Spells

“Oh, no,” Jamison said readily. “You are a Fall faerie. You bow only to the Queen. A slight nod of respect is more than enough from you.”

Laurel walked in silent confusion as they passed several more faeries. She watched the few who only inclined their heads. They caught her eye as she passed and she wasn’t sure quite how to take their expressions. Some seemed curious; others glared. Many were simply unreadable. Ducking her head timidly, Laurel hurried forward to keep pace with Jamison.

As they approached the towering front doors, a set of footmen pulled them open and Jamison led Laurel into a spacious foyer with a domed ceiling made entirely of glass. Sunlight poured through it, nourishing the hundreds of potted plants adorning the room. The foyer was less busy than the grounds, though there were a few faeries sitting on loungers and at small desks with books out in front of them.

An older faerie – not as old as Jamison, Laurel thought, though it was hard to tell with faeries – approached them and inclined her head. “Jamison, a pleasure.” She smiled at Laurel. “I assume this is Laurel; my, how you’ve changed.”

Laurel was startled for a moment, then remembered that she had spent seven years in Avalon before going to live with her parents. The fact that she couldn’t remember anyone didn’t mean they couldn’t remember her. It made her strangely uncomfortable to wonder how many of the faeries she passed on the grounds could remember a past she would never recall.

“I’m Aurora,” the faerie said. “I teach the initiates, who are both ahead of and behind you.” She laughed, as if at some private joke. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. We’ve freshened it up – traded outgrown things for new ones – but other than that we have left it undisturbed for your return.”

“I have a room here?” Laurel asked before she could stop herself.

“Of course,” Aurora said without looking back. “This is your home.”

Home? Laurel glanced around at the austere foyer, the intricate banisters on the winding staircase, the sparkling windows and skylights. Had this really been her home? It looked – felt – so foreign. She glanced behind her where Jamison followed, but there certainly wasn’t any gawking from him. His surroundings in the Winter Palace were probably even more grand.

On the third floor they approached a hallway lined with dark cherrywood doors. Names were painted on each in a glittering, curly script. Mara, Katya, Fawn, Sierra, Sari. Aurora stopped in front of a door that very clearly said Laurel.

Laurel felt her chest tighten and time seemed to crawl as Aurora turned the knob and pushed the door open. It glided on silent hinges over a plush, crème-coloured carpet and revealed a large room with one wall made completely of glass. The other walls were draped in pale green satin that stretched from ceiling to floor. A skylight opened over half the room, shining down on to an enormous bed covered with a silk spread and enclosed by sheer curtains so light they ruffled in the hint of a breeze that came through the doorway. Modest but obviously well-constructed furniture – a desk, dresser, and armoire – completed the room. Laurel stepped inside and gazed slowly around, searching for something familiar, something that felt like home.

But though it was one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen, she didn’t remember it. Not a wisp of a memory, no trace of recognition. Nothing. A wave of disappointment crashed over her, but she tried to hide it as she turned to Jamison and Aurora. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her smile wasn’t too tight. What did it matter that she didn’t remember? She was here now. That was the important thing.

“I’ll let you unpack and freshen up,” Aurora said. Her eyes flitted over Laurel’s tank top and jean shorts. “You are welcome to wear whatever you like here at the Academy; however, you might find the clothing in your wardrobe a bit more comfortable. We guessed your size, but new clothing can be tailored for you as early as tomorrow, if you like. Those…breeches…you’re wearing – the fabric looks like it would chafe terribly.”

A small chuckle from Jamison made Aurora stand a little straighter. “Ring this bell,” she said, pointing, “if you need anything. We have a full staff to attend you. You may do as you will for an hour, then I will send one of our fundamentals instructors up to begin your lessons.”

“Today?” Laurel asked, a bit louder than she had intended.

Aurora’s eyes darted to Jamison. “Jamison and the Queen herself have instructed us to make full use of the time you have with us. It is far too brief as it is.”

Laurel nodded, a thrill of excitement and nervousness shooting through her. “OK,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”

“I’ll leave you then.” Aurora turned and looked at Jamison, but he waved a hand at her.

“I will stay a few moments more before I return to the palace.”

“Of course,” Aurora said with a nod before leaving them alone.

Jamison stood in the doorway, surveying the room. As the sound of Aurora’s footsteps faded down the hall, Jamison spoke. “I haven’t been here since I escorted you to go and live with your parents thirteen years ago.” He looked up at her. “I hope you do not mind the rush into your work. We have so little time.”

Laurel shook her head. “It’s fine. I just…I have so many questions.”

“And most will have to wait,” Jamison said with a smile that softened his words. “The time you will spend here is too precious to be wasted on the manners and mores of Avalon. There are many years ahead for you to learn things like that.”

Laurel nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed.

“Besides,” Jamison added with a sly look in his eye, “I am sure your friend Tamani would be more than happy to answer every question you have time to ask him.” He started to turn to go.

“When will I see you again?” Laurel asked.

“I will come for you when your eight weeks are up,” he said. “And I will make sure we have some time to discuss things,” he promised. With a brief farewell he left, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Laurel feeling starkly alone.

Standing in the middle of the room, Laurel turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. She didn’t remember this place, but there was a comfort to it – a realisation that, on some level, her tastes had not changed. Green had always been a favourite colour, and she generally chose simplicity over ornate patterns and designs. The canopy was a little girlish, but then, she had chosen it a lifetime ago.

She walked over to the desk and sat down, noting to herself that the chair was just a little too small. She pulled out drawers and found sheets of thick paper, pots of paint, quill pens, and a composition book with her name on it. It took Laurel a few seconds to realise that the name looked so familiar because it was written in her own young-girl handwriting. Hands shaking, she carefully opened the book to the first page. It was a list of Latin words Laurel suspected were plants. She flipped through the pages and found more of the same. Even the English words didn’t make much sense. How utterly discouraging to realise that she had known more at seven than she did now, at sixteen. Or twenty, she corrected herself, or however old I’m supposed to be now. She tried not to think about her actual age too much; all it did was remind her of the seven years of her faerie life now lost to her memory. She felt sixteen; as far as she was concerned, she was sixteen. Laurel put the book back and stood to walk over to the wardrobe.

Inside were several sundresses and a few ankle-length skirts made from a light, flowing material. A column of drawers revealed peasant-style blouses and fitted tops with cap sleeves. Laurel rubbed the material against her face, loving the silky soft feel of it. She tried on several and settled for a light pink sundress before continuing her exploration of the room.

She didn’t get far before she walked to the window and caught her breath at the view below her. Her room overlooked the biggest flower garden she had ever seen; rows of flowers in every imaginable hue spread out below her in a cascade of colour almost as big as the grounds in front of the Academy. Her fingers pressed against the glass as she tried to take in the whole sight at once. It struck her as a waste that a room with such a magnificent view had just been sitting, empty, for the last thirteen years.

A knock on the door startled Laurel and she hurried to answer it, adjusting her dress as she did. After taking a moment to smooth her hair, Laurel opened the door.

“Laurel, I presume?” the tall faerie said with a smooth, deep voice. He studied her. “Well, you haven’t changed all that much.”

A touch taken aback, Laurel could only stare blankly up at the faerie. She had seen pictures of herself as a child; she had changed immensely!

The tall faerie wore what looked like linen Yoga trousers and a dark green shirt made of silky fabric that hung open at the chest in a way that did not seem the least bit sensual. Laurel considered her own tendency towards tank tops to expose more of her photosynthetic skin and decided this was similar. His demeanour was distinguished, formal. A look almost completely contradicted by his lack of shoes or socks.

“I am Yeardley, professor of fundamentals. May I?” the faerie said, inclining his head.

“Oh, of course,” Laurel blustered, opening the door wider.

Yeardley strode in and the faerie behind him followed closely. “There,” Yeardley said, pointing to Laurel’s desk. The other faerie stacked the pile of books on Laurel’s desk, bowed low to both Laurel and Yeardley, and backed out of the doorway before turning to walk down the hall.

Laurel turned back to the professor, who hadn’t looked away.

“I know Jamison is eager for you to begin classes, but, to be quite frank, I cannot start you on even the most basic lessons until you have some sort of foundation on which to build.”

Laurel opened her mouth to speak, realised she was in completely over her head, and closed it again.

“I have brought you what I believe to be the most basic and essential information that is requisite to beginning your true studies. I suggest you start immediately.”

Laurel’s eyes swung over to the stack of books. “All of those?” she asked.

“No. This is only the first half. I have one more batch when you have finished. Trust me,” the faerie said, “these were as few as I could possibly justify.” He looked down at a piece of paper he had pulled from a shoulder bag. “One of our acolytes” – he looked up at her—“that’s the level you would be at, by the way, under more favourable circumstances – has agreed to be your tutor. She will be available to you during all daylight hours, and explaining such basic concepts to you will hardly be a strain, so feel free to use her. We hope you spend no more than two weeks relearning the things you have forgotten since you left us.”

Wishing she could disappear through the floor, Laurel stood with her fists clenched.

“Her name is Katya,” Yeardley continued, paying no attention to Laurel’s reaction. “I suspect she will come introduce herself soon. Don’t let her social nature distract you from your studies.”

Laurel nodded stiffly, her eyes fixed firmly on the stack of books.

“I will leave you to your reading then,” he said, turning on his bare heel. “When all the books are read, we can begin regular classes.” He paused in the doorway. “Your staff can summon me when you are finished, but don’t bother until you have read each book completely. There simply isn’t any point.” Without a goodbye he strode through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him, a loud click filling the deep silence of Laurel’s room.

Taking a long breath, Laurel walked over to the desk and looked at the spines of some of the ancient-looking books: Fundamental Herbology, Origins of Elixirs, The Complete Encyclopedia of Defensive Herbs, and Troll Anatomy. Laurel grimaced at the last one.

She had always enjoyed reading, but these books weren’t exactly light fiction. She looked from the tall stack of books to the picture window across the room and noted that the sun had already begun its descent into the western sky.

She sighed. This was not what she had expected of today.

Chapter Three

Laurel sat cross-legged on her bed with a pair of scissors, cutting sheets of paper into makeshift note cards. It had taken her less than an hour of reading to realise that the situation demanded note cards. And highlighters. A year of studying biology with David had apparently turned her into a neurotic method-studier. But the next morning she was dismayed to discover that the “staff”, as everyone called the soft-spoken, plainly dressed servants who scurried around the Academy, had no idea what note cards were. They were, however, familiar with scissors, so Laurel was making her own note cards out of a fine card stock. The highlighters, unfortunately, were a lost cause.

A soft rap sounded at the door. “Come in,” Laurel called, worried that she would scatter bits of paper everywhere if she tried to actually get up and open it.

The door swung open and a small, blond head poked in. “Laurel?”

Having given up trying to recognise people, Laurel simply nodded and waited for the stranger to introduce herself.

The short, pixie-style haircut was followed by a bright smile that Laurel found herself automatically returning. It was a relief to see a smile directed at her. Dinner the evening before had been a complete disaster. Laurel had been summoned around seven to come down for the evening meal. She had hurried downstairs behind a faerie who had showed her the way to the dining hall – Laurel should have gotten a clue when she heard dining hall instead of cafeteria – in her sundress and bare feet, her hair still pulled back in a ponytail. The moment she entered the room Laurel realised she’d made a mistake. Everyone was dressed in button-down shirts and silk trousers, or floor-length skirts and dresses. It was practically a white-tie formal affair. Worse, she’d been pulled to the front of the room by Aurora to be welcomed back and presented to the Fall faeries. Hundreds of Fall faeries with no one better to look at than her.

Note to self: Dress for dinner.

But that was last night, and now here was a genuine smile, aimed at her.

“Come on in,” Laurel said. She didn’t particularly care who this faerie was or why she was here, just that she looked friendly.

And that she represented a reason for Laurel to take a break.

“I’m Katya,” the faerie said.

“Laurel,” she said automatically.

“Well, of course I know that,” Katya said with a little laugh. “Everyone knows who you are.”

Laurel looked self-consciously down at her lap.

“I hope you’ve found the Academy to your liking,” Katya continued, sounding like the perfect hostess. “I know I am always a bit unsettled when I have to travel. I don’t sleep well,” Katya said, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

Laurel avoided her eyes and made a noise of agreement without actually saying anything, wondering how far Katya could really have travelled within Avalon.

In truth, Laurel hadn’t slept well. She hoped it was the new environment, as Katya had suggested. But she’d been ripped awake several times by nightmares, and not just the usual ones of trolls, guns pointed at Tamani, pointing a gun at Barnes, or icy waves closing in over her head. Last night it wasn’t her running from Barnes, her feet in slow motion; it was her parents, David, Chelsea, Shar, and Tamani.

Laurel had risen from her bed and walked to the window, pressed her forehead against the cool glass, and looked down at the twinkling lights scattered throughout the darkness that spread below her. It seemed so contradictory, coming to Avalon to learn how to protect herself and her loved ones, and in so doing, leaving them vulnerable. Though if the trolls were hunting her, maybe her family was safer when she wasn’t around. The whole situation was out of her control, out of her very knowledge. She hated feeling helpless – useless.

“What are you doing?” Katya asked, pulling Laurel from her dreary thoughts.

“Making note cards.”

“Note cards?”

“Um, studying tools I use back at ho—in the human world,” Laurel said.

Katya picked up one of the homemade cards. “Are they just these small pieces of carding or is there something else I’m not seeing?”

“No. Just that. Pretty simple.”

“Then why are you doing it yourself?”

“Uh?” Laurel shook her head, then shrugged. “I needed note cards?”

Katya’s eyes were wide and innocently questioning. “Aren’t you supposed to study like mad while you’re here? That’s what Yeardley told me.”

“Yes, but note cards will help me study better,” Laurel insisted. “It’s worth the time to make them.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Katya laughed then walked over to the silver bell Aurora had pointed out yesterday and rang it. Its clear peal rolled around the room for a few seconds, leaving the air feeling almost alive.

“Wow,” Laurel said, earning a puzzled look from Katya.

A few seconds later a middle-aged faerie woman appeared in the doorway. Katya snatched the scissors out of Laurel’s hand and gathered up the pile of card stock. “We need these all to be cut into rectangles this size,” she said, handing over one of Laurel’s freshly cut cards. “And this is of utmost importance, so it needs to take priority over whatever else you were doing.”

“Of course,” the woman said with a slight curtsy, as if she were speaking to a queen and not a young faerie half her age – maybe less. “Would you like me to do them here so you can have them as they are completed, or take them elsewhere and return them when the entire task is done?”

Katya looked over at Laurel and shrugged. “It’s all right with me if she stays here; she has a point about getting them to us as soon as they’re cut.”

“That’s fine,” Laurel muttered, uncomfortable asking a grown woman to perform such a menial task.

“You can sit there,” Katya said, pointing to Laurel’s long window seat. “The light is good.”

The woman simply nodded, took the card stock to the window, and immediately set about cutting them into crisp, straight rectangles.

Katya settled herself on the bed beside Laurel. “Now show me what you do with these note cards and I’ll see how I can assist you.”

“I can cut my own cards,” Laurel whispered.

“Well, certainly, but there are far better uses of your time.”

“I imagine there are far better uses of her time too,” Laurel retorted, flicking her chin in the woman’s direction.

Katya looked up and stared candidly. “Her? I shouldn’t think so. She’s just a Spring faerie.”

Indignation built up in Laurel’s chest. “What do you mean, just a Spring faerie? She’s still a person, she has feelings.”

Katya looked very confused. “I never said she didn’t.

But this is her job.”

“To cut my note cards?”

“To do whatever duties the Fall faeries have need of. Look at it this way,” Katya continued, still in that bright, casual voice, “we probably saved her from sitting around just waiting for one of the other Falls to need something. Now come on, or we’ll lose all the time she’s saving us. Let me see which book you’re on.”

Laurel lay sprawled on her stomach, staring at her book. She was beyond reading; she’d been reading most of the morning and the words were starting to swim in front of her eyes, so staring was the best she could do. A light knock sounded from the doorway, where her intricately carved cherrywood door stood open. Laurel looked up at an elderly Spring faerie with kind, pink eyes and those perfectly symmetrical wrinkles she still wasn’t quite used to.

“You have a visitor in the atrium,” the faerie said, scarcely above a whisper. The Spring staff had been instructed to be very quiet around Laurel and avoid bothering her at all times.

The other students, too, apparently. Laurel never saw anyone but Katya, except at dinner, where she was mostly just stared at. But she was almost done with her last book – then it would be classroom time. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least it was different.

“A visitor?” Laurel said. It took a few seconds before her study-weary brain put it together. Then it was all she could do not to shout with joy. Tamani!

Laurel walked down a few flights of stairs and took a slightly longer route so she could walk through a rounded, glass hallway lined with flowers in every colour of the rainbow. They were beautiful. In the beginning that was all Laurel saw in them – gorgeous colours stretching out in brilliant sheets all across the Academy grounds. But they were more than decoration; they were the tools of the Fall faeries. She knew them now, after almost a week of studying, and named them, instinctively, in her head. The blue delphinium and red ranunculus, yellow freesia and calla lilies, speckled anthurium, and her newest favourite – cymbidium orchids with their soft white petals and dark pink centres. She let her fingers brush the tropical orchids as she passed, reciting automatically its common uses in her head. Cures poisoning from yellow flowers, temporarily blocks photosynthesis, phosphoresces when mixed correctly with sorrel.

She had very little context for the lists of facts in her head, but thanks to her “note cards” – which she wryly admitted the Spring faerie had cut more neatly than she would have – they were memorised.

Leaving the flowery hall, Laurel hurried to the staircase, practically skipping down the steps. She spotted Tamani leaning against a wall near the front entrance and somehow managed not to shriek his name and run to him. Barely.

Instead of the loose shirts and breeches that she was so accustomed to, he was wearing a sleek tunic over black trousers. His hair was combed back carefully, and his face looked different without the tousled strands decorating it. As she raised her arms to hug him, a small halting motion of Tamani’s hand stopped her. She stood, confused; then he smiled and bent slightly at the waist, his head inclined in the same gesture of deference the Spring staff insisted on using. “Pleasure to see you, Laurel.” He gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

She looked at him strangely for a moment, but when he flicked his head towards the exit again, she set her jaw and walked out the Academy doors. They headed down the front path that, instead of being straight like most neighbourhood walks at home, meandered through patches of flowers and greenery. And, unfortunately, other Fall students. She could feel their gazes following her, and even though most tried to hide their spying behind their books, some gawked openly.

It was a long, silent walk and Laurel kept sneaking glances back at Tamani, who persisted in walking two steps behind her. She could see a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing. Once they crossed through the gates he stopped her with a soft hand on her back and inclined his head towards a long line of tall bushes. She walked towards them and as soon as the Academy was blocked from her view by the pokey green stems, strong arms lifted her off her feet and spun her around.

“I have missed you so much,” Tamani said, the grin she loved restored to his face.

Laurel wrapped her arms around him and held on for a long time. He was a reminder of her life outside the Academy, an anchor to her own world. The place she still called home. It was strange to realise that, over the course of a few short days, her most direct link to Avalon had now become her strongest tie to human life.

And, of course, he was himself. There was plenty to be said for that, too.

“Sorry about all that,” he said. “The Academy is very particular about protocol between Spring and Fall faeries and I would hate for you to get in trouble. Well, I guess it’s more likely I’d get in trouble, but regardless…let’s avoid trouble.”