Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  “Elm, I needed that,” Flora said. “Do you mind? I simply couldn’t wait to see you again.”

  When Flora dropped her off a discreet distance from her tree, Rye watched the carpet lights until they disappeared. She sighed. Fey, it had been wonderful to be with Flora for even just half an hour. It was going to be a long time to Fifth Day. If only they could meet more often. Rye needed to do something about transportation. She crossed the street to Cloudnut’s All-Purpose Store for a newspaper.

  Holly was in her room when Rye got home.

  “It’s me, Holls,” Rye called as she went to the kitchen.

  Evening work at new health bar. Must be friendly and well-presented.

  Rye drew a pencil line through that ad.

  Casual labour wanted for after hours cleaning. No experience necessary. Evenings and nights. Flexible hours inc. Fifth Day. Good remuneration. Apply T. Rivers, Asst. Personnel Supervisor.

  Perfect. Rye drew a dark circle around the advertisement. In fact, it sounded too good to be true. What was wrong with it?

  The kettle whistled. Rye rose and went to pour boiling water onto the pan of chestnuts.

  “How was school?” Holly flopped into a chair at the table.

  “Okay.”

  “You always say that.”

  “So do you. How did your day go?”

  Holly wrinkled her nose and tugged the newspaper closer. “What’s that smell?”

  “Probably the bracken,” Rye said. “It’s not as fresh as I thought.”

  “No. It’s not cooking. It’s like perfume. Really nice perfume. That’s so twisted. You haven’t actually started to use personal hygiene products?”

  Rye glanced down at the front of her shirt. Crap. Holly must be smelling Flora’s perfume. What could she possibly say? “Um. The only stink in this house is that grunge you keep in the bathroom.”

  “No, it’s not like anything of mine. Why are you looking at Help Wanted ads? You didn’t finally tell Pansy where to shove her fried sandwiches?”

  “I need another job.”

  “Another job? What were you thinking of doing, letting people do medical experiments on you while you sleep?”

  “I can’t afford to save for a new broom on what I earn now.” Rye stirred the bracken. It really was past its best. She’d not buy from that imp again. “I should be able to find something to do on those Fourth Nights when I don’t have classes. Or Fifth Day afternoons.”

  Chair legs screeched on the floor. Holly stomped out and slammed her bedroom door. Rye frowned. What was that about?

  After dishing up dinner, Rye knocked on Holly’s door.

  “Holls? Dinner’s ready.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Have you been eating junk at your friend’s house again?”

  Music blared from behind the door. Rye returned to the kitchen and ate her dinner in unsmiling solitude. She washed up but left Holly’s plate on the table. She wished she had a beer, but she had not bought any for this week.

  Rye carried a cup of tea and the newspaper into the tiny lounge, made her bed up on the couch, and lay down to look through the job ads. She stared at the one she had circled earlier.

  “Shit.”

  Rye scored a line through the ad. Assistant personnel supervisor. She’d be expected to fill out all the official paperwork, including the citizen identification number which she did not have.

  After Rye finished reading through the chapter set in class, she snapped off the light. Holly still hadn’t emerged from her room. Rye’s thoughts drifted in a much more pleasant direction. Flora.

  When Rye arrived home the next night, Holly was not in. Rye couldn’t even find a scrawled note.

  Rye unhappily set about making soup. After she finished adding the last lumps of fennel root, Rye wiped her hands on her tea towel apron and sat to open her mail. One bore the fancy crest of Holly’s school. Rye chewed her lip as she tore the envelope. If the kid was in some kind of trouble – “Crap.”

  Holly wasn’t in trouble, Rye was. School fees were going up an extra three hundred next semester. How was she supposed to find that? Her work at Pansy’s only just covered the current fee.

  The door opened.

  “You’re late,” Rye said. “Where have you been?”

  Holly slammed her bedroom door shut and turned her music on loud. Rye silently counted to ten before returning to her mail.

  When Holly emerged to eat, she still wore her school clothes.

  “If you spill food,” Rye said, “you’ll have to wear the stains to school.”

  “If I didn’t go to that stupid school, you wouldn’t have to work all those jobs to pay for it.”

  “You are not leaving school. When you’re my age, you’ll be grateful for a decent education. You might even thank me for sending you to that school.”

  “Easy for you to say. You never went.”

  Rye winced. That drew blood. “You’d probably enjoy it more if you got better grades.”

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Well, I hate school. I’m not good at it.”

  “You used to be. If you tried –”

  “I do! I’m stupid. Is that what you want me to say? I’m not smart like you. It doesn’t matter how much you force me, you’ll never get my brains bulging out of my head. And forcing me to stay at school forever isn’t going to make me like it any more. It’s a stupid waste of time.”

  Rye’s fists clenched. “You would’ve liked your life even less if we’d still been in Fairyland.”

  “I doubt that.” Holly shoved her half-empty bowl away and stood. “At least I’d not be a freak who has to lie all the time.”

  Holly stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Rye dropped her spoon on the table. “Give me the power to endure.”

  In the haven of Flora’s apartment on Fifth Day morning, Rye should have been able, for a few precious hours out of a week, to devote herself wholly to her own pleasure with Flora.

  “By the Elm, you’re tense, considering what we’ve just done.” Flora knelt behind Rye and kneaded her naked shoulders.

  Rye grunted and grimaced at the flickering fire.

  “Work?” Flora asked.

  “Very hard work. It’s Holly. She’s being an impossible pain. She only speaks to tell me how much she hates her life and hates me.”

  “What’s her problem?”

  “I wish I knew.” Rye reached for the mug of beer that she had only taken two sips of before they had flung themselves together on the hearth rug.

  “School? Boys?”

  “I phoned the school. Her counsellor says that she isn’t having any problems. Looks like it’s just me. And she’s not talking. She slams doors. Just when I thought her adolescence couldn’t possibly get any worse, it does.”

  Flora kissed the back of Rye’s neck and slipped around to sit in front of her. She sipped wine.

  Rye stroked one of Flora’s legs. “I wish fairies were one of those species that shove the young out of the family nest at an early age.”

  Flora laughed and put her other leg within Rye’s reach.

  “What worries me,” Rye said, “is how angry she gets me. I’d never forgive myself if I laid a hand on her, but it seems like she’s goading me to see how far she can push. And sometimes it’s a close thing.”

  Flora looked thoughtful as she stroked the edge of Rye’s wing membrane. Rye watched the firelight playing across Flora’s body. No sculptor who chiselled and sanded the palest, finest-grained wood could dream of creating anything close to Flora’s smooth, curved perfection. For a breathless moment, Rye felt overwhelmed by awe. That she, Rye Woods, should be here with Flora, and be allowed to touch Flora, didn’t seem real. Rye forgot Holly and all her other problems as the Almighty King and Queen of the Fey twitched aside the dirty curtains that normally shrouded life and allowed Rye a peek of transcendent joy.

  Flora’s fingers stilled and she looked up. “I have an idea. You can
reject it and you won’t ripple my pond. How about I try to talk to Holly?”

  “You?”

  “I know my credentials from dealing with teenagers aren’t extensive, but I do have the advantage of never having to tell her to tidy her room or do her homework. And I have a carpet that is astronomically stylish. Plus the undeniable assets of my personal flair and irresistible charisma.”

  Rye smiled. “You forgot modesty. I wonder if it would work?”

  “How about I invite you two to dinner over here?”

  “You can’t cook.”

  “I can take us out to a restaurant for the eating bit.”

  “No!”

  Flora looked taken aback. “What did I say wrong?”

  “I’m not letting you put yourself out of pocket because of my problems.”

  “Out of pocket? I was only planning to buy the three of us dinner, not part ownership in the place.”

  Rye frowned down into her dark beer. She was sure she could not afford to pay for her and Holly at any restaurant Flora patronised, nor did she own anything of equal value she might give in return. Much as she would like help with Holly, there had to be something else they could do that would not entail her becoming obliged to Flora.

  “Why don’t you invite me to dinner at your place?” Flora said. “We could – No, wait, I have a brain wave. To get Holly on her own, why don’t I take her shopping for the ingredients? Then you can cook the stuff when we get back?”

  “That might work.” Rye nodded. No fairy could argue the fairness of one providing food and the other the labour to prepare it. They could sit down to share the meal on equal terms. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  Flora sat up to loop her arms around Rye’s neck. “I’d be spending time with you. I’d like to get to know your little sister.”

  “Not this version of the Holly Hormonal Monster, you won’t. But I’d be grateful if you’d try. I’m down to the last pea in my pod with her.”

  “You could always thank me in advance.”

  Rye smiled and let Flora take the beer from her hands.

  “We really need someone who can work four nights a week,” the woman said.

  “Oh. Right,” Rye said. “Um. Thanks.”

  Rye hung up and crossed out another ad.

  “Fey. You wouldn’t think it’d be this hard to find something. Just a few hours a week.”

  Rye tossed the newspaper in the bin and trudged into the bathroom. She leaned against the shower wall and let warm water stream over her wings and body. She felt so damned tired that she could fall asleep here.

  Yet, she had another three-hour shift making fried sandwiches ahead of her tonight. The thought of another job held very little appeal. But then, it wouldn’t be forever. She just needed enough for a new broom. Her life would get much easier when she could cut down her travel time.

  Rye strolled out of the building site gates. She spied Flora’s carpet parked down the street. Rye waved a hasty parting to Knot and the boys before jogging away.

  Rye dropped her workbag on the back seat and turned to Flora. “Wow. You look great.”

  “Why thank you. You’re making my hormones tingle, too, lover.”

  “You didn’t dress up like that just to meet me?”

  “Why not?” Flora steered the carpet up into the highest lane. “But on this occasion, I’m on my way back from a busy afternoon. I had lunch with my father. Then a meeting with my agent. And finally, I’ve just come from talking with a gallery owner.”

  “Don’t they expect you arty farty types to dress worse than me?”

  Flora flashed Rye a mock threatening smile. “It’s a good job I have my hands full. The next time you say arty farty, Rye Woods, I’m liable to throw something at you. And for your information, I’ve never found that displaying my assets to best advantage hurt my chances of dealing with anyone.”

  “Works with me. I’m very much taken with your assets.”

  Flora patted Rye’s thigh. “How is Holly?”

  Rye grimaced and grunted. “The aggravation monster continues to stomp through my life. You know what I need right now?”

  “Sex.”

  “I was thinking of a large shot of raw bark spirits. Your idea is better.”

  Flora smiled.

  When Flora parked on the pad outside the apartment, Rye took a deep breath before getting out. Would Holly think it strange that Flora had given her a ride?

  “Holls,” Rye called. “I’m home.”

  Rye ushered Flora down the few paces to the kitchen. Holly’s door was shut and imperfectly muffling the jarring sounds of the latest crash music.

  Rye put water on to boil. “I’ll fetch her once I’ve made tea.”

  Holly emerged on a blast of noise as Rye poured. She shot Rye a petulant look before slouching off toward the bathroom.

  “Can you turn that down?” Rye said. “Ms. Withe and I can hardly hear each other.”

  Holly spun around.

  “Hello, Holly,” Flora said.

  Surprise shattered Holly’s sulk. “Ms. Withe? Wow. Is there any tea for me?”

  Rye and Flora shared a look as Holly bolted to turn her music off.

  “I was on my way from the Lightning Tree gallery,” Flora said, “when I spotted Rye walking along. She’s very kindly invited me to dinner on Fifth Day.”

  Holly’s eyes widened improbably. “Astronomical. The Lightning Tree gallery is one of the most famous in Noonpine, isn’t it?”

  “It has something of a high profile,” Flora said. “I know the owner. Letty Elmwood. She’s showing one or two of my pieces there.”

  “Astronomical,” Holly said. “Rye is an utterly stinging cook. Her maple malt sauce will slay you. You have to come to dinner, Ms. Withe. You’d really like it.”

  Flora smiled. “Well, perhaps I might then. But only if I’m allowed to make a contribution. How about I bring some food? Although, I must admit that my culinary knowledge and skill stop somewhere around boiling water.”

  Rye hid her smile behind her mug of tea.

  “Maybe you could draw me up a list of ingredients?” Flora said. “Or perhaps you could come with me, Holly? And help me buy what Rye needs.”

  “Me?” Holly said. “Oh, yes, please! That would be scathing.”

  Holly accompanied Rye when she escorted Flora out to her carpet. Rye could only exchange looks of amusement and gratitude with Flora. The carpet zoomed away far too fast. Small wonder Flora collected traffic tickets like other people did beer mats.

  “Shit,” Holly said.

  “Language,” Rye said.

  “I left my body when I saw Ms. Withe sitting in our crappy kitchen. Ms. Flora Withe! And I’m going shopping with her! Me, Holly Woods. I simply have to tell Daisy!”

  Holly dashed for her bedroom. Rye shut the door and grinned. Flora’s plan was already working.

  On Fifth Day, Holly spent all morning repeatedly changing her clothes. Rye did her homework assignment, cleaned the toilet, and sorted the laundry. When Flora picked up Holly, Rye would take the clothes down to the machine. She would make a lightning shopping trip to the hypermart for her weekly groceries before Flora and Holly returned, since there probably wouldn’t be time to get to the market and back.

  Holly burst in with a magazine.

  “I meant to show you this,” Holly said. “Daisy gave me it.”

  Rye took the magazine. It was one of those expensive glossy women’s ones.

  “It’s a couple of months old,” Holly said. “But it shows that Ms. Withe is – Oh! That must be her at the door. Page thirty-one.”

  By the time Rye stepped into the hall, Holly had let Flora into the apartment. Under a tailored casual jacket, Flora wore a lacy top that looked more like underwear to Rye. Rye also had trouble keeping her eyes off Flora’s tight pants.

  Holly bubbled with enthusiasm as she climbed in the carpet. Flora winked at Rye before flying off. Rye grinned and went back to her piles of dirty clothes. She scooped up the ma
gazine to read while she was down waiting for a machine in the laundry root.

  Half the machines were out of order, so Rye had to join a queue. She pulled out the magazine. Cosmetic, diet, perfume, and clothes ads were occasionally interrupted by bursts of text. Page thirty was the start of a section called Needle’s Eye. It was a gossip column. Rye didn’t recognise any of the names of who was with or without whom. She turned the page. At the bottom of page thirty-one she saw a photograph of Flora in a long evening gown. Flora looked stunning. She looked like she was at a glittery party.

  ShadeForest City’s rising weaving sensation, Flora Withe, attends Gale Purslain’s birthday ball at Aspen Falls in the company of Frond Lovage, fresh from the triumph of her latest play. Are they an item again? We’ll keep our Eye on this couple.

  Rye scowled at the woman in the photo beside Flora. Rye hadn’t noticed her before. Frond Lovage was a skinny dryad taller than Flora and with a thinner face, reddish-brown skin, and a twiggy look. Her gown was more showy and less attractive than Flora’s. An item again?

  “Hey, wake up.” The squat pixie woman behind Rye prodded her in the arm. “If’n you don’t want that machine, I do.”

  Rye stuffed dirty underwear, smelly shirts, and stained pants into the washing machine as she thought about Flora and her sleek dryad companion at a rich party. An item again?

  Rye frowned all the way around the aisles at the hypermart.

  She propped the magazine open on the table where she could see Flora’s photograph as she put her groceries away. It made sense that two dryads get together. Frond Lovage looked rich and successful. Triumph of her latest play. The skinny stick probably flew an expensive, sporty carpet like Flora’s. She wouldn’t work two jobs and live in fear of being deported. Rye slammed the pot of honey on the shelf so hard that the wood creaked.

  An item again? Flora and that Frond creature had been an item before. Dating. Dancing. Frond Lovage would be able to buy Flora more than one drink in an evening. And wouldn’t have holes in her socks when she took her shoes off to have sex with Flora.

  Rye stomped back up the stairs with her bag of clean laundry and dumped it on the couch. She would bet every piece she was ever likely to earn that the triumphant Frond Lovage never did her own laundry. An item again.