Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  “Crap.”

  Rye banged the kettle too hard on the stove when she set it to boil. She flung the offending magazine into a cupboard and stomped back to sort her laundry.

  The front door opened.

  “Rye?” Holly called. “We’re back.”

  Rye glimpsed Flora as she walked past the doorway to the hall on her way to the kitchen. Frond Lovage would not make Flora come to a dismal little one-bedroom apartment in the Lower Eastside.

  “Rye?” Flora appeared in the doorway joining the lounge and kitchen.

  Rye found herself smiling. Her seething inadequacies and speculations miraculously evaporated to insignificance as she looked at Flora. Flora winked.

  “You’ll never believe what we got.” Holly stood behind Flora. “Come and see. We went to the most astronomical shops.”

  Rye jolted. She stood in her run-down apartment with her little sister watching her. She ran a hand through her hair.

  “Come on.” Holly beckoned impatiently.

  “Um. Okay.” Rye stepped over her laundry bag and almost, but not quite, brushed against Flora in the doorway.

  Paper bags crowded the table. Most bore names which included the words emporium or gourmet. A ripple of deepest unease made Rye’s wings clench. She should have known that Flora wouldn’t shop at the open-air market.

  “Look at this one first.” Holly thrust a bag at Rye.

  Rye unwrapped generous wedges of three different kinds of cheese and released mouth-wateringly sharp scents. Two were splendid for cooking with. The third would make a killer accompaniment to the right dessert. Rye had only ever handled them briefly during her stint working in a restaurant and in her imagination when she prepared dream meals.

  “The woman at the shop said that these were fairly versatile,” Flora said. “I confessed that I was hopeless and had no idea what you might want to cook. Well? Did we do okay?”

  “Wow,” Rye said. She couldn’t help mentally pricing the three and coming up with an uncomfortably large number.

  Bag after bag disgorged expensive, fragrant, and exotic fruit, vegetables, spices, and sauces. Rye’s anxiety soared apace with the estimated price. The last bag was from a butcher. She peeled back paper wrapping to reveal three large fillets. They looked fresh, succulent, and with just the right traces of fat through them. It looked suspiciously like ferret meat.

  “Holly and I weren’t sure what to get,” Flora said. “So we picked what looked nicest. It’s ferret. According to the butcher, it won’t need hours of preparation or marinating.”

  Rye shook her head and reverently set the package on the table. Her gaze darted across the other raw materials of the dinner. Possum milk cheese. Yellow moss. Lavender honey. Silver fern fronds. Roasted raspberry seeds. Dried white Cabbage Tree berries. Almighty King and Queen of the Fey, she had never had ingredients like this before. This was going to be the best meal she’d ever prepared.

  “If there’s anything else you need,” Flora said, “I can fetch it. It’s no trouble.”

  “Um. Thanks.” Rye squeezed around the table and knelt to rummage in her tiny cooler. “Holly, did you eat the last of the kahikatea seed paste?”

  “No,” Holly said. “You won’t get a sensible answer out of her now, Flora, until we sit down to eat. She goes into this trance-like state where her eyes go blank and you expect her to start dribbling at any second. Sometimes it can be hard to spot from normal Rye, but trust me, I’m an expert. She’s in cooking frenzy. If we’re really out of luck, she’ll start singing.”

  Rye did sing, and hum.

  At one point, Rye turned around and saw Flora leaning in the doorway. Flora smiled.

  “You really enjoy doing that, don’t you?” Flora said.

  “Um. Yeah.”

  Flora sidled around the table and slid a hand into one of Rye’s back pockets. “You look very sexy wearing that tea towel tucked into the front of your pants.”

  Rye’s gaze snapped between both doorways as she eased away from Flora. “Not here.”

  “What’s wrong? Oh. Holly’s in the bathroom.”

  Rye peered down the hall. “She’ll be out soon, then.”

  “Rye, I’m missing out on my Fifth Day fuck because of Mission Holly,” Flora whispered. “You aren’t seriously intending to deprive me of a quick smooch and grope?”

  Rye’s wing buds tightened. She glanced between Flora and the bathroom door. “It’s not that I don’t want – Fey. Here she is.”

  Rye stepped away to pretend to look for something amongst her modest collection of second-hand recipe books on the cooler. She heard Flora sigh. Later, while Flora and Holly talked in the lounge, Rye opened the plate cupboard and rediscovered the glossy magazine. Frond Lovage was out and loud for all to see. She didn’t have to worry about what would happen to a gay woman who got deported back to Fairyland. Or the equally nightmarish possibility that she had put her little sister into the position of being the one to provide the testimony that would condemn her to the fairy priestesses as a lesbian. Frond Lovage would not have denied Flora kisses.

  An item again? Flora might still be kissing Frond. On those days when Rye worked evenings, attended night classes, or stayed home with her little sister. Rye jammed the magazine at the back of the vegetable bin before she began heating the pan for grilling the ferret fillets.

  The greatest shame about dinner was that Rye had to serve it on chipped, cheap, mismatched crockery on a table in the cramped, dingy kitchen. Flora very politely pretended not to notice. Holly was amazingly unlike her recent self, even before Rye allowed her a glass of wine.

  “Oh, Holy Elm,” Flora said. “This is fantastic. Rye, these acorns are making my tongue want to expire out of pure pleasure.”

  “I told you,” Holly said.

  Rye grinned self-consciously.

  “To the chef.” Flora held up her glass. “My deepest compliments.”

  Rye blushed. “I think I overcooked the crumbed cheese. And used a pinch too much manuka bark in the sauce. And the texture of the moss didn’t quite come out as I expected. A little too gooey.”

  “Mine’s perfect,” Flora said.

  “She’s always like this,” Holly said. “Same with her school work. She gets so many A’s that they must be running out of them, but Rye just shrugs and says she could have done better.”

  Flora gave Rye a look which made Rye reach for her wine.

  After dessert, Holly voluntarily helped Rye wash the dishes. To Rye’s astonishment, Holly then announced that she was going out. Rye would have bet good money that Holly would have wanted to spend every moment she could in Flora’s company.

  “I told you,” Holly said. “I have to speak with Daisy.”

  “Don’t be long,” Rye said. “School tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be back by nine,” Holly said. “Exactly nine. Not a minute later or a minute sooner. Promise. See you later, Flora. Thanks for taking me with you. I had a crackling time.”

  “You’re welcome, Holly,” Flora said. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

  The door thunked shut behind Holly.

  Rye looked at Flora. Flora looked back. Rye’s wing buds twitched as if they wanted to attract Flora’s attention. Flora smiled and advanced on Rye. Rye hesitated for another look toward the door before succumbing to Flora’s nearness. Rye’s aching fingers finally got to slide over Flora’s tightly encased bottom. Flora’s clever fingers deftly deprived Rye of her shirt and undid her pants while they kissed. The couch groaned alarmingly as they dropped together onto it. Rye’s last coherent thought before she came was the realisation that this was the first time she had made love with anyone else in her own bed.

  “Oh, Elm, I needed that.” Flora eased her arm out from beneath Rye.

  Rye kissed Flora’s shoulder and sat up. She pulled her clothes back on and fetched their glasses of wine. She was relieved to see that Flora took her cue and wriggled back into her pants.

  “You don’t wear those often, do
you?” Rye said.

  “Do they make my bum look fat?”

  “Your bum is perfect. It’s my eyes I’m worried about. They nearly fell out staring at you.”

  Flora smiled and lightly kissed Rye. “You say the sweetest things. Almost as sweet as that maple dessert.”

  “It was too sweet?”

  “Not a speck. Oh, yum. It’s a good job I don’t have a supply in the cooler at home or I’d end up as large as a stump.” Flora slid a hand up and down Rye’s thigh. “That was the nicest meal I’ve eaten in an oak’s age.”

  “Only because you live on takeaways and boil-and-eat packet meals.”

  “No. I mean it. Laurel and I tried this new restaurant for lunch the other day. The Red Vole. Dinner tonight was miles better than what I ate there. I’m not saying that only because I want to screw the chef again.”

  Rye kissed Flora’s hand and changed the subject. “Where did you manage to find a place to trade in the Horrible Holly for a nice model?”

  Flora laughed. “She’s a good kid. She wasn’t in the least horrible. I wish I’d had a little sister like her. Although, I do realise that it might be different if I lived with her.”

  Rye smiled. “So? Did you learn why I’m the evil bog monster?”

  “You really need to talk with her.”

  “I tried. It’s hard to do when she keeps slamming doors in my face.” Rye sighed and shook her head at the memories. “But if I ever get the opportunity, what should I be talking about?”

  Flora sipped her wine as if considering her words before answering. “I know you have definite ideas about what you want Holly to do with the next few years of her life. Do you know what Holly wants?”

  “I haven’t a clue. She just tells me that she hates school. But that’s just a phase.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not having her end up in jobs like mine. Once she’s got a good education, she can choose a good career.”

  Flora patted Rye’s thigh. “Is this how you discuss it with her?”

  Rye bristled. “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing. Easy, lover. I’m not criticising you. Or belittling your parenting skills. I’m trying to help. Holly doesn’t want to walk out of school and into any old job, if that’s what you’re worried about. She has given her future a lot of thought. A lot more than I ever had at her age. It’s impressive how much talking she’s done with people, and not just her careers counsellor at school. She’s actually gone to ask people about their jobs. Which I find amazing.”

  Rye frowned. “What does she want to do?”

  “She wants to develop her strong natural talent. She wants to get into fabric and clothes design.”

  Rye scowled. “She does?”

  “You’re not really surprised? If you remember, we met the evening I handed her first prize for a fabric creation of hers.”

  Rye downed the remainder of her wine and rose to pour a refill.

  “Holly wants to leave school at the end of this year,” Flora said, “and take up an apprenticeship. She’s even made a list of people she would like to train with. She’s dead serious.”

  Rye took a long swallow of wine.

  “What’s wrong?” Flora said.

  “I suppose paying apprenticeship fees will be the same as university enrolment.”

  “Fees? No. You won’t have to pay. And I’d have no problem helping her find a placement. I know –”

  “No!” Rye’s emphatic gesture spilled wine on the floor. “I pay. I don’t take anything I don’t have to. I don’t need charity.”

  “Charity? No. I’m talking about a scholarship. And I can talk to people I know and introduce Holly to them. It’s important she finds the right placement to suit her and her teacher.”

  “Oh.” Rye scowled down at the stains on the floor. Stains on stains. “Scholarship?”

  “Yes. Holly is very talented.”

  Rye set her empty glass down and paced. Holly wanted to become an artist? That wasn’t at all what she had planned. “It’s not exactly a steady job, is it? Not with proper prospects and security.”

  Flora smiled and spread her hands. “Some of us manage to make a living.”

  “I know. But you’re good.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you that Holly promises to be very good.”

  Chapter Six

  Rye sat on the roughly finished floor and pulled her free copy of yesterday’s newspaper out of her work bag. Blackie handed her a mug of tea. The boys dissected last night’s big game while Rye scanned the advertisements for brooms and work available. Finding nothing, she turned to the front page.

  Treaty Ratified After Heated Debate. The controversial trade and amity treaty with Fairyland was approved with a slender majority last night after fierce debate in parliament. The government stressed the financial benefits that might flow from the new treaty. Opponents claimed that no democratic government should deal with closed, totalitarian societies that persecute their own citizens. They concentrated their attack on civil rights abuses allegedly rampant under Fairyland’s theocratic regime. The extradition clause came in for fiery argument.

  A cold ache tightened Rye’s stomach. Her wing buds and the flight muscles across her chest clenched uncomfortably.

  “What does extra-thing mean?” Knot asked.

  “Extradition,” she said. “Um. It’s when a country hands someone back to the country where they came from. They do it so that people can be punished in their own country, where they committed their crime.”

  “Sounds about right, don’t it?” Knot said. “Why should we have to put up with dregs coming here? Got enough of our own.”

  “I reckon they should send all foreigners back where they come from.” Blackie’s stubby antennae bristled erect. “Especially fucking elves. Whiny wankers. And fucking gnomes. There’s nothing worse than a fucking gnome.”

  Knot grinned. “Ain’t your mother-in-law a gnome?”

  “I’d shove that fat old bitch on a ship to the Plainlands tomorrow,” Blackie said. “Actually, I’d drop her in the sea with a rock tied to her beard. Gnomes. Shit. They’re all the fucking same.”

  Knot turned to Rye. “What’s that word for people like him?”

  “Bigots,” Rye said.

  “I ain’t!” Blackie said. “I got pure sprite, bogle, and gremlin blood in me. Born and raised here. I’m no fucking foreigner. And I’ll tell you another thing. Those fucking fairies have got it about right. Keep all the weird bastards in their own country. I heard they hang crims there. I reckon it’d be no loss if those flying freaks all hung each other! Then none of the bastards could come here.”

  Rye stood and walked away.

  Rye could not imagine how she could be more comfortable. She reclined on one of Flora’s sofas with the naked dryad a warm weight lying against her front. Flora idly smoothed part of Rye’s wing membrane against her own hip and thigh. Rye could smell Flora’s perfume and their sex. Beneath that, and even more compelling than both, she smelled that tantalising aroma like pine sap. Rye bent her nose closer to Flora’s hair and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply. The pine scent invaded her brain and permeated her whole being, as if Flora was what Rye had been missing all her life.

  Rye reverently kissed Flora’s hair. Her lips pressed a knot. Flora’s hair had formed a tight, nasty tangle about the size of the top of Rye’s thumb.

  “I wish we could be like this forever,” Flora said. “It’s the strangest phenomenon. Whenever I’m with you, the rest of Infinity fades into nothing. Yet time speeds up.”

  Rye’s smile quickly faded. Her fingers found another tangle in Flora’s hair. And another. Her fingers worked their way around the crown of Flora’s head to find it ringed with the knots.

  “Gently.” Flora sat up.

  “Sorry. You’ve got some nasty knots.”

  Flora twisted around to level a strange look at Rye. “Knots?”

  “Tangles in your hair. If you get a comb, I’ll tease t
hem out. I used to do Holly’s hair for her. I hardly ever made her cry.”

  “You don’t know much about dryad biology, do you?”

  “I know a lot more now than I used to. Why?”

  “These aren’t hair tangles. They’re buds.”

  Rye frowned. “Buds? You’re about to flower? Or have I somehow pollinated you?”

  Flora laughed. Rye felt stupid. Flora captured one of Rye’s hands to kiss.

  “They mean that I’m serious about someone,” Flora said.

  “Oh.”

  Rye was conscious of a watchfulness beneath Flora’s smile. She had no clue how to interpret it and didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

  The moment passed. Flora rose and padded into the kitchen to fetch the abandoned jar of wine. When she returned, Rye sat up and swung her legs over the side of the sofa so that Flora could sit astride her lap. Flora held the glass to Rye’s lips for her to sip then drank from the same spot herself. Being with Flora felt so right and natural. This could not be wrong.

  “What are you thinking?” Flora asked.

  “That you’re the sexiest thing on two legs.”

  Flora smiled. “You find creatures with more legs sexier?”

  Rye tickled Flora until she threatened to dump the contents of the wine glass on her head.

  “Can I fly you home from work on Fourth Day?” Flora stroked Rye’s neck and shoulders. “In rush hour traffic, that should give us a good three quarters of an hour of hand-holding and quick, steamy kisses. That might just keep me from exploding with sexual frustration until next Fifth Day.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Rye ran her hands along Flora’s thighs, hips, and around to her buttocks. Warm, fascinating curves. So smooth. So perfect. How was it possible to be awed by Flora and yet, at the same time, feel completely comfortable with her?

  “You’ve got the most adorable look on your face.” Flora said. “What are you thinking?”

  “How amazing you are. By the way, not this Fourth Night or the next, but the one after, I have it off. The school is closed for some holiday. Holly is going to a birthday party.” Rye ran her hands up Flora’s back. “So, how about you and me planning a hot evening together?”