She heard her father walk up and as she felt his arms encompass them both Laurel was certain she’d made the right decision. She couldn’t live in two worlds, and this world was where she belonged. She smiled up at her parents and sank down onto the couch. They sat on either side of her.
“So what happened?” her dad asked.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Laurel began hesitantly. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, not for a long time.”
And with a deep breath, Laurel began explaining about the trolls, starting all the way back at the hospital the previous fall. She explained why Jeremiah Barnes had never shown up to finish buying the land, and why he had tried to buy it in the first place. She told them about the sentries who had kept them safe. The true nature of the “dog fights” in the trees behind their house. She even told them about Klea; she left nothing out. When Laurel finished relaying the events of that night, her dad just shook his head. “And you did that all on your own?”
“Everyone helped, Dad. David, Chelsea”—she hesitated—“Klea. I couldn’t have done it alone.” Laurel paused and looked over at her mom.
She had risen from the couch and was pacing in front of the window.
“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Mom,” Laurel said. “I just thought that you dealing with the whole faerie thing was enough without throwing trolls into the mix as well. And I know it’s going to take some time to accept this, too, but from now on, I’ll tell you guys everything, I promise, if you’ll just…if you’ll just listen and still”—she sniffed, trying to hold back tears—“still love me.”
Laurel’s mom turned to her with a look Laurel couldn’t quite decipher. “I’m so sorry, Laurel.”
Whatever Laurel might have expected, it wasn’t that. “What? No, I’m the one who lied.”
“You may have kept secrets from us, but I think you could tell I wouldn’t have listened. And I’m sorry about that.” She leaned forward and hugged Laurel, and Laurel felt her spirits lift and fly in a way she had been certain she would never feel again. She hadn’t realized just how hard it was, hiding so much from her parents.
Her mom sat back down on the couch and put an arm around Laurel. “When you told us you were a faerie, it was weird and unbelievable, but more than that, it made me feel completely useless. You were this amazing thing and had spent your whole life having all these faerie…guards, or whatever, watching out for you. You didn’t need me.”
“No, Mom,” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ll always need you. You were the best mom. Always.”
“It made me so angry. I’m sure that was the wrong way to feel, but it’s how I felt. I took it out on you. I didn’t mean to,” she added. “But I did. And the whole time,” her mom continued, “you were afraid for your life and keeping this huge secret.” She turned to Laurel. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to try—I’ve been trying.”
“I noticed,” Laurel said with a smile.
“Well, I’m going to try harder.” She kissed Laurel’s forehead. “When you left my store tonight, I was afraid I might never see you again, and I didn’t even know why. And the only thing I could feel through the fear was the overwhelming regret that you didn’t know how much I loved you. How much I’ve always loved you.” She leaned her head against Laurel.
“I love you too, Mom,” Laurel said, her arms tight around her mom’s waist.
“And I love you both,” Laurel’s dad said with a grin, hugging them tightly together, smooshing Laurel in the middle. They all laughed, and Laurel felt the tension of the past year dissipating. It would take work—nothing fixed itself in one night—but it was a start. It was enough.
“So,” her mom said after a minute. “you didn’t tell us what actually happened in Avalon today.” She was hesitant, awkward, but her tone sounded genuine.
“It was amazing,” Laurel said haltingly. “The most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
Laurel’s mom patted her thigh and Laurel lay down with her head in her mom’s lap. She ran her fingers through Laurel’s long hair the way she had ever since Laurel was a little girl. And with both of her parents just listening, Laurel began to talk about Avalon.
TWENTY-SEVEN
STANDING AT THE EDGE OF THE TREE LINE HAD never felt so much like standing at the edge of a cliff. Laurel took several deep breaths and had a few false starts before she forced her feet to walk down the path that led into the forest behind her cabin.
“Tamani?” she called softly. “Tam?”
She kept walking, knowing that it didn’t really matter if she called or not; he must already know she was here. He always did.
“Tamani?” she called again.
“Tamani’s not here.”
Laurel bit off a yelp of surprise as she turned toward the deep voice behind her.
It was Shar.
He looked at her steadily, his eyes the same deep green as Tamani’s, his dark blond hair with green roots framing his oval face and just touching his shoulders.
“Where is he?” Laurel asked when she found her voice.
Shar shrugged. “You told him to go, so he went.”
“What do you mean, he went?”
“This gate is no longer Tamani’s post. He was mostly here to watch you, anyway, and now you’re gone. He has a new assignment.”
“Since yesterday!” Laurel cried.
“Things can move very quickly when we need them to.”
She nodded. Granted, the whole reason she’d come was to tell him they needed to not see each other anymore, but she wanted to explain, to make him understand. She didn’t want it to end like this. The last words she’d screamed at him echoed through her head, reverberating with a sickening clarity. I want you to go away. I mean it. Go! She hadn’t meant it, not exactly. She was angry and scared, and David was standing right there. She took a long, shuddering breath and rubbed her temples with her fingertips.
It was too late.
“What have you got there?” Shar said, interrupting her thoughts.
He was reaching for her hand, and it didn’t occur to her to yank it away. Her thoughts swirled, centering on Tamani and how badly her words must have hurt him.
Shar studied the blisters. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed. “These blisters are from a monastuolo serum. Have you treated it?”
“Too many things going on,” Laurel mumbled, shaking her head.
“Come with me,” Shar said, pulling on her hand.
Laurel followed, too numb to resist.
Shar led her to a clearing, where he picked up a pack that looked very similar to Tamani’s. She hated being here without him. Everything she saw was a reminder of him. Shar pulled out a bottle of thick amber liquid and laid her hand on his lap, squeezing the bottle carefully to release one large drop of the cloudy solution.
“A little goes a long way,” Shar said, rubbing the tender blisters carefully. The cooling effect was instant, even with the irritation of Shar’s fingers on the sensitive skin. “When I’m finished, keep it uncovered and in the sunlight if you can.”
Laurel stared at him. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “You hate me.”
Shar sighed as he squeezed another drop onto her hand, rubbing her blistered fingers this time. “I don’t hate you. I hate the way you treat Tam.”
Laurel looked away, unable to meet his accusing eyes.
“He lives for you, Laurel, and that’s not some kind of figure of speech. He lives every day for you. Even after you moved to Crescent City, all he did every day was talk about you, worry about you, wonder what was happening, if he would ever see you again. And even when I told him I was sick of hearing about you, I could tell he was still thinking about you. Every moment of every day.”
Laurel studied her blistered hand.
“And you!” Shar said, his voice getting a little louder. “You don’t appreciate that at all. Sometimes I think you don’t even realize he exists except when you’re around him. Like the only par
t of his life that matters is the part you see.” He looked up at her and placed her hand back on her own lap. “Did you know he lost his father last spring?”
“I did.” Laurel nodded emphatically, desperate to defend herself. “I knew that. I—”
“That was the worst part,” Shar continued, talking over her. “The worst ever. He was so distraught. But he knew it would be okay, because you were going to come see him. ‘In May,’ he told me. ‘She’s coming in May.’”
Laurel’s chest felt hollow, empty.
“But you didn’t come in May. He waited for you every day, Laurel. And then, when you finally showed up at the end of June, the second he saw you—the instant he saw you—you were forgiven. And every time you come and then leave—go back to your human boy—you shatter him all over again.” He leaned back with his arms across his chest. “And honestly, I don’t think you care.”
“I do,” Laurel said, her voice brimming with emotion. “I do care.”
“No, you don’t,” Shar said, his voice still even and calm. “You think you do, but if you really cared, you wouldn’t do it anymore. You’d stop stringing him along like a plaything.”
Laurel was silent for a few seconds, then she stood abruptly and started to walk away.
“I suppose you came to beg his forgiveness and give him a lot of pretty hopes before traipsing back to your little human boy again,” Shar said, just before she was out of sight.
“As a matter of fact, no.” Laurel turned, angry now. “I came to tell him that I can’t do this two-worlds thing anymore. That I have to stay in the human world and he has to stay in the faerie world.” She stopped and sucked in a breath, grabbing hold of her temper. “You’re right,” she said, calm now. “It’s not fair for me to breeze in and out of his life. And…and it has to stop,” she finished lamely.
Shar stared at her for a long time, then a hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Laurel, that’s the best decision I’ve ever seen you make.” He leaned forward just a bit. “And I’ve been watching you since you were just a wee thing.”
Laurel scrunched up her face. Thank you, Big Brother.
“Where’d you get the blisters?” Shar stood and crossed his arms over his chest.
Laurel rolled her eyes and turned away.
“This isn’t a game, Laurel.” Shar caught her wrist, and not gently. “There’s only one reason for using a monastuolo serum, and ‘for fun’ is not it.”
Laurel glared at him. “I ran into some trouble,” she said shortly. “I handled it.”
“Handled it?”
“Yes, I handled it. I’m not completely helpless, you know.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I dealt with it; it doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to pull her arm away.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Laurel. I said this isn’t a game. Do you think it’s a game?” Shar demanded, his eyes hard and flashing. “A contest between you and the trolls? Because I suspect that this little ‘problem’ is the same troll who was hunting you last year. The same troll who knows the gate is here on this land. The troll who wouldn’t think twice about murdering you and every faerie in the realm to get into Avalon. Your little problem is threatening our lives, Laurel.”
She pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest, saying nothing.
“I have a daughter, did you know that? A two-year-old little girl, barely more than a seedling. I’d like her to have a father for at least the next hundred years, if you don’t mind. But the chances of that happening are dropping precipitously right now because you have this animal-brained determination that you have to handle things yourself. So I ask you again, Laurel, are you going to tell me what happened?”
His voice hadn’t gotten any louder, but Laurel felt her ears ring as though he’d shouted. It was more than she could handle. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to stop the tears, but it didn’t help; they came anyway. She’d screwed everything up. She’d let down everyone who had any degree of importance to her at all. Even Shar.
Shar’s sharp whisper made Laurel’s head snap up. He’d said something in a language she didn’t understand, but he didn’t seem to be addressing her. She forced back her tears, and her eyes flashed around at the trees surrounding her. But no one appeared and Shar was still focused on her.
Laurel nodded numbly. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll tell you.”
Shar watched Laurel leave the glade and climb into her car after she had finished telling him about Barnes. She’d answered all his questions.
All the ones she knew the answers to, anyway.
Shar waited, standing still against the tree until her car—its yellow signal blinking annoyingly—turned onto the highway.
“You can come out now, Tam,” he said.
Tamani stepped out from behind a tree, his eyes fixed on Laurel’s departing car.
“Thank you for staying put—even though you almost didn’t,” he added wryly.
Tamani just shrugged.
“She wouldn’t have told me as much with you around. She needed to think you were gone. Now she’s really told us everything.”
“She didn’t have much of a choice,” Tamani said, his voice flat. “Not with the way you were interrogating her.” He paused for a few seconds. “You were pretty hard on her, Shar.”
“You’ve seen me be hard on someone, Tam. That wasn’t hard.”
“Yeah, but—”
“She needed to hear it, Tamani,” Shar said sharply. “She may be your duty, but the gate is mine. She needs to know how serious this is.”
Tamani tightened his jaw but didn’t argue.
“I’m sorry I made her cry,” Shar said grudgingly.
“So are we agreed on what needs to be done next?”
Shar nodded.
Tamani smiled.
“It’ll take months, Tamani. This is a huge endeavor you’re undertaking.”
“I know.”
“And she did come here to say good-bye.”
“I know,” he said, his voice soft. He turned now, to look at Shar. “But you’ll watch her? You’ll make sure she’s safe?”
“I promise.” He paused. “I’ll assign more sentries to her house. If Barnes could get the whole crew away from her house last night, then there weren’t enough. I’ll make sure there’s enough next time.”
“Will there be a next time?”
Shar nodded. “I’m sure of it. Barnes was a twig, maybe a branch, but weeds like this grow from the roots. I’m not too proud to admit that I’m afraid of what we’re not seeing.” He glanced at Tamani. “If I weren’t so sure, I wouldn’t let you do this at all.”
They gazed up the path, toward the empty cabin with its overgrown yard and aging exterior.
“You ready for this?” Shar asked.
“Yeah,” Tamani said, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, yeah.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE MORE I LEARN ABOUT PUBLISHING, THE LESS credit I think authors deserve. For at least a million reasons, these are my champions: Erica Sussman, Susan Katz, Kate Jackson, Ray Shappell, Cristina Gilbert, Erin Gallagher, Jocelyn Davies, Jennifer Kelaher, Elise Howard, Cecilia de la Campa, Maja Nikolic, Alec Shane, and the countless people at HarperCollins and Writers House who have worked tirelessly to make this series a success.
A special thank-you goes to my personal knights in shining armor, my beyond amazing editor, Tara Weikum; agent extraordinaire Jodi Reamer; and the most patient publicist in the world, Laura Kaplan. You three work so hard for me, and every moment is appreciated.
My friends, my wonderful friends, you all know who you are, and what you’ve done, and I promise not to turn you in for it: David McAfee, Pat Wood, John Zakour, James Dashner, Sarah Cross, Sarah MacLean, Sarah Rees Brennan, Carrie Ryan, Saundra Mitchell, R. J. Anderson, Heidi Kling, Stephenie, and the whole Feast of Awesome. Wow. You are amazing and have very questionable taste in friends, for which I am gratefu
l. Betas Hannah, Emma, and Bethany, I am still going to send you guys stuff! And thank you to authors Claire Davis and William Bernhardt for helping me learn the craft. I’m still trying!
My family and family-in-law: No one has ever had such a supportive family, I am convinced. A huge thank-you to Audrey, Brennan, and Gideon; you are my sunshine, always will be. Last and above all, Kenny, you are there every step. And every misstep. It hasn’t been easy, but you make it look that way.
About the Author
APRILYNNE PIKE has been spinning faerie stories since she was a child with a hyperactive imagination. She completed her BA in creative writing at the age of twenty at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, Idaho. Aprilynne lives with her husband and three kids in Arizona. You can visit her online and read her blog at www.aprilynnepike.com.
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Credits
Jacket art © 2010 by Mark Tucker/MergeLeft Reps, Inc.
Jacket design by Ray Shappell
Copyright
SPELLS. Copyright © 2010 by Aprilynne Pike. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.