David rolled his eyes. “Funny. No, actually, it’s something you are.”
“Oh, annoyed. Tired. Burned out. Am I getting warm?”
“Okay,” David said, closing his book. “I’ll take the hint before you beat me to death with it. We can be done.” He paused. “I just want you to do well.”
“I really don’t think a ton of cramming the day before I take the test is going to help much. No, really,” Laurel insisted.
David shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”
“Easy for you to say,” Laurel said, rubbing her eyes. She walked over to the bed, trailing her fingers across David’s shoulders, then flopped down next to her own SAT prep workbook.
“You want me to quiz you on anything else? Maybe the math?”
Laurel grimaced. “I hate the math part.”
“Which is why you should work on it. Plus,” he added, “it was your best score last time even with no prep. I think you have a great chance of improving it. I mean, it didn’t help that you weren’t even in a math class last semester. Being in Trig should help a lot this time.”
Laurel sighed and turned her blossom to the sunny window. “Sometimes I don’t even see the point,” she said morosely. “It doesn’t matter how I do on the SATs. Why am I retaking them?”
It had made sense to take them initially. At David’s prompting she’d looked into the nursing program at Berkley, figured out what she needed to score. Even studied, a little. Sort of. But the test hadn’t been what she expected; if nothing else, it was more than four hours in a windowless room. She’d done abysmally on the essay and failed to even finish one of the verbal sections. And she’d just guessed on about a third of the math questions. Even before her below-average scores came back she knew she hadn’t done well. In some ways, that made her decision easy—especially since she’d mastered a new potion the same day she got her scores. It was practically a sign. She wasn’t going to college; she was going to study at the Academy of Avalon. It was clearly meant to be.
But she knew she could do better.
“Laurel,” David said, frustration coloring his tone, “you keep saying that and I still don’t understand why. Why can’t you go to college?”
“It’s not that I can’t,” Laurel said. “I’m just . . . not sure I even want to.”
David looked concerned, but he hid it quickly, before Laurel’s conscience could prick her too much. “Why not?” he asked.
“I’m getting really good at Mixing,” Laurel said. “Seriously. Tama—everyone’s impressed with my progress. My practice is really starting to pay off and I’m totally getting this intuition thing. It works. I make it work. It’s exciting, David!”
“But, are you sure? I mean, it’s not like you have to be in Avalon full-time to get better. You can practice here. Look at your room—you’ve totally out-geeked me,” David said with a laugh. “You can keep doing that and still go to college too.” He hesitated. “You could do your faerie studies instead of a job, since tuition won’t be a problem for you.”
“It won’t be for you either, Mr. Straight A’s.”
“Well, that’s why my mom finally let me quit my job.” He grinned. “Financially investing in my future in a whole different way now.”
“And the added advantage of getting to spend more time with your girlfriend is a bit of a plus,” Laurel replied, pulling his head down close and kissing him as much to change the subject as because she wanted to. His arms went to her waist, brushing her petals, but not lingering.
They lay on his bed with Laurel’s knee resting on David’s hip. Just lying together seemed to soften the frustrations of the past few weeks. She snuggled her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, remembering why she enjoyed being with David so much. He was hers—always had been, if she was honest with herself—right from that first day. And he was always so calm, even in the face of outrageous things like flowers growing out of her back, trolls throwing them in rivers, faerie spies. Things that would surely have sent anyone else running for the hills. And probably to the news stations too. That alone made David one of the most loyal people she’d even known.
She ran her fingers absently over David’s ribs and lifted her face so her forehead rested against his cheek.
“Laurel?”
“Hmmm?” Laurel asked, not opening her eyes.
“Can I just say—and let me finish before you say anything—I think you should try really hard on your SATs this time and apply to a few colleges. You’ve studied a ton the last couple of months anyway. Why throw that away?”
He paused, but Laurel was silent.
“Thing is,” he continued, “applying, getting accepted even, doesn’t mean you have to go. But when you graduate and—” He hesitated and Laurel bit her lip, knowing this was hard for him to even say. “And you have to start making decisions, I don’t . . . want you to ever feel trapped. Options are good.”
The minutes slid quietly by as Laurel thought about that. David was right—she didn’t have to go just because she got accepted. And she knew all too well that feeling one way now didn’t mean she’d feel the same way later. Lots of things had changed in her life, as well as in her head, over the past several years. Often for the better. “Okay,” she said softly. She knew that when David said, “Options are good,” he was really saying, “Don’t make a choice that will separate us for sure.” It was his way of holding on for as long as he could—keeping open the possibility of forever.
But that didn’t make him wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
“SHE’S IN THERE ALL THE TIME,” TAMANI SAID TO Aaron halfway between Laurel’s and Yuki’s houses. “She does homework, reads, watches television. I don’t see any evidence of plotting at all.” It had been more than a fortnight since they’d discovered Yuki was a faerie, and there was still nothing to indicate that she even comprehended what she was, much less had a master plan that involved Laurel’s demise.
“All the guards say their most boring shifts are watching her,” Aaron replied. “And I don’t mean that humorously. Nothing happens. Suspicious or otherwise.”
“We can’t pull them away,” Tamani said, “but it does feel like an inefficient use of resources, doesn’t it?”
Aaron raised an eyebrow. “That’s how I’ve felt most of the past year,” he said wryly.
Tamani swallowed the retort that sprang to his lips. He would have thought the same if he were an unaffected observer. But any effort was worth it when you were guarding someone you loved.
“I wonder—” He cut off sharply. Someone was crashing noisily through the forest, headed in their direction. Aaron and Tamani both darted behind trees, hands poised over their weapons, when two misshapen figures came lumbering through the darkness. What was this? For months they’d been combing the forest for trolls, only to have two stumble into them? With his free hand, he signaled Aaron.
Mine dies. Yours talks.
Aaron responded with a single nod.
As the first troll passed within arm’s length, Tamani stepped out from behind the tree, unsheathing his knife in a sweeping arc that scored a long, shallow gash across the troll’s back. The troll spun to face him, lashing out with one clawed, gnarled hand—a blind, reflexive counter-attack. Tamani sidestepped the blow easily, then, with a savage thrust, buried his knife to the hilt in the troll’s eye socket. He gave the blade a sharp twist and the creature crumpled to the ground.
A short distance away, Aaron had scored several cuts on the other troll’s arms and legs, slowing its movements. Crippling a troll wasn’t easy—better to just kill them quickly—but Tamani needed information. Fortunately, two weapons could cripple a troll faster than one. Bracing one foot against the fallen troll’s neck, Tamani wrenched his knife from its skull. Rivulets of blood, black in the starlight, pulsed from the wound. He looked up just in time to watch Aaron’s back vanish into the darkness; apparently, the other troll had decided it was time to run. Tamani considered going after them, then decided again
st it. Aaron was more than capable.
Instead, he took the fallen troll under its arms and dragged it away from the path, in case any more came this way. Once he was far enough, he searched the body for any evidence of what it might be doing here. It was unarmed—not that trolls had any real need for weapons—and dressed in a muddy burlap poncho and black coveralls. No clues there, except perhaps that Barnes’s trolls had often dressed similarly. The creature’s pockets were empty, no hint of where he came from or who he was after.
Kicking at the corpse with his foot, Tamani crept back to the path, then followed the trail Aaron had left, finding him less than a minute later. His knife was sheathed and he looked unharmed, but there were no trolls to be seen, crippled or otherwise.
“I lost him,” Aaron said, shaking his head.
“You lost him?” Tamani asked incredulously. “He was two feet in front of you!”
“Thanks for that, Tam. Because I wasn’t feeling like enough of a failure,” Aaron said caustically.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He just . . . vanished.” He kicked at a tuft of earth. “I’ve tracked down scores of trolls in my time, and nothing like this ever happened until I came here.”
“Did he go to ground?” Tamani asked, scanning the undergrowth for signs of burrowing.
Aaron shook his head. “I was watching for that. I was chasing him and he was in my sight. I went for a throwing knife—I was going to hamstring him—and I looked down for a second. Half a second, even. And he was gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone! Gone like summer. Gone like mist. I’m telling you, Tamani, that troll disappeared. There wasn’t even a trail!”
Tamani folded his arms over his chest, trying to comprehend this. Aaron was one of the best trackers he’d ever met. If he said there wasn’t a trail, there wasn’t a trail. But that didn’t mean it made any sense.
“I thought I heard footsteps,” Aaron continued. “But even those disappeared soon enough.”
Tamani swallowed hard, trying to suppress the niggling fear in his stomach.
“Send out scouts,” Tamani said quietly. “Try to pick up the trail.”
“There is no trail to pick up,” Aaron insisted. Then he pulled back and stood a little straighter. “I will follow any order you give me, Tamani. And if you want a dozen scouts crawling over this forest, you shall have them. But they won’t find anything new.”
“What else can we do?” Tamani asked, failing to keep the desperation from his voice. “I have to keep her safe, Aaron.”
Aaron hesitated. “Which one?”
Tamani paused; were they watching Yuki or protecting her? “Both,” he said at last. “These trolls could have been headed for either house. Have we seen anything else?”
“Stripped cow carcasses, paths broken through the trees. The same thing we’ve been seeing for months,” he said, staring toward the horizon. “They’re out there, even if we can’t see them.”
“Any chance it’s been just these two?” Tamani asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Not unless they’re eating for twelve. Or twenty. I think these ones just got sloppy.”
“It’s more than that,” Tamani said, shaking his head. “They seemed almost . . . confused. I’m sure they were surprised to see us, but they weren’t even armed. Mine barely put up a fight.”
“Mine didn’t put up much of a fight either,” Aaron agreed.
“I have to go soon,” Tamani said quietly after a moment. “Laurel is going to Eureka for some kind of test. I’ll be trailing her. You’re in charge of the Wildflower. We haven’t seen Klea in weeks—she should be coming round any day now. If she does, I need you to listen to everything they say and let me know. Even if it’s something you don’t think is relevant. I want to know every word they say.”
Aaron nodded stoically and Tamani turned, sprinting through the forest toward Laurel’s. He slowed to a walk as he approached the tree line behind her house and saw the glow of lights in the kitchen. A wave of warmth washed over him as her face appeared in the window, looking out at the trees. Looking for him.
She didn’t know he was there, but it was easy to pretend otherwise as he watched her. Her eyes were still a little sleepy and she was popping berries into her mouth, one at a time, chewing thoughtfully. He could almost imagine they were having a conversation. Something trivial and meaningless, instead of the weighty discussions they were forced to have these days. Something other than trolls and potions and lies.
When he had accepted—practically begged for—this new mission, he’d assumed he would be able to spend more time with Laurel, recapture the friendship and intimacy they’d known in their youth—something he had felt a little last year when he brought her to Avalon. But that all seemed like a joke now. His duties required him to watch her with David every day, and to spend his time trying to charm someone else. Yuki was nice enough, but she wasn’t Laurel. Nobody was Laurel.
Tamani smiled as Laurel continued to stare out the window. He wanted to step out from behind his tree, just to see what she would do.
There might be time. One conversation over breakfast, about nothing more complicated than the beauty of the sunrise. He had almost worked up the courage to do it when he heard that familiar engine tick. He cursed under his breath as David’s Civic rolled up the driveway. Then he was sprinting again, to the hedge down the street where his own car was parked. He didn’t want to see their greeting, the kisses and embraces that David so casually received.
Someday, Tamani told himself. Someday it’ll be me.
“So?” David asked as they exited the classroom, four hours of testing behind them.
“Don’t ask me yet,” Laurel said, panic creeping into her voice as she shouldered her backpack and walked down the long hall toward the exit and some much-needed sunshine. They’d driven to a high school in Eureka to take the test—the same classroom with no windows. Laurel had felt every minute of her confinement and intended to make up for them as quickly as possible. As she crossed over the shadow of the threshold, a gentle autumn breeze caressed her face. She breathed deeply and stopped walking, spreading her arms to embrace the sunlight. Then she sank down onto the unfamiliar front steps and just savored being done.
After a minute or so, David sat down beside her. “I brought you something.”
He handed her a cold bottle of Sprite he must have just gotten from a vending machine. Even the condensation against her fingertips was revitalizing. “Thanks.”
He waited as she opened the bottle and took a long swallow. “You okay?” he finally asked.
“Better now,” she said with a smile. “I just had to get out of that room.”
“So . . . ,” he said, broaching the subject carefully. “How did it go?”
She smiled. “I think I did okay. Better.”
“Yeah?”
“How ’bout you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Hard to say.” He paused. “Boy, I’d like to beat Chelsea though.”
“You’re so bad. Your GPA is, like, point-oh-two better than hers. Can’t you let her win this one?”
David grinned. “We’ve been competing since junior high. It’s all in good fun—I promise.”
“Good,” Laurel said, leaning in for a kiss, then letting her head rest against his shoulder.
“So,” David said, a little hesitantly, “how about this Sadie Hawkins dance?”
Laurel laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, couldn’t they have waited one more week and held it in November? You know, around Sadie Hawkins Day?” She snorted. “They just don’t want the anti-Pagan-zealot parents up in arms again, like last year. It’s just a Halloween dance without costumes.”
“Still,” David said, “it could be fun. Not that I’m asking you,” he said, touching her nose, “because it’s ladies’ choice, but if you were to ask me, and if Chelsea were to ask Ryan, and if the two of you decided to go together, maybe we could all go toge
ther. That’s all I’m saying,” he said with a grin and a shrug.
“That’s an awful lot of ‘ifs’ there, buddy,” Laurel drawled. “I certainly hope you undertake your venture under propitious circumstances.”
“You’re awful,” David said, leaning forward to kiss her again.
“Yeah,” Laurel agreed, “but you love me.”
“Yes, I do,” David said, his voice low and throaty. “I love you with great profundity.”
“You’re doin’ it wrong,” Laurel said, giggling as David’s lips tickled her neck.
“It’s all I could come up with on the fly,” David said, laughing. “I admit to being bested by you.” He pulled back, so he could look her in the face. “Again.”
Laurel just grinned.
“Laurel, really,” David said, then paused. “I’m way proud of you.”
“David—”
“Please let me say it,” David interrupted. “It’s got to be hard to get disappointing scores and then buckle down and study for a test you already took, especially when it might not matter what you get. I think that’s really admirable.”
“Thank you,” Laurel said seriously. Then she grinned. “And you did use that word correctly.”
“Come here, you!” David said, grabbing her arm and pulling her across his lap, squeezing her as she squealed and laughed.
David dropped Laurel off at her house just as the sun was disappearing over the horizon, setting the sky afire. As she watched him drive away, she wondered what she would do if her scores really did improve.
“Laurel!”
Laurel jumped when the loud whisper sounded from around the side of her house. She looked over and saw Tamani poking his head out from behind the wall.
“Do you have a second?” he said, inclining his head.
After a moment of hesitation she laid her backpack down on the porch and followed him. “What do you need?” she asked, her voice low. “Is there trouble?”
“No, no, not really,” Tamani said. “Well, kind of. We . . . we found some trolls this morning.”
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