Spells

Laurel’s eyes swung over to the stack of books. “All of those?” she asked.

“No. This is only the first half. I have one more batch when you have finished. Trust me,” the faerie said, “these were as few as I could possibly justify.” He looked down at a piece of paper he had pulled from a shoulder bag. “One of our acolytes”—he looked up at her—“that’s the level you would be at, by the way, under more favorable circumstances — has agreed to be your tutor. She will be available to you during all daylight hours, and explaining such basic concepts to you will hardly be a strain, so feel free to use her. We hope you spend no more than two weeks relearning the things you have forgotten since you left us.”

Wishing she could disappear through the floor, Laurel stood with her fists clenched.

“Her name is Katya,” Yeardley continued, paying no attention to Laurel’s reaction. “I suspect she will come introduce herself soon. Don’t let her social nature distract you from your studies.”

Laurel nodded stiffly, her eyes fixed firmly on the stack of books.

“I will leave you to your reading then,” he said, turning on his bare heel. “When all the books are read, we can begin regular classes.” He paused in the doorway. “Your staff can summon me when you are finished, but don’t bother until you have read each book completely. There simply isn’t any point.” Without a good-bye he strode through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him, a loud click filling the deep silence of Laurel’s room.

Taking a long breath, Laurel walked over to the desk and looked at the spines of some of the ancient-looking books: Fundamental Herbology, Origins of Elixirs, The Complete Encyclopedia of Defensive Herbs, and Troll Anatomy. Laurel grimaced at the last one.

She had always enjoyed reading, but these books weren’t exactly light fiction. She looked from the tall stack of books to the picture window across the room and noted that the sun had already begun its descent into the western sky.

She sighed. This was not what she had expected of today.

THREE

LAUREL SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON HER BED WITH A PAIR of scissors, cutting sheets of paper into makeshift note cards. It had taken her less than an hour of reading to realize that the situation demanded note cards. And highlighters. A year of studying biology with David had apparently turned her into a neurotic method-studier. But the next morning she was dismayed to discover that the “staff,” as everyone called the soft-spoken, plainly dressed servants who scurried about the Academy, had no idea what note cards were. They were, however, familiar with scissors, so Laurel was making her own note cards out of a fine card stock. The highlighters, unfortunately, were a lost cause.

A soft rap sounded at the door. “Come in,” Laurel called, worried that she would scatter bits of paper everywhere if she tried to actually get up and open it.

The door swung open and a small, blond head poked in. “Laurel?”

Having given up trying to recognize people, Laurel simply nodded and waited for the stranger to introduce herself.

The short, pixie-style haircut was followed by a bright smile that Laurel found herself automatically returning. It was a relief to see a smile directed at her. Dinner the evening before had been a complete disaster. Laurel had been summoned around seven to come down for the evening meal. She had hurried downstairs behind a faerie who had showed her the way to the dining hall — Laurel should have gotten a clue when she heard dining hall instead of cafeteria—in her sundress and sandals, her hair still pulled back in a ponytail. The moment she entered the room Laurel realized she’d made a mistake. Everyone was dressed in button-down shirts and silk pants, or floor-length skirts and dresses. It was practically a white-tie formal affair, minus shoes. Worse, she’d been pulled to the front of the room by Aurora to be welcomed back and presented to the Fall faeries. Hundreds of Fall faeries with no one better to look at than her.

Note to self: Dress for dinner.

But that was last night, and now here was a genuine smile, aimed at her.

“Come on in,” Laurel said. She didn’t particularly care who this faerie was or why she was here, just that she looked friendly.

And that she represented a reason for Laurel to take a break.

“I’m Katya,” the faerie said.

“Laurel,” she said automatically.

“Well, of course I know that,” Katya said with a little laugh. “Everyone knows who you are.”

Laurel looked self-consciously down at her lap.

“I hope you’ve found the Academy to your liking,” Katya continued, sounding like the perfect hostess. “I know I am always a bit unsettled when I have to travel. I don’t sleep well,” Katya said, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

Laurel avoided her eyes and made a noise of agreement without actually saying anything, wondering how far Katya could really have traveled within Avalon.

In truth, Laurel hadn’t slept well. She hoped it was the new environment, as Katya had suggested. But she’d been ripped awake several times by nightmares, and not just the usual ones of trolls, guns pointed at Tamani, pointing a gun at Barnes, or icy waves closing in over her head. Last night it wasn’t her running from Barnes, her feet in slow motion; it was her parents, David, Chelsea, Shar, and Tamani.

Laurel had risen from her bed and walked to the window, pressed her forehead against the cool glass, and looked down at the twinkling lights scattered throughout the darkness that spread below her. It seemed so contradictory, coming to Avalon to learn how to protect herself and her loved ones, and in so doing, leaving them vulnerable. Though if the trolls were hunting her, maybe her family was safer when she wasn’t around. The whole situation was out of her control, out of her very knowledge. She hated feeling helpless — useless.

“What are you doing?” Katya asked, pulling Laurel from her dreary thoughts.

“Making note cards.”

“Note cards?”

“Um, studying tools I use back at ho — in the human world,” Laurel said.

Katya picked up one of the homemade cards. “Are they just these small pieces of carding or is there something else I’m not seeing?”

“No. Just that. Pretty simple.”

“Then why are you doing it yourself?”

“Uh?” Laurel shook her head, then shrugged. “I needed note cards?”

Katya’s eyes were wide and innocently questioning. “Aren’t you supposed to study like mad while you’re here? That’s what Yeardley told me.”

“Yes, but note cards will help me study better,” Laurel insisted. “It’s worth the time to make them.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Katya laughed then walked over to the silver bell Aurora had pointed out yesterday and rang it. Its clear peal rolled around the room for a few seconds, leaving the air feeling almost alive.

“Wow,” Laurel said, earning a puzzled look from Katya.

A few seconds later a middle-aged faerie woman appeared in the doorway. Katya snatched the scissors out of Laurel’s hand and gathered up the pile of card stock. “We need these all to be cut into rectangles this size,” she said, handing over one of Laurel’s freshly cut cards. “And this is of utmost importance, so it needs to take priority over whatever else you were doing.”

“Of course,” the woman said with a slight curtsy, as if she were speaking to a queen and not a young faerie half her age — maybe less. “Would you like me to do them here so you can have them as they are completed, or take them elsewhere and return them when the entire task is done?”

Katya looked over at Laurel and shrugged. “It’s all right with me if she stays here; she has a point about getting them to us as soon as they’re cut.”

“That’s fine,” Laurel muttered, uncomfortable asking a grown woman to perform such a menial task.

“You can sit there,” Katya said, pointing to Laurel’s long window seat. “The light is good.”

The woman simply nodded, took the card stock to the window, and immediately set about cutting them into crisp, straight rectangles.