Wings Free with Bonus Material

by Aprilynne Pike

  “Fall faeries are the next most powerful, and like Winter faeries, more rare. Fall faeries make things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things from other plants. Elixirs, potions, poultices. That sort of thing.”

  That didn’t sound very magical at all. “So, I’m like a cook? I mix stuff together?”

  Tamani shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not a matter of simply mixing things together—otherwise everyone could do it. Fall faeries have a magical sense for plants and can use them for the realm’s benefit. Give me every book ever written on tonics and I still couldn’t even make a mixture to stop mold. It’s magic, even if it seems sensible.”

  “It just doesn’t sound like magic, that’s all.”

  “But it is. Different Fall faeries have different specialties. They make potions and elixirs to do all sorts of things—like creating a mist to confound intruders or making a toxin to put them to sleep. Fall faeries are crucial to the survival of the fae as a species. They’re very, very important.”

  “I guess that’s cool.” But Laurel wasn’t entirely convinced. It sounded like chemistry to her, and if her biology class was any kind of indicator, she wouldn’t be very good at it.

  “What do Summer faeries do?”

  Tamani smiled. “Summer faeries are flashy,” he said, resuming his conversational tone. “Like summer flowers. They create illusions and the most incredible fireworks. The sorts of things humans typically think of as magic.”

  Laurel couldn’t help but think that being a Summer faerie sounded a lot more fun than being a Fall faerie. “Are you a Summer faerie?”

  “No.” Tamani hesitated. “I’m just a Spring faerie.”

  “Why ‘just’?”

  Tamani shrugged. “Spring faeries are the least powerful of all the faeries. That’s why I’m a sentry. Manual labor. I don’t need much magic for that.”

  “What can you do?”

  Tamani looked away. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to be angry.”

  “Why would I be angry?”

  “Because I did it to you last time you were here.”

  FOURTEEN

  “DID WHAT?” LAUREL’S VOICE ROSE.

  “You have to promise not to get upset.”

  “You cast some kind of spell on me and now you expect me to just smile and tell you that’s okay? Well it’s not!”

  “Look, it didn’t even work very well…never does on other faeries.”

  Laurel crossed her arms. “Just tell me.”

  Tamani leaned back against his tree. “I enticed you.”

  “Enticed me?”

  “I got you to follow me here.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “You had to listen long enough to hear the truth.”

  “So…what? You threw faerie dust in my eyes?”

  “No, that’s ridiculous,” Tamani said. “I told you—real faerie magic isn’t quite what you’re thinking. There’s no pixie dust to make you fly, no waving magic wands, no puffs of smoke. It’s just things we can do that help us in our roles in life.”

  “How does enticing help you be a sentry?” Laurel’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but Tamani continued explaining as though he hadn’t noticed.

  “Think about it. I can chase an intruder away with my spear, but what good does that do? He’ll just run and tell his friends what happened, and they’ll come back looking for us.” Tamani spread his hands in front of him. “Instead, I entice him away, give him a memory elixir, and then send him off. Ever heard of a will-o’-the-wisp?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s us. After a human drinks the elixir, all they remember of the whole incident is following a flash of light. It’s peaceful that way. No one gets hurt.”

  “But I remembered you.”

  “I didn’t give you an elixir, did I?”

  “You still used your magic on me.” She refused to give up so easily.

  “I had to. Would you have followed me if I didn’t?”

  Laurel shook her head, but in her mind she knew that wasn’t quite true. She might have followed Tamani anywhere.

  “Besides, like I said, it doesn’t work very well on other faeries—and it doesn’t work at all if they know what’s coming. You broke it pretty easily when you thought about it.” The half-grin was back.

  “What about today?” Laurel asked before the smile could hypnotize her.

  “Are you afraid I used it on you again?” he asked with a grin.

  “Kind of.”

  “Nope. All this charm and charisma comes naturally.” His smile was confident now. Arrogant.

  “Promise me you’ll never try it on me again.”

  “That’s an easy one. Now that you know, it wouldn’t work if I did try. And I won’t,” he added. “I like it better when I can bewitch you without my magic.”

  Laurel hid her grin and sat back waiting for the comforting feeling around her to melt away.

  It didn’t.

  She furrowed her eyebrows. “Stop it. You promised.”

  Tamani’s eyes widened in confusion. “Stop what?”

  “That enticing thing. You’re still doing it.”

  Tamani’s confused expression shifted to a warm smile. Satisfaction hovered around his eyes. “That’s not me.”

  Laurel glared at him.

  “It’s the magic of the realm. It seeps in from the world of the faeries. Helps the sentries feel at home when we can’t be.” His smile was calm and serene now, and a trace of satisfaction hovered around his eyes. “You felt it before—I know you did. It’s why you love this bit of land so much. But now that you know what you are and you’ve blossomed for the first time, it will be stronger.” He leaned forward, his nose mere inches from hers. Her breath caught in her chest as his nearness made her whole body feel limp. “It’s the realm calling you home, Laurel.”

  Laurel tore her eyes from the endless depths of Tamani’s gaze and concentrated on what she was feeling. She looked into the foliage around her and the feeling intensified. The pleasant sensation seemed to emanate from the trees, and the air reverberated with it. “Is it really magic?” she asked breathlessly, knowing it couldn’t be anything else.

  “Of course.”

  “It’s not you?”

  Tamani laughed softly but not mockingly. “It’s far greater magic than a lowly Spring faerie could even attempt.”

  She met his eyes and for a moment couldn’t look away. His bright green eyes held on to hers. He looked mostly human, but there was something—she couldn’t quite put her finger on it—that seemed to indicate he was much more than what he appeared to be. “Are most faeries like you?” she asked quietly.

  He blinked, and she managed to look away. “That depends on what you mean,” he said. “If you’re referring to my charm and wit, no—I’m as charming as they come. If you mean my appearance…” He paused to look down and take stock of himself. “I guess I’m fairly normal. Nothing real special.”

  Laurel would have to argue with that. He had the kind of face even movie stars only got with airbrushing. But if he was right, maybe all faeries looked like him.

  With a start Laurel wondered if she looked that way to her peers. Her face seemed normal to her, but then, she’d seen it in the mirror every day for her whole life.

  She wondered briefly if what she saw when she looked at Tamani was what David saw when he looked at her.

  The thought made her a little uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and began digging in her backpack to cover it. She pulled a can of soda from her bag. “Want one?” she asked absently as she popped the top.

  “What is it?”

  “Sprite.”

  Tamani laughed. “Sprite? You’re kidding me.”

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “Do you want one or not?”

  “Sure.”

  She showed him how to pop the tab and he tried it tentatively. “Huh, isn’t that something.” He scrutinized her for a few seconds. “Is
this what you usually drink?”

  “It’s one of the few things I like.”

  “No wonder your hair and eyes are almost colorless.”

  “So?”

  “You never wondered why mine aren’t?”

  “I…guess I wondered about your hair.” That was an under-statement.

  “I eat a lot of dark-green stuff. The moss down by the river, mostly.”

  “Eww.”

  “Nah, it’s good. You were just raised with human ideals. I bet you’d like it if you tasted it.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. You’re pretty enough as you are.”

  She smiled shyly as he raised his can in her direction before sipping.

  “I eat peaches,” she said suddenly.

  Tamani nodded. “They’re good, I guess. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, personally.”

  “That’s not the point. Why don’t I turn orange?”

  “What else do you eat?”

  “Strawberries, lettuce, and spinach. Apples sometimes. Basic fruits and vegetables.”

  “You eat a variety, so your hair and eyes don’t pick up on any certain color; they just stay light.” He smirked. “Try eating nothing but strawberries for a week—that’ll give your mother a shock.”

  “Would I turn red?” Laurel asked in horror.

  “Not all of you,” Tamani said. “Just your eyes and the roots of your hair. Like mine. Back home it’s a fashion thing. Blue, pink, purple. It’s fun.”

  “That’s so weird.”

  “Why? Don’t half the humans’ stories say we have green skin? That’s a lot weirder.”

  “Maybe.” Laurel remembered something from the last time she’d met Tamani. “You said there’s no faerie dust, right?”

  Tamani inclined his chin somewhat, apparently in agreement, but his face was unreadable.

  “Last time I was here, you grabbed my wrist and later there was this sparkly powder on it. What was that, if not faerie dust?”

  Now Tamani grimaced. “Sorry about that; I should have been more careful.”

  “Why, was it dangerous?”

  Tamani laughed. “Hardly. It was just pollen.”

  “Pollen?”

  “Yeah, you know.” He studied his hands as if they had suddenly become very interesting. “For…pollinating.”

  “Pollinating?” Laurel started to laugh, but Tamani didn’t look like he was telling a joke.

  “Why do you think you grew a flower? It’s not just for looks. Although yours was very attractive.”

  “Oh.” Laurel was quiet for a few moments. “Pollinating is how flowers reproduce.”

  “It’s how we reproduce, too.”

  “So you could have…pollinated me?”

  “I would never do that, Laurel.” His face was deadly serious.

  “But you could have?” Laurel pressed.

  Tamani spoke slowly, choosing his words with great care. “Technically, yes.”

  “Then what? I would have a baby?”

  “A seedling, yes.”

  “Would it grow on my back?”

  “No, no. Faeries grow in flowers. That’s one thing the human stories generally get right. The…female…is pollinated by a male and when her petals fall off she’s left with a seed. She plants it and when the flower blooms, you have a seedling.”

  “How do you…we…you know, faeries pollinate?”

  “The male produces pollen on his hands and when two faeries decide to pollinate, the male reaches into the female’s blossom and lets the pollen mix. It’s a somewhat delicate process.”

  “Doesn’t sound very romantic.”

  “There’s nothing romantic about it at all,” Tamani replied, a confident smile spreading across his face. “That’s what sex is for.”

  “You still…?” She let the question hang.

  “Sure.”

  “But faeries don’t get pregnant?”

  “Never.” Tamani winked. “Pollination is for reproduction—sex is just for fun.”

  “Can I see the pollen?” Laurel asked, holding her hands out for his.

  Tamani pulled his hands back instinctively. “I don’t have any right now—you’re not in bloom anymore. We only produce pollen when we’re around a female who’s in bloom. That’s why I forgot and left some on your wrist. I haven’t been around a female with a blossom in a long time.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m a sentry. There are always other sentries, but the ones here are all male. And I don’t go home too often.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “Sometimes.” He looked at her again and something changed about his eyes. His guard was down and she saw deep, mournful sadness. It almost hurt to keep looking, but she couldn’t turn away.

  Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone—replaced with a careless grin. “It was more fun when you were here. You got me into big trouble, by the way.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You disappeared.” Tamani laughed and shook his head. “Boy, we’re glad you came back. When you—”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “You didn’t think I was the only faerie here, did you?”

  Laurel played with a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “Kind of, yeah.”

  “You won’t see us unless we let you.”

  Despite what Tamani had just said, Laurel glanced around at the trees. “How many?” she asked, wondering if she was surrounded by legions of unseen fae.

  “Depends. Shar and I are almost always here. Ten or fifteen others usually rotate through for six months or a year at a time.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  He looked at her for several silent seconds with an unreadable expression. “A long time,” he finally said.

  “Why are you here?”

  He smiled. “To watch you. Well, till your disappearing act.”

  “You were here to watch me? Why?”

  “To help protect you. Make sure no one found out what you are.”

  Laurel remembered something from her research. “Am I a…a changeling?”

  Tamani hesitated for a second. “In the loosest sense of the word, yes. Except that we didn’t steal someone and replace them with you. I prefer to think of you as a scion.”

  “What’s a scion?”

  “It’s a plant that’s taken from one plant and grafted into another. You were taken from our world and put in the human world. A scion.”

  “But why? Are there lots of…scions?”

  “Nope. At the moment, there’s just you.”

  “Why me?”

  He leaned forward a little. “I can’t tell you everything, and you have to respect that, but I’ll tell you what I can, okay?”

  Laurel nodded.

  “You were placed here twelve years ago to integrate into the human world.”

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “I should have known. Who else would put me in a basket on someone’s porch?” Her eyes widened when Tamani laughed. “Did you do that?”

  He laughed harder now, throwing his head backward in his amusement. “No, no. I was too young. But when I joined the sentries here, I pretty much got briefed on your whole life.”

  Laurel wasn’t sure she liked that idea. “My whole life?”

  “Yep.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Did you spy on me?”

  “It’s not exactly spying. We were helping.”

  “Helping…right.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Really. We had to keep your parents from finding out what you are.”

  “That sounds like a really seamless plan.” Her tone turned sarcastic. “Hmm, how should we keep these two humans from finding out about faeries? Oh, I know, let’s plop one on their doorstep.”

  “It wasn’t like that. We needed them to have a faerie child.”

  “Why?”

  Tamani hesitated, then pursed his lips.

  “Fine, Mr. I’d-tell-you-but-then-I’d
-have-to-kill-you. Why didn’t you send me out here as a baby?” She chuckled a little awkwardly. “Trust me, I’d have fit in the basket better if I wasn’t three.”

  Tamani didn’t smile this time. “Actually, you were quite a bit older than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fairies don’t age the same way humans do. They’re never really babies. I mean, they look like human babies when they first blossom, but faerie babies are never helpless the way humans are. They’re born knowing how to walk and talk, and mentally they are about the equivalent of…” He considered for a moment. “Maybe a five-year-old.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Then they age a bit slower physically, so by the time a faerie looks like a three-or four-year-old, they’re actually seven or eight…and mentally they act like they are about eleven or twelve.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “You need to remember that we’re plants. Nurturing helpless young is what animals do. Not plants. Plants produce seedlings and those seedlings grow on their own. They don’t need help.”

  “So what, faeries don’t even have parents? I don’t have faerie parents somewhere?”

  Tamani bit his lip and looked at the ground. “Things are very different in the faerie realm. There’s not much time to be a child and not enough adult faeries to just sit around and watch kids play. Everyone has a role and a purpose, and they take on those roles very early. We grow up quickly. I’ve been a sentry since I was fourteen. I was a mite young but only by a year or two. Most faeries are practicing their profession and living on their own by fifteen or sixteen.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

  “Fun isn’t really the point.”

  “If you say so. So, I couldn’t come as a baby because I could walk and talk, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “So how old was I when I did come?”

  He sighed, and for a moment Laurel didn’t think he would tell her. Then he seemed to change his mind. “You were seven.”

  “Seven?” The idea was a little shocking. “Why don’t I remember anything?”

  Tamani leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “You have to understand before I answer that, even though you don’t remember, you agreed to all this.”

  “All what?”

  “Everything. Coming here, fulfilling your role, living with the humans, all of it. You were selected for this a long time ago, and you agreed to come.”