she turned and put the pan and Tupperware in the sink and started running some warm water. She put her rubber gloves on, then began cleaning the two dishes. “See, this is what I wish Mom would understand,” Laurel said, her voice just audible above the running water. “The things I can do, they aren’t just for faeries, I can do stuff for you guys too. Make your food taste better, for example, in ways no one else can. And I make great vitamins. My version of vitamin C is awesome.” She shut off the water after rinsing the few dishes. “Or it will be, once I get it right. I just wish Mom could see that I’m no different from how I was before. I didn’t become a faerie, I’ve always been a faerie. I’m still the same person. I mean, you realize that,” she said, turning around. “Is it—” Her mouth fell open.

Her dad was asleep — snoring softly — with his cheek sitting in the last few bites of stir-fry.

“Dad?” Laurel walked over and touched his shoulder. When he didn’t respond she shook him, lightly at first, and then harder. What did I do! She was halfway up the stairs after the small blue bottle of healing tonic when she remembered all the uses of stonewort. She slumped down on the stairs and recalled the passage from her textbook. Should you ever need it, a sprinkle of stonewort will put any animal into a deep sleep. Not instantaneous but perfect for escapes when you have ample time. Until now, Laurel hadn’t applied any of the things she’d learned about plant uses for animals to her parents. But technically, that’s what they were.

Slowly, Laurel stood and returned to the kitchen. Her father was snoring louder now. Grabbing a washcloth, she carefully lifted his head and cleaned the sticky sauce from his cheek. Then she slid Stardust under his hands and laid his head back down onto his arms. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep reading. At the kitchen table was a new one, but she suspected no one would ask questions. He had been working hard lately.

She took the plate to the kitchen and scraped the remaining stir-fry into the trash. She’d have to wash the plate too. Couldn’t have her mom finding out just how badly she’d screwed up while trying to show off. After stowing the plate in the cabinet, Laurel took one more look at her father, snoring away at the table. She hoped he would wake up in the morning. She had no idea what she would do if he didn’t.

“I am the lamest faerie ever.”

ELEVEN

A WEEK INTO SCHOOL, LAUREL WALKED TOWARD Mark’s Bookshelf with David, her hand in his, their arms swinging in the last warm gasps of summer. With a kiss he peeled off to head to his job at the pharmacy and Laurel opened the door to the bookstore, a cheery chime sounding as she did.

Maddie looked up at her with a broad smile. “Laurel,” she said brightly, the way she did every time she saw her. It was a constant in her life that Laurel loved. No matter what was happening with her parents, or trolls, or Avalon, or whatever, Maddie was always behind the counter at the bookstore, ready with a smile and a hug.

Laurel laughed as Maddie squeezed her tightly. “Where’s my dad?” she asked, looking around.

“In the back,” Maddie said. “Inventory.”

“As usual,” Laurel said, heading toward the swinging doors at the back of the store.

“Hey, Dad,” she said with a smile as he looked up at her. Even though she doubted it was necessary, she’d been watching him closely. He hadn’t come out of his stonewort-induced nap until eight o’clock the following morning. Aside from a sore neck, he seemed unaffected. Her mom had chastised him for both working too hard and staying up too late, but luckily she hadn’t seemed suspicious beyond that. Still, Laurel had stayed out of her parents’ food since then. Better safe than sorry.

She slid onto a chair across from the computer and fingered a small stack of bookmarks.

“How was school?” her dad asked.

“Fine,” Laurel said with a grin. “Easy.” After Avalon, everything seemed easy. Seven hours of school a day? No problem. An hour or two of study each night? Piece of cake. Her trip to Avalon had improved Laurel’s entire attitude toward human schooling. If only they had more skylights.

“Do you need any help today?” Laurel asked, looking around at the back room.

“Not really,” her dad said, standing straight and stretching his back. “Actually, I’ve been catching up on my paperwork, it’s been so slow.” He looked out the small window behind his desk. “Gorgeous day. Apparently people would rather be outside enjoying the weather instead of finding something to read at the stuffy old bookstore.”

“Your store’s not stuffy,” Laurel said with a laugh. She paused for a moment. “Do you think maybe Mom needs some help?” she asked without meeting his eyes.

He looked up at her for a second, then asked casually, “Do you need money?”

Laurel shook her head. “No, I thought…I thought maybe…it could help make things better between us, less tense. Maybe we’ve both been waiting for the other to make the first move,” she said, her voice low.

Her dad paused, his fingers poised above the keyboard. Then he took off his glasses, walked around the desk, and hugged her. “Way to be proactive,” he said in her ear. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Laurel shouldered her backpack and turned to wave just before heading toward the front of the