Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  Rye shifted uncomfortably, though she knew that Flora was only teasing.

  Flora listed the other guests. “And, lastly, Ginger Grangegrass. Founder of the Newbud Collective. He’s the one I’m going to ask about taking Holly. He’s not the top of her list, or exactly at the forefront of innovation and daring, but he’s an excellent teacher and has a knack of knowing where someone’s strengths lie.”

  Flora sat forward to kiss Rye. Rye took the precaution of clamping a hand around Flora’s wrist to prevent her from stealing more carrots. Flora slumped back with an exaggerated pout which made Rye want to kiss her even more.

  “And then the sixth one is that Flora Withe woman,” Rye said.

  “What’s she like?”

  “All right, I suppose.”

  “All right?” Flora said. “I’d heard that she’s fabulously talented, terrific in bed, a great hostess, and wildly fun to be with.”

  “Dunno where you heard that.”

  Flora’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And just what have you heard?”

  “That she’s a year or two past her best, and –”

  Flora gasped. She grabbed a handful of peelings. “You wretch!”

  Rye lunged to clamp her hands around Flora’s wrists. “But she has okay legs.”

  “Okay!” Outraged, Flora twisted and writhed in Rye’s grip. “Okay? Just okay?”

  Their tussle shoved the table back a couple of inches. Flora eventually freed a hand and jammed a fistful of carrot peelings down the front of Rye’s shirt.

  “Can I do that, too?” Holly asked.

  Rye shot out of her chair so fast that she came close to dumping Flora on the floor. “Holls! How long have you been – I didn’t hear you.”

  “Hi, kiddo,” Flora said. “How was school?”

  Holly dropped her bag, slumped in a chair, and helped herself to a carrot. “Boring.”

  Rye’s blood roared through her ears. Flora looked up at her with a very matter-of-fact expression as if she had no idea why Rye was so distressed – as if she and Rye had not just been caught in a highly compromising position.

  “Hey, your hair is astronomical,” Holly said.

  “It should be,” Flora said. “I was at the salon so long that I could’ve grown an extra head by the time they’d finished.”

  Rye shoved around the table and stomped into the hall. Her hands shook so badly that she couldn’t get the carrot peelings from her shirt without dropping them on the floor.

  “Rye?” Flora said.

  Rye jumped.

  “It’s okay,” Flora said. “It’s not a problem.”

  Rye glared but held her tongue because Holly appeared in the doorway behind Flora.

  “She’s been in a stupid mood for over a week,” Holly said. “Moping around as if the world was about to end. And she goes on at me for teenage moodiness.”

  “Perhaps cooking will help,” Flora said. “I’d better leave you two to it. I have some things to do before I dress. Yell if you need anything. Okay?”

  Rye nodded stiffly. She walked back into the kitchen and tried to remember what she’d been doing.

  “Isn’t this the most astronomical place you’ve ever seen?” Holly asked.

  “Um.” Rye looked around. Everything seemed unfamiliar. Then she heard the soup pot bubbling. She dashed across to remove it from the heat. “Finish those carrots for me. And wash the chamomile in cold water. Shake it well. Give the floor back here a quick sweep. Then go and ask Flora to tell you about setting the table.”

  “Slave driver,” Holly said.

  “You begged me to let you do this,” Rye said.

  Rye knew that Holly poked her tongue out at her back but bent her attention on the soup.

  About half an hour before the first guests were due to arrive, Rye sent Holly off to change into the black dress she’d wear for serving. She didn’t return for nearly twenty minutes.

  “Where have you been?” Rye asked. She swung around from the stove and stopped.

  “Flora helped me get ready,” Holly said.

  Rye blinked. The young woman in front of her, with the makeup and budding figure, wasn’t the skinny little kid sister she was used to seeing. When Rye hadn’t been looking, Holly had grown up.

  “Flora said I could pass for eighteen or nineteen,” Holly said. “Wow, those little pastry things look really good. Do they have that fish paste and blackbird’s egg stuff in them?”

  “Um. Yes. No scoffing them.”

  Rye frowned as she fetched a jug of wine from the pantry and began stirring some into the sauce mixture. She kept glancing at Holly. The kid looked old enough to have her wings.

  “Flora said that I’ve got great skin,” Holly said. “And Flora said –”

  “Go and double-check that the table is set properly,” Rye said. “Did you remember to put water jugs in the dining room?”

  “Yes, she did.” Flora walked in through the doorway from the dining room.

  Rye turned. Her eyes bulged. She hadn’t thought Flora could get more beautiful than when totally undressed, or in that glitzy magazine photo, but Flora looked stunning in a long, slinky dark green dress and a few diamonds.

  “The table looks fabulous,” Flora said. “I love the napkins. Holly, could you please check that I put water in the vase near the patio door?”

  Holly bolted.

  “Well?” Flora said. “Will I do?”

  “Um.”

  “Did you mean to pour wine down your trouser leg?”

  “Fey!”

  “Relax. Holly is fine. Dinner will be great.”

  Rye dabbed at her leg with a dish cloth. “Relax? When you look like that? I’d have to be dead not to notice.”

  “That’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

  “What did you do to Holly?”

  “She’s going to be a pretty woman.”

  “Not as pretty as you.”

  “You’re getting better at that. That just might make amends for the disparagement of my legs.”

  Holly poked her head around the door. “Flora, there’s someone at the door. Shall I let them in?”

  “Yes, please.”

  As soon as Holly stepped out of the kitchen, Flora blew Rye a kiss. The strength of the temptation to return it for real, with Holly so close, surprised Rye.

  The hours of the evening whizzed by in a heated blur of steam, carving knives, serving spoons, sauces, plates, and dirty dishes. Once, Rye peeked through the living room door to see Flora laughing with some of her guests. When Holly returned to refill a tray, she alerted Rye to the fact that one of the men had a habit of resting his hand on Flora’s back. Rye knew an almost overwhelming urge to stomp out there and break his fingers.

  Later, Rye sneaked a look at the dinner table. The main course seemed to be going down well with Flora’s wine choice. Her brief glimpse of the heavily powdered sylph, Letty Elmwood, convinced Rye that Flora was correct in believing Rye wouldn’t like her. Rye couldn’t imagine the woman who wouldn’t be utterly overshadowed by Flora Withe.

  Chapter Eight

  Rye pulled the plug and let the dirty water gurgle down the sink hole. She wiped her hands on her dishtowel apron and removed it. She dropped down onto a chair at the table. Holly sat slumped asleep using Rye’s rolled up jacket for a pillow on the table. Rye ate one of the leftover desserts. Not bad. Perhaps a shade too sweet. Maybe she should use a few black currants to give it a little more breadth of taste and a dash of tartness.

  The door from the hall swung open. Flora smiled as she came in.

  “Rye, you’re a genius!”

  “Ssh.” Rye put a finger to her lips and nodded at the sleeping Holly.

  Flora took Rye’s hand and tugged her through into the dining room. She clicked the door shut behind them. She slid her hands up Rye’s chest and around her neck. Her kiss was like a goddess breathing life into Rye. Rye slipped her hands around Flora’s waist and held her close.

  “I’ve been
dying to do that all evening,” Flora whispered. “You’ve no idea how many times I was tempted to come in there to you.”

  Rye smiled and started another long, exploratory kiss.

  “Your dinner was the best I’ve ever given,” Flora said. “Truly, Rye. Everyone raved. If anything, I think the vegetarians loved that mushroom and chestnut dish even more than the rest of us did the ferret. Three of them wanted to know how they could hire you.”

  “What?”

  “Really. Rye, you’re very good. Superb. As a cook, too.”

  Rye grinned.

  They kissed again. This time more probing. Flora slid a hand down Rye’s back.

  “That’s strange,” Flora said. “It feels like you’re wearing a bandage.”

  “I am.” Rye turned her head toward the door.

  “She’s asleep,” Flora said.

  “I thought I heard something. She worked her heart out tonight. The poor kid’s exhausted.”

  “Why don’t you put her to bed in the guest room? It’d save you having to wake her up and drag her home. And I bet anything you like that she won’t mind waking up here in the morning.”

  Rye coaxed a still half-asleep Holly to rise and mostly carried her to the bedroom. She lowered Holly onto the bed and eased off her dress before letting her sink onto the bed. Rye pulled the sheets up around Holly and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Holly was asleep again before Rye softly closed the door.

  Rye followed Flora through to the living room and dropped onto the sofa. Flora extinguished most of the lights before joining her.

  “How much do you think she saw?” Rye said.

  “She saw me stuffing peel down your shirt. We were acting like a pair of children. If she gave it a second thought, she didn’t mention it to me. That really is a bandage, isn’t it? What did you do to yourself?”

  “Nothing.” Rye took the glass from Flora’s hand for a sip of wine. “I bound my wings this morning.”

  “That must be very constricting. And hot.”

  “A bit. But they move around and twitch a lot when I’m near you. It’s safer to keep them bound.”

  Flora’s fingers already worked the buttons down Rye’s shirt. She soon had the shirt off and began unwinding the bandage.

  “Great Branch, your wings look terrible. All pale and scrunched up.”

  Rye grunted when she tried to unfold her wings. She had to ask Flora to help. Flora was very gentle in easing them out straight, but Rye had to bite her lip. Parts of them were numb and the blood rushing back made them tingle and ache.

  “You’re going to have to stop doing this to yourself,” Flora said. “It’s like a tourniquet. One day the poor things will drop off.”

  Flora ran her fingers firmly along Rye’s wing supports as if massaging life back into them. Rye sighed and sagged.

  “You should be very pleased with yourself,” Flora said.

  Rye grunted. “That feels really good.”

  “Come into the bedroom,” Flora said. “You can lie down and I can do this more easily. And I have got to take a shower. However lovely this hair looks, I could not sleep on it.”

  Passing into Flora’s bedroom triggered Rye’s unease. Her wings drooped. She fumbled the buttons on the back of Flora’s dress.

  “Coming?” Flora stepped out of her dress and kicked off her high-heel shoes. “I bet some warm water will do those wings a power of good. And we can do some serious foreplay with the shower gel and a sponge.”

  “Um. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Rye chewed her lip and glanced at the door. “I can’t have sex with you. Not with Holly here.”

  “She’s asleep three rooms away,” Flora said. “You could skin a live hedgehog in here and not wake her.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Flora looked unhappy. “What is the worst thing that could possibly happen if Holly learned that you and I are having an affair?”

  Rye scowled. The worst? If she and Holly were deported, the priestesses would question Holly and get her to say that Rye was gay. Then Holly would blame herself for the rest of her life for what they’d do to Rye. Even if Rye confessed and warned her never to say anything, they’d get it out of her. If questions didn’t work, they’d use whips and clubs. No, it was far safer for them both if Holly knew nothing. Safer still if Rye went back to hiding until Holly developed her wings.

  Rye turned away from Flora. She and Holly would both be safer if she returned to the single life that had served so well for eleven years. She knew that her relationship with Flora was never going anywhere. How could it? Rye couldn’t compete with Flora’s rich dryad girlfriend. The novelty of bonking a builder’s labourer was going to wear off for Flora sooner or later. And Rye needed to stop stealing the hours to be with Flora, and having sex, from time she should be spending with Holly. With her Fifth Day mornings again free for the kid, Rye could continue her night classes without feeling guilty about Holly never seeing her. Rye needed those classes, and the qualifications she could get, to get ahead for herself and Holly.

  Rye clenched her fists at her sides. All those good, strong reasons didn’t stop part of her from screaming out that she didn’t want to break up with Flora. But she had to. And she couldn’t keep putting it off.

  “Rye?” Flora put a hand on Rye’s arm. “Is this something connected with Fairyland?”

  Rye flinched, but not from the physical contact. Flora’s unexpected question hit dead centre at the fear underlying the problems in Rye’s life.

  “I bought some books on it,” Flora said. “I wanted to learn as much as I could about fairies. Seeing that you’re the first one I’ve knowingly met. Your past is something you never talk about, but I’ve had enough hints that it’s not pleasant. And, to be honest, I sometimes feel like I’m treading a high wire in the dark where you being a fairy is concerned.”

  Rye’s wings defensively folded against her back.

  “I knew Fairyland was a tightly closed society and very religious,” Flora said, “but I had no idea how restrictive life must be there if you’re not one of the upper levels of the priestly hierarchy. I was horrified to read that most people live in rural poverty and with no proper machinery. And they have capital punishment. It seems unreal that anywhere in the world in this day and age could be so backwards and barbaric. I can’t imagine growing up in a place like that would be much fun. And I’m guessing that being gay wasn’t looked on kindly.”

  Rye looked around for her shirt. She felt very vulnerable.

  “I’m not at all surprised you left there,” Flora said. “I can’t understand why more don’t.”

  “Um. Most don’t know there’s anywhere to go. We don’t get much schooling. No reading or writing. No geography.” Rye’s thoughts slowed and congealed, just like her brain shut down before she ran away. “But… but our commune was in the south. Near the mountains. I figured there had to be somewhere on the other side of them. And even if it was full of evil monsters, like the priestesses said, it couldn’t be any worse than… than where I was.”

  “I can completely understand your leaving the place,” Flora said. “It’s not hard to guess that being a lesbian didn’t make your life there easy. And however much I deplore the necessity, and what it says about our society, I think I can see why you feel you’d rather hide your fairyness than face prejudice. But what I don’t understand is how Holly knowing that you and I are seeing each other is a problem. For you or Holly. You’re not likely to go back, are you?”

  Rye walked away and was confused to realise that she was in Flora’s bedroom.

  “Is the way your wings are all folded up part of your withdrawal from me?” Flora asked.

  Rye ran a hand through her hair. She was naked to the waist. It was very hard to think. “Um. I think… maybe I’d better leave. It’ll be better that way.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you. What do you mean?”

  “Um. That… that we had a good time. But it would be
better if we didn’t see each other again.”

  “'What?'” Flora strode around to stand in front of Rye. She looked as though Rye had struck her. “Not see each other? What do you mean?”

  Rye had to look away. “Um. We – It’s best if we end it now.”

  “End it now,” Flora repeated hollowly. “You’re dumping me? Is that what I just heard? I… I don’t believe it. Is this because I wanted sex and you didn’t?”

  “No!” Rye rubbed her face and tried to get her brain working again.

  “Then why? Because I talked about Fairyland? Or is there someone else?”

  “No.”

  “But –” Flora shook her head and put a hand to her face. “This can’t be happening. I thought we were doing great. We didn’t spend as much time together as I’d like, but I thought that was because you couldn’t, not that you didn’t want to.”

  “Um. Maybe you should find someone who can spend more time with you.”

  “You’re the person I want to spend time with.”

  Rye looked away to the doors. “You could have your pick of women like me.”

  Flora hissed in breath. “Holy Elm. Is that what you think? That I cruise around picking up women for casual sex for a while, then toss them aside? Rye? Is that how you think of me?”

  Rye’s wings tightened even harder against her back.

  “Have I given you that impression?” Flora demanded. “Or is this a conclusion you’ve reached all on your own? Branch! Answer me!”

  “Flora, I –”

  Flora cracked a stinging slap on the side of Rye’s face. “I hate what you do to me. That you can do it so easily. I should really be hating you.”

  Rye wanted to be a million miles away. It didn’t help that she didn’t want to be doing this.

  “All this while,” Flora said, “I’ve been thinking we were fine. Branch, Trunk, and Root! Trust the buds. My arse! This is the shittiest end to a great day. Did you set me up for this? Give me such a wonderful dinner so that you could break my heart afterward?”