Spells

“Oh, well, never mind then, because explaining weird things to me has definitely never been part of this relationship.”

Her sarcasm brought a sheepish smile to Tamani’s face. “It’s kind of a Spring faerie thing,” he said elusively.

“Oh, come on,” she said. Then added teasingly, “Tell me or I’ll walk beside you.”

When he didn’t respond, she slowed down and then quickly spun away from his hand and repositioned herself right by his side.

“Fine,” he said in a whisper, pushing her gently back up in front of him. “A Mixer is a Fall faerie. It’s not a bad name or anything,” he continued in a rush. “It’s just a…nickname. But it’s something we would never call a Fall to their face.”

“Mixer?” Laurel said experimentally, liking the feel of it on her tongue. “Because we make things,” she said, laughing. “It’s fitting.”

Tamani shrugged.

“What’s a Summer?”

Now Tamani cringed a bit. “A Sparkler.”

Laurel laughed, and several of the cheerily clad Springs glanced her way before returning to their work with a little too much of an air of purpose. “What about Winters?”

Tamani shook his head. “Oh, we would never take Winter faeries so lightly. Never,” he added emphatically.

“What do you call yourselves?” she asked.

“Ticers,” Tamani said. “Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe everyone in Ticer-ville,” Laurel said. “But I didn’t.”

Tamani snorted when she said Ticer-ville. “Well, now you do.”

“What does it mean?” Laurel asked.

“Ticer, like en-tice-ment. It’s what we all do. Well, what we can do, anyway. Mostly only sentries ever use it.”

“Oh,” Laurel said with a grin. “Ticer. Got it. Why do only sentries use it?”

“Um,” he began uncertainly, “remember last year when I tried to use it on you?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’d almost forgotten.” She turned to him in mock anger. “I was mad at you!”

Tamani chuckled and shrugged. “Point is, it didn’t work very well because you’re a faerie. So only sentries – and specifically sentries who work outside Avalon – ever really have a chance to use it on non faerie creatures.”

“Makes sense.” Her curiosity sated, Laurel began walking again. Soft fingers touched her waist, guiding her through the still-heavy crowds.

“To the right here,” Tamani said. “We’re almost there.”

Laurel was glad to find herself turning down a much less crowded side street. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious and wished she had asked the tall faerie at the kiosk to put the hair jewels in a box. No one else here was wearing anything even remotely similar. “Are we there yet?”

“That house up there,” Tamani said, gesturing. “The one with the big flower boxes up front.”

They approached a small but charming house made from a hollowed-out tree, though the tree wasn’t like anything Laurel had ever seen before. Instead of a thick trunk growing straight up, it had a wide base and grew out in a round shape, like an enormous wooden pumpkin. The trunk narrowed again at the top and continued to grow up, sprouting branches and leaves that shaded the house. “How does it grow like that?”

“Magic. This house was a gift to my mother from the Queen. Winter faeries can ask the trees to grow any way they please.”

“Why did your mother get a gift from the Queen?”

“As a thank-you for years of distinguished service as a Gardener.”

“A gardener? Aren’t there a ton of gardeners?”

“Oh, no. It’s a very specialised field. One of the most prestigious positions a Spring faerie can aspire to.”

“Really?” Laurel said sceptically. She’d seen dozens of gardeners just around the Academy.

Tamani looked at her strangely for a moment before understanding blossomed across his face. “Not like human gardeners. We would call those Tenders here, and yes, there are a lot of them. I suppose you might call my mother a…a midwife.”

“A midwife?”

If Tamani heard the question, he made no sign. He knocked softly on the ash door of the strange tree house. Then, without waiting for a response, he opened it. “I’m home.”

A squeal sounded from inside the house and a flutter of colourful skirts wrapped itself around Tamani’s legs. “Oh, my goodness, what is this?” He detangled the young faerie and lifted her over his head. “What is this thing? I think it’s a Rowen flower!” The little girl squealed as Tamani tucked her against his chest.

The girl looked like she was maybe a year old, scarcely more than an infant. But she walked steadily and her eyes betrayed intelligence. Intelligence and, Laurel felt certain without knowing why, mischief.

“Have you been a good girl today?” Tamani asked.

“Of course,” the young faerie said, far more articulately than Laurel would have thought possible for a child so small. “I’m always a good girl.”

“Excellent.” He turned his gaze towards the inside of the house. “Mother?” he called.

“Tam! What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming today.” Laurel looked up and felt suddenly shy as an older female faerie walked into the room. The woman was beautiful, with a lightly lined face, pale green eyes just like Laurel’s, and a broad smile that was beaming at Tamani. She didn’t seem to have noticed Laurel yet, half hidden behind him in the doorway.

“I didn’t know myself until this morning.”

“No matter,” the woman said, taking Tamani’s face in both hands and kissing his cheeks.

“I brought company,” Tamani said, his voice suddenly quiet.

The woman turned to Laurel and, for a second, concern masked her face. Then recognition dawned and she smiled. “Laurel. Look at you; you’ve hardly changed a bit.”

Laurel smiled back, but her face fell when Tamani’s mother inclined her head and bent at the waist.

Tamani must have felt Laurel stiffen, because he squeezed his mother’s hand and said, “Laurel’s had enough formality for one day. She’s just herself in this house.”

“All the better,” Tamani’s mother said with a smile. Then she stepped forward and took Laurel’s face, just like she had Tamani’s moments before, and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome.”

Tears sprang to Laurel’s eyes. It was the warmest greeting she’d had from anyone except Tamani since arriving in Avalon. It made her miss her own mother acutely. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Come in, come in; no need to stand in the doorway. We have windows enough for that,” Tamani’s mother said, shooing them in. “And since we’re doing away with the formality, you can just call me Rhoslyn.”