by L-J Baker
“Fourth Night? I can’t. I’m hosting a duty dinner.” Flora grimaced. “Branch, Trunk, and Root, it would have to be the one engagement I can’t cancel or shift. These are people it’s important for me to be nice to, but who otherwise might not be within my closest social orbit. My agent. A couple of gallery owners. The curator of a private museum. You could come.”
“Um. I don’t think I’d have any place with them.”
“I don’t blame you,” Flora said. “I’d rather not do it myself. I think I’m repressing it. I haven’t even arranged a caterer yet. We could end up eating takeaway from Lowood’s Mushroom House. That would boost my reputation, don’t you think?”
“It would get you talked about.”
Flora smiled and gently stroked Rye’s wing support.
“Oh, Elm, I suppose I –” Flora’s fingers stilled. “Rye? If I wanted an enormous favour from you, would I be better reminding you of an incident for which you still owe me an apology, or promising sexual favours?”
“Sex. What do you want?”
“Cook for me. Please.”
“Sure. Do you actually have any food in the house?”
“I don’t mean now,” Flora said. “My dinner party.”
Rye stared, aghast. “What?”
Flora set her glass aside and looped her arms around Rye’s neck. “You could do that divine ferret dish again. Those acorns! My mouth has wet dreams about them. Although, I think one or two are vegetarian. I’ll check. Please, lover. Say you will.”
Rye shook her head. “You need a real cook.”
“You are a real cook. But no maple malt sauce. I couldn’t possibly sit in the same room with Windy Hempweed and have memories of you licking maple malt sauce off my breasts.”
Rye grinned.
“Please,” Flora said. “It’ll be a proper business deal. I’ll pay you twelve hundred pieces.”
“Fey.” That was as much as she earned at the building site in a month.
“It’s what I paid the last time. Dinner for six. Four courses and nibbles beforehand.”
“Over a thousand pieces?” Rye said. “Just for cooking dinner?”
“You’ll have to buy all the food. And pay for someone to help serve. I bet Holly would do it.”
“She’s going to a birthday party.”
“I bet she won’t if you tell her that Privet Thunder is one of my guests. He’s only the top of her wish list for apprenticeship teachers. It would do her no harm at all to become a name and face to some of my guests.”
“That’s not fair.”
Flora smiled. She wriggled closer, so that their breasts touched, and began stroking Rye’s wing support. Flora’s other hand stroked Rye’s hair, teased the nape of her neck, then ran down toward the sensitive spot between the place where Rye’s wings joined her back. Flora kissed her deeply. Rye could barely conceal her rising interest.
“Is that the best you can do?” Rye said. “I doubt I’d fry you a sandwich for that.”
“Oh!” Flora’s face was a picture of outrage.
“Are you sure you’re a dryad and not a leprechaun?”
“You shit!”
The ensuing wrestling bout tumbled them both onto the carpet. They lay in a tangle laughing.
“Do we have time for another fuck?” Rye asked.
“Are you sure you want to with this sexless lump?”
Rye eased herself over Flora and spread her wings. Flora’s eyes widened as they usually did and her breasts rose with a sharp, deep breath. Rye could not understand how her broken, ugly wings turned Flora on, but she wasn’t complaining. Rye kissed Flora and began slow hip motions.
“You are the most desirable creature in Infinity,” Rye said. “And you know it. So, how about that screw?”
“Why not?” Flora reached up to touch Rye’s wings. “I had nothing planned for the next twenty-three seconds.”
Later, when Rye was tying her boot laces, Flora came to stand close and smooth Rye’s hair.
“So?” Flora said. “Will you cook for me? Please, lover.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Flora bent to kiss her. “Thank you. I know it’ll be terrific.”
“What if I screw up? Will it ruin your career?”
“Of course. Rye! I’ve eaten your cooking. I have every confidence in you. And –”
Rye stood. “And what?”
Flora ran a hand down Rye’s chest and ended by taking hold of her hand. “And I have something to tell you, but I’m not sure this is the right time.”
“Is this about the pollination thing?”
Flora smiled. “Buds. It’s related, yes.”
“You’re not going to have my acorns?”
Flora looked astonished and she burst out laughing. “I can see that I really need to teach you some dryad biology.”
“If the lessons are anything like I’ve been getting so far, I might have to fail a few classes so that I need remedial tutoring.”
Flora stroked Rye’s cheek. “How did you remain celibate for all those years? I can’t believe you didn’t have women flocking around you. But just make sure you keep fighting them off now.”
Rye frowned to herself as she followed Flora through into the garage. “You’d be jealous?”
“Of course. Wickedly. Vindictively. There is not another species breathing who comes close to dryads when it comes to possessiveness. There, I’ve warned you. No other women.”
Rye climbed into the carpet and snapped the safety harness in place. Her memory conjured the photograph of Flora and Frond Lovage. Rye would not ask about them, because she didn’t want to know the answer. She was fortunate to get even a part of Flora’s life. And, dryad or not, that Frond creature couldn’t be so great between the sheets if Flora spent half her life panting for Rye.
One thousand two hundred pieces.
Rye punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape. Sure, she had to buy the food, but the profit should make a nice start to her second-hand broom savings.
Flora had given her a copy of an old dinner menu, so Rye had an idea about what was required. The thought of her food being set in front of all those posh artists gave her more than a ripple of unease. Part of her, though, was thrilled at the challenge. It would certainly be a more enjoyable way of earning some extra cash than cleaning municipal toilets.
Rye slid a hand under the sofa cushion beneath her pillow. She pulled out the magazine with Flora’s photo. Rye put her hand on the page to hide Frond Lovage.
“I don’t know how much longer you’re going to stay interested in me,” Rye whispered. “But I intend to savour it. I’ll cook all the dinners you want.”
Rye drifted off to sleep with menu ideas swirling through her mind.
Rye knelt in soil. She tugged weeds out with her fingers. A shadow fell across her. She looked up. Sunlight momentarily blinded her. She saw the outline of a female body in a loose shift and with folded wings. A face resolved out of the brightness. A homely, round, lovely face. Chastity, the junior priestess. She smiled and held out a hand.
The garden vanished. Rye stood in the temple robing room. Chastity shut the door and smiled at Rye. She had the most beautiful scalloping on the edges of her wing membranes. Chastity kissed her.
Crack! Rye saw the priestess’s arm scythe downward. The whip snapped against flesh. Chastity’s body jerked. She didn’t cry out or make a sound. Blood ran from her wings. Bloody rents in the membranes looked like vampire mouths. Blood ran down the back of her legs and onto the floor. Chastity turned around, but it wasn’t her any more. She was Flora.
Rye stood out in the open. Her mother lay at her feet in the mud. It oozed on her mother’s wings. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Dead. Holly stood staring at Rye, but she was sixteen, not five years old.
Alarms screamed all around. Rye tried to cover her ears. She ran. The noise followed. They were going to catch her.
Rye jolted awake with a shout dying on her lips. Her alarm clock buzze
d. She panted as if she really had been running from all the priestesses in Fairyland.
The building site whistle sounded three long blasts for down-tools.
“You heard,” Knot called. “Down we go. Take your things. Assemble near the gates.”
Rye trotted down amongst flurries of speculation from her fellow workers. When they gathered, Grub the overseer stomped out to talk to them.
“Due to a safety problem,” Grub said, “we have to stop work for the day and close the site.”
A loud cheer drowned out his next words.
Knot elbowed Rye. “Smile. The pubs will be open in an hour. A whole day drinking, and not having to tell the wife.”
“But it’s a day without pay,” Rye said.
Knot shrugged and turned to arrange his unexpected holiday with some of the others. Rye frowned. She shoved through the dispersing crowd.
“Mr. Grub! Wait.” Rye strode across to the scowling overseer.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Look, if you need someone to help make things safe, I’m willing to work.”
“Ain’t nothing you can do. Push off. I’m busy.”
Rye frowned at his retreating back. “Shit.”
It was eleven o’clock in the morning. She couldn’t even go to Pansy’s to try to work an afternoon shift because the fast-food shop didn’t open until three.
Rye jammed her fists in her pockets and strode down the street. She was going to be short this week. Good job she was doing that cooking for Flora soon. Rye stopped. She had most of a day stretching emptily ahead of her. Flora hadn’t mentioned anything special she would be doing today.
Rye burst into a run when she emerged from the Rootway underpass. She could be at Flora’s in time for lunch.
Rye wiped the sweat from her face and pressed Flora’s buzzer. Flora answered promptly.
“Rye! Has something happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. The council shut down the building site for the day. Are you busy?”
The gate clunked open. Rye strode through and waited for the elevating carpet. It whisked her up the ten flights without any sensation of movement. Rye stepped out and put her arms around Flora. Flora moved fluidly into the embrace and returned Rye’s kiss. Rye’s hand slid down to Flora’s backside. Fey, Flora felt good.
Flora broke off for air. When Rye tried to kiss her again, Flora put her fingers against Rye’s mouth.
“Hold that thought, lover,” Flora whispered. “Laurel won’t stay long, I’m sure.”
Rye stiffened and jerked her arms from around Flora. They weren’t alone?
“Laurel is my closest friend,” Flora said. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned her a hundred times. We often have tea and gossip with each other. I’m glad you two can meet.”
Rye’s world tightened and darkened with the first tendrils of incipient flight-panic. Flora’s warm fingers gripping Rye’s hand helped stabilise her. Rye took a deep breath and let Flora lead her along the hall to the living room.
A dryad woman with red and gold highlights in her hair smiled at their entrance. Laurel looked a good ten years older than Flora. She put aside a cup of tea and rose. Rye knew she should not find the situation frightening or intimidating. The woman was Flora’s friend. Her smile and curiosity were wholly natural. Rye’s wing buds contracted hard all the same.
“Laurel, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Flora said. “Laurel Stone, this is Rye Woods.”
“Oh,” Laurel said. “Hello, Rye. This is a pleasant surprise.”
Laurel held out a hand. Rye wiped her hand on her pants leg before completing the shake.
“Flora has spoken a great deal about you,” Laurel said. “So, it’s nice to be able to put a face to the name.”
“Um. Yeah.” Rye said.
“Flora says that you’re a builder?” Laurel said.
“Um. Yeah,” Rye said.
“Let me get you a drink,” Flora said. “Beer?”
“Um. Oh. I’ll go.”
Rye all but bolted for the kitchen door. Her hands trembled as she popped the top off the beer. She glugged half of it. Flora wouldn’t have told her friend that Rye was a fairy, would she?
Shit. Someone else knew about her affair with Flora. She might have guessed, but she hadn’t. How much had Flora told? Not only her own, but Holly’s, future lay in the balance. Rye was playing with fire for a few fucks. This had to be the stupidest thing she had done in eleven years.
Flora slipped her arms around Rye from behind. “Laurel has tactfully left. I don’t remember, but were you quite that inarticulate when we first met?”
Rye lifted her beer and found the jar empty.
“Rye? What’s wrong?”
“What have you told her?”
“The usual. Girl talk stuff. How sexy you make me feel. How hot you are on the sofa. What squirmy hardware you have. That –”
“Crap!” Rye broke free of Flora’s arms and stomped out.
“Rye!” Flora ran after her. “What’s the matter?”
Rye scooped her work bag off the floor and slammed a palm onto the button for the elevating carpet. Flora interposed herself between Rye and the door.
“What’s happening? Rye? You’re going to have to tell me, because I’m out of my copse here.”
“I should never had done this. Fey! Stupid!”
“What is stupid? Branch.” Flora grabbed the front of Rye’s jacket. “Are you going to run again?”
“Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I got sent back? And Holly? Shit!” Rye tugged free and stormed around the curved hallway to the front door. “I should never have done this. Never. My own fucking fault.”
“Rye!” Flora came running. “I didn’t tell her that you’re a fairy. I didn’t.”
Rye paused with her hand on the door.
“I didn’t tell her that,” Flora said. “I promised you, remember? You don’t believe me?”
Rye was angry and scared, but that thing was happening again as it always did when she was with Flora. The harshness of the world lost its potency.
“Don’t you believe me?” Flora stepped away from the door. “You don’t trust me? If you don’t, then perhaps you had better leave.”
Rye took a deep breath and released the door. She ran her hand through her sweaty hair.
“I would never tell anyone,” Flora said. “Believe me?”
Rye nodded. She held out her hand. Flora took it.
“I’m sorry,” Rye said. “It’s scary. No one has ever known before. It’s always been just me and Holly. When she was little, I had to lie to her. I told her we were of mixed bogle and brownie blood. I hated doing that to her, but I couldn’t risk her blurting out the truth. When she was older, I told her. I still worry sometimes because I’m not sure she fully realises how dangerous it would be for us to get sent back.”
“What would happen to you?”
Rye shook her head. “It’s Holly I worry about. The kid has no idea what it’s like. After here, she wouldn’t take well to life there. Not at all. It’s… it’s very different.”
Flora laid a hand on Rye’s chest. “Lover, I won’t tell anyone. Please believe me.”
Rye nodded and let out a long breath.
“Come back into the lounge,” Flora said. “Let’s sit down. Tell me how I’ve managed to win the privilege of your company at this time of day. And how long I have you for.”
Rye kicked her boots off and accepted another beer. Flora sat close. As Rye talked, she relaxed. Between beer and Flora, the world mellowed. The phone beeped. Flora excused herself to go and answer it at the wall plate near the door.
Rye took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Almighty King and Queen of the Fey, this was a much better way of spending the day than on the building site. It was such a luxury to be able to stop and do nothing for a few hours.
“Rye?”
Rye opened her eyes. Flora bent over her. She lay on Flora’s sofa with a duvet
thrown over her.
“It’s five o’clock,” Flora said. “I thought it was about time we began thinking about getting you home.”
“Five? I didn’t sleep all afternoon?”
“You looked exhausted. I’m not surprised. You really need to take better care of yourself. If I walked half the distance you do in a week, I’d die.”
“We didn’t even have sex? A whole afternoon with you, and I slept it away. Fey.”
“It didn’t go quite as I expected, either. But you obviously had some rest to catch up on.”
Rye shook her head. She was too disgusted with herself for words.
Flora stroked Rye’s hair and kissed her cheek. “It gave me a bounce to walk in here every half an hour or so and see you there. You looked very cute.”
“Asleep,” Rye said unhappily. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe we’ll get it right next time.”
“There may never be a next time. I can’t rely on the council shutting down the site too often.”
“Don’t say never,” Flora said. “There are other ways we can arrange time together.”
That night, while frying sandwiches, Rye did some hard thinking. The cold, unpalatable fact was that there was not enough time in a week for her to work two jobs, possibly a third, go to night school, spend the faintest smear of time at home with Holly, and have anything left over for her relationship with Flora. Something had to go. She needed the jobs. She couldn’t live on any less than she earned now, and she really needed more. A broom would give her more time, and leave her with a little more energy. To afford the broom, she needed a third job. She spent so little time at home with Holly as it was that she could not reduce it any further. The only possible conclusion was that she must stop going to night school or end it with Flora.
Chapter Seven
Rye stared at the photograph in the magazine. Flora was gorgeous.
Their relationship was never going anywhere. Rye had known that from the start. Perhaps it was best that they ended it sooner rather than later. It might hurt less that way.
Rye sighed.
Flora was a successful artist. ShadeForest City’s rising weaving sensation. Rye was a builder’s labourer and sandwich fryer. Flora lived in a luxurious penthouse apartment in the trendiest suburb in the city. Rye lived in squalor. She couldn’t even afford two bedroomed squalor. Flora swirled comfortably through the glittering upper ranks of society. Rye had to hide for fear of discovery. And as an uneducated lump, she would not have anything to say to those people even if she got dumped amongst them. Flora inhabited the tops of trees. Rye grubbed around amongst the roots.