“Have fun,” her mom replied, popping the lid onto her mug. She took a sip and made a face. “Ugh, this is terrible. Well, the candy’s in the top cupboard.” She gestured vaguely.
“Great! Thanks for picking that up.” Laurel smiled, probably trying a little too hard, but it was better than not trying at all.
“No problem. And there should be plenty, so you can eat some too.” She hesitated, and her eyes met Laurel’s. “I mean, not you specifically. Obviously you don’t eat it. But, you know, David and Chelsea and—I gotta go.” She breezed past Laurel, fleeing the awkwardness. It was always like that; things would be good for a while, then something would remind Laurel’s mom just how strange life had truly become. Laurel sighed. Moments like these always depressed her. The disappointment was just starting to wash over her when her mom cleared her throat from behind Laurel’s right shoulder.
“Um,” she said tentatively, “you seem to be falling apart.” She was looking down rather strangely at three more petals that had fallen out while Laurel was doing her homework. Her mom paused for a second and looked like she would turn and head out the door, but then she changed her mind and leaned down and picked up a petal. Laurel sat still and held her breath, trying to figure out if this was a good thing or not. Her mom held the long petal—bigger than any other she’d ever seen on a regular plant, Laurel was sure—and then lifted it toward the window, watching the sun shine through it. Another pause and then her mom looked over at her. “Can I…do you mind if I take this with me to the store?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost timid.
“Sure!” Laurel said, cringing as her voice filled the room—too bright, too cheery.
But her mom didn’t seem to notice. She nodded and tucked the petal carefully into her tote. She glanced down at her watch and sucked in a loud breath. “Now I really am late,” she said, whirling toward the door. She took two steps, then stopped and turned. As if breaking through an unseen barrier, she rushed back and hugged Laurel. Really hugged her.
It was too short—only a few brief seconds—but it was real. Without another word, her mom strode out, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she opened the door and shut it hard behind her.
Laurel sat on her stool, smiling. It was a small step, and by tomorrow it might not mean anything, but she was willing to take it for what it was worth. She could still feel her mom’s hand on her back, the warmth of her cheek, the faint lingering smell of her perfume. Familiar, like a long-lost friend coming home.
The front door swung open suddenly, startling her out of her reverie, and Laurel crumpled a page in her book, barely managing to bite off a scream. She ducked behind the island in the kitchen and heard soft footsteps heading toward her. Had a troll managed to get past the warding around her house? Jamison had said it would block all except the strongest trolls, but it wasn’t foolproof.
Laurel thought of her sentries outside. Where were they? The footsteps stopped at the base of the stairs. He was between her and the back door. Laurel took a quick moment to reach up and grab a knife from the block on the counter.
The butcher knife. Awesome.
Maybe she could surprise him, get him with the butcher knife somehow, and get to the back door before he could catch her. It was a big risk, but she didn’t have any other choice. If she could just make it out the back door where the sentries could see her, she would be safe. She snuck around to the kitchen doorway and raised the knife in front of her chest. The footsteps were coming closer.
David’s familiar form stepped around the corner. “Whoa!” he cried, jumping back with his hands held out in front of him.
Laurel froze, the butcher knife still clutched in both hands as shock, fear, relief, and mortification crashed over her all at once. With a grunt of disgust she slammed the knife down on the counter. “What is wrong with me?”
David stepped forward and pulled her to him, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.
“It’s my fault,” he said. “I’m early. I saw your mom backing out of the driveway and she told me to just go in. I should have thought, and knocked, or—”
“It’s not your fault, David. It’s mine.”
“It’s not your fault, it’s—it’s just everything. The trolls, Halloween, Klea…” He ran his hands through his hair. “We’re both totally wound up.”
“I know,” Laurel said, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. Forcing herself to change the subject, she said, “I had a good moment with my mom just before you got here.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Laurel nodded. “I’ve been waiting for things to get better for almost a year. Maybe…maybe they’re starting to.”
“It will work out.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so,” David said, his lips trailing down her face and behind her ear. “You’re too beautiful for anyone to stay mad at too long.”
“I’m serious!” she said, her breath quickening as his lips caressed the side of her neck.
“Oh, I’m serious too,” he said, his hands sliding up the skin on her back. “Very, very serious.”
She laughed. “You’re never serious.”
“Serious about you,” he said, his hands coming to rest at her hips.
She melted against him and his arms went around her back for a few seconds before he pulled away.
“What?” she asked.
He pointed at the floor. Two petals were lying on the carpet. “We should probably pick those up before Chelsea and Ryan get here,” he said teasingly.
“No kidding. The whole thing will be gone by tomorrow. Thank goodness.”
“We could try to get them all rubbed off right now,” David said, cocking his head toward the couch.
“As nice as that sounds,” Laurel said, tapping her fingers gently against his chest, “Chelsea and Ryan will be here any minute.”
“They won’t be shocked—they make out at school, like, constantly,” he said with a grin.
Laurel just looked at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Fine.” He kissed her once more, then walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Can’t you keep anything stocked in here except Sprite? Some Mountain Dew, maybe?”
“Sure, ’cause that would be a great color for my eyes and hair,” Laurel said sarcastically. “Besides, the caffeine would make me sick.”
“I didn’t say you had to drink it,” David replied, opening a can of Sprite and handing it to her. “Just keep it around in case somebody else wants it.” He opened his own can and slid onto a stool at the bar. “Chelsea isn’t going to expect us to dress up to hand out candy or anything, is she?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“No, I checked to make sure,” Laurel replied. “No one’s dressing up except me.”
“You’re dressing up?” David asked skeptically.
“Yep. I’m pretending to be a human.”
David just rolled his eyes. “Walked right into that, didn’t I?” He looked down at her crumpled Spanish book. “Studying?” he asked. “It looks like your book is taking it pretty hard.”
“I was, till I got distracted trying to kill you with the butcher knife.”
“Oh, yes, that was fun. We must do it again sometime.”
Laurel groaned and leaned her head into her hands. “I could have killed you,” she said.
“No way,” David said with a grin. “I was totally prepared.” He reached behind him and pulled out the black gun.
Laurel jumped off her stool. “David! You brought your gun into my house?”
“Sure,” he said, completely nonchalant.
“Get it out of here, David!”
“Hey, hey, come on,” he said, quickly stowing the gun in a concealed holster at the small of his back. “It’s not like I’ve ever done it before. Your house is safe…well, as safe as anything is these days. But”—he glanced around the room as if he expected someone to be there, listening—“we’re having Chelsea and Ryan over tonight. And you freaking out about Hallow
een is making me freak out a little bit too. I wanted to be ready in case…just in case. Honestly, I thought it might make you feel a little more secure. Obviously I was wrong.”
He looked up and met Laurel’s eyes, her glare warring with his apologetic but determined gaze. She faltered first. “I’m sorry. I just hate those things.”
He hesitated. “If you really want me to, I’ll take it out to the car.”
What he said about being ready did make sense. But her hatred of the gun won out. “I would appreciate that,” she said quietly. The shrill chiming of the doorbell made Laurel jump. “They’re here,” she said, frustrated. “Just keep that thing out of sight for now,” she ordered. “I don’t want to see it again.”
She got as far as the kitchen doorway before David grabbed her arm. “Your blossom,” he whispered. “I’ll get the ones on the floor.”
“Crap. Be right there!” Laurel yelled toward the front door. She unwound the sash from her wrist and hurriedly replaced it around her waist. She just had to get the limp petals out of sight; she could steal away to the bathroom later and do a more graceful job.
David disposed of the petals she’d left on the floor while Laurel opened the front door to Chelsea and Ryan with a smile she hoped didn’t look too fake. “Hey, guys.”
They were wearing silly grins and neon headbands, complete with glowing eyes bobbing over their heads at the ends of long springs.
Laurel raised an eyebrow. “Impressive,” she said dryly.
“Not as impressive as that,” Chelsea said, pointing over Laurel’s shoulder.
“What?” Laurel said, whipping her head around, suddenly panicked that her petals were sticking up. As soon as she did, something snapped onto the sides of her head and she rolled her eyes upward to see her own set of googley eyes, swaying in and out of view. “Thanks,” she drawled sarcastically.
“Aw, come on,” Chelsea said. “They’re fun!”
Laurel turned to Ryan, eyebrow raised.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “This was all Chelsea’s idea.”
“Okay, I’ll wear them,” Laurel said with a conspiratorial grin. “As long as you brought a set for David, too.”
Chelsea held up a fourth headband.
“Perfect.” She pulled Chelsea in and peered out at the dusk as she shut the door behind Ryan.
TWENTY-ONE
THE MORNING AIR WAS COLD AND SHARP, THE sun merely a bright pink shadow working its way up the cloudy eastern horizon. Laurel shrugged into her jacket on the front porch and pulled her keys out of her pocket, trying to make as little noise as possible.
“Where are you going?”
Laurel shrieked and dropped her keys. So much for stealth.
“Sorry,” her dad said, poking his head out the front door. His hair was sticking out every which way and he looked groggy—he never had been one for mornings. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” Laurel said, bending to pick up her keys. “I’m just going to Chelsea’s.” She could have told her dad where she was actually going, but it was easier this way. Less chance of David accidentally finding out.
“Oh, that’s right, you told us that last night. Why so early?”
“Chelsea’s got a date with Ryan tonight,” Laurel said, the lie rolling off her tongue. She wondered if this was getting too easy. “We’ll need all the time we can get.”
“Well, get going, then. Have fun,” her dad said with a yawn. “I’m going back to bed.”
Laurel hurried to her car and backed out as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself. The sooner she was out of town, the better.
In the end, she’d decided not to tell David. She hated lying but didn’t know what else to do. He’d be too worried; maybe insist she skip it.
Or accompany her with that stupid gun of his.
She hated that she now knew he carried it around with him. Logically she couldn’t blame him—he didn’t have even the rudimentary defenses that she did—but several times last night she had seen him start to reach for the hidden holster when someone knocked on the door. Which, being Halloween, had happened every few minutes. It was better if she just didn’t tell him where she was going. They were both too wound up.
She hadn’t come up with a good excuse for Chelsea, so she wouldn’t tell Chelsea anything at all. With luck, David would never miss her and Chelsea wouldn’t be consulted. She’d leave the festival early, if she had to. And not just to get back before David got off work; she didn’t want to be anywhere but safe in her house when night fell.
There was no traffic on the way to Orick, but Laurel still kept a sharp eye on the sides of the road and her rearview mirror, watching for any sign she was being followed. She pulled into Orick’s lone gas station and, after studying the parking lot, ran inside and hurried into the bathroom. She opened her backpack and pulled out the dress. She hadn’t worn it except to try it on; now, as she slipped the rustling fabric over her head and adjusted it around her slim body, a thrill of excitement rushed through her. Her final few petals had fallen out during the night, and her back was smooth and ivory, a tiny scarlike line down the middle, just like last year. After peeking out of the bathroom to make sure the convenience store was still mostly empty, Laurel darted back to her car, her skirts swishing around her ankles and flip-flop clad feet. From there it was only minutes to the end of the cabin’s long driveway. She parked her car behind a large fir, concealing it from the main road.
Tamani was waiting for her, not at the edge of the tree line, but right up in the yard of the small cabin. He was leaning against the front gate, a long black cloak hanging from his shoulders, his knee-length breeches tucked into tall, black boots. Her breathing quickened at the sight of him.
Not for the first time, Laurel wondered if coming today had been a mistake. It’s not too late to change my mind.
As Laurel approached, Tamani stood motionless, his eyes following her. He didn’t speak until she stopped in front of him, close enough that he could have reached out and pulled her to him if he tried.
“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said, his voice breaking a little, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. As if he had stood out in the cold all night, waiting for her.
Maybe he had.
She could leave. Tamani would forgive her. Eventually. She looked up at him. There was something wary in his demeanor, like he could sense she was on the verge of turning back.
A gust of wind burst through the trees and brushed Tamani’s hair across his eyes. He lifted one hand and tucked the long strands behind his ear. For just a second, as his forearm crossed over his face, his eyes dropped, scanning the length of her from head to toe—something he almost never did. And in that split second, something felt different. Laurel wasn’t sure just what.
“To Avalon?” Tamani beckoned toward the trees as his hand pressed, gently, against the small of Laurel’s back. She was approaching the point of no return; some part of her sensed it.
She looked at Tamani; she looked at the trees.
Then she stepped forward and crossed the line.
The streets of Avalon were teeming with faeries. Even with Tamani carefully guiding her, it was a little difficult to wade through the crowd.
“What exactly do you do at a festival?” Laurel asked, ducking around a tight circle of faeries conversing in the middle of the street.
“It depends. Today we’re going to the Grande Theatre in Summer to see a ballet. Afterward we’ll all gather on the common green where there will be music, food, and dancing.” He hesitated. “Then everyone will stay or disperse as they choose and the revelries will continue until everyone is satisfied and returns to their usual pursuits. This way,” he said, pointing up a gentle hill.
As they climbed, the coliseum slowly came into view. Unlike the Academy, which was mostly stone, or the homes of the Summer faeries, which were glass, the walls of the coliseum were living trees, like the one where Tamani’s mother lived. But i
nstead of being round and hollow, these black-barked trees were stretched and flattened, overlapping one another to form a solid wooden wall at least fifty feet high topped with dense foliage. Bolts of brightly colored silk, brilliantly painted murals, and statues of marble and granite adorned the walls almost haphazardly, lending a festive atmosphere to the massive structure.
Laurel’s awe was dampened when they found themselves near the end of a long line of faeries waiting to enter the coliseum. All were smartly dressed, though Laurel didn’t see anyone else in clothing as fine as hers. Dressed wrong again. She sighed and turned to Tamani. “This is going to take ages.”
Tamani shook his head. “That’s not your entrance.” He pointed to the right of the line and continued guiding her through the crowd. They came to a small archway in the coliseum’s walls, about fifty feet from the main entrance. Two tall guards in deep blue uniforms stood on either side of the door.
“Laurel Sewell,” Tamani said quietly to the guards.
One glanced at Laurel before his eyes swung back to Tamani. For some reason he looked up and down Tamani’s arms before speaking. “Am fear-faire for a Fall?”
“Fear-gleidhidh,” Tamani corrected, glancing uncomfortably at Laurel. “I’m Tamani de Rhoslyn. Hecate’s eye, man, I said this is Laurel Sewell.”
The guard straightened a little and nodded at his partner, who opened the door. “You may pass.”
“Fear-glide?” Laurel asked, knowing even as the phrase came out of her mouth that she was butchering it. She remembered Jamison’s explanation of Am fear-faire earlier in the summer, but this was something new.
“It means I’m your…escort,” Tamani said, furrowing his brow. “When I gave him your human surname, I assumed he’d realize who you were and not make a fuss. But he clearly never trained at the manor.”
“The manor?” How did every conversation with Tamani turn into a crash course in faerie culture?
“Not now,” Tamani replied gently. “It’s not important.”
And indeed, as Laurel surveyed the interior of the expansive coliseum, all questions evaporated from her mind and she gasped in delight.
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