by L-J Baker
“Oh, grow up! Life is shit! You deal with it. You don’t whine about it! And you don’t play stupid games!”
Rye slammed the door, stomped across to the living room and slammed that door, too. She sagged onto the couch. She had come that close to hitting Holly.
Rye woke before her alarm. She dressed and trotted down to Cloudnut’s All-Purpose Store. He let her have a couple of old newspapers free. She sat poring over the broom wanted ads while she drank her breakfast tea and ate a bowl of budget beech nut flakes. She heard Holly’s alarm and continued with her reading. Holly’s bedroom door opened. She paused before approaching the table and sitting.
“The play was scathing,” Holly said.
“Yeah?”
“Frond Lovage is an astronomical actress. I bet the reviews will be white hot. Can I look?”
“This is yesterday’s paper.”
“Oh,” Holly said. “You can see why everyone says that she’s the best new shooting star. Daisy’s mum was crying in the last act. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t keep blowing her nose really loud. Daisy and me wanted the earth to eat us whole.”
“Sounds like you had a good time.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
Rye stood and carried her bowl and empty mug to the sink. She grabbed her sandwiches for lunch and carried them into the hall.
Holly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Rye?”
“What?”
“I guess I should’ve told you. About going to the play.”
Rye stared at her. She looked sincere. “I would’ve appreciated that.”
Holly folded her arms across her chest and frowned down at the floor.
Rye put her jacket back on the peg and walked toward Holly. “What’s been going on?”
“That stuff you said about Fairyland. Is it true? Is that what would happen? Or did you make it up to scare me?”
Rye wanted to hug her. “It’s not going to happen. You’re not going back. I promise you.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? I’ve been reading books about Fairyland. I never have before, because I thought someone would guess I was a fairy. But I’ve read every book about it in the school library now. And they do some horrible shit. But… but that stuff. Like you said. With… with the men. That isn’t in any books.”
Rye gently brushed an errant curl from Holly’s face. “We’re not there any more. Sure some of what happens is ugly. We wouldn’t have run away from a terrific place to live, would we? But don’t let it get to you, Holls. Yeah?”
Holly nodded. “Okay.”
“Good. I’ve got to fly. You be good, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Rye pulled her jacket on, shouldered her work bag, and reached for the door.
“Rye? I saw Flora at the play.”
Rye twisted around before she could stop herself. “Yeah?”
“She wasn’t anywhere near us. She was in a VIP box. I don’t think she saw me. She was wearing the most scathing gown. And this astronomical headdress.”
Rye could imagine Flora looking gorgeous. Just like in that magazine article. With Frond Lovage, the star of the play. But Flora couldn’t have lost her buds yet if she was still wearing stuff to partly cover her hair. Buds that she got for Rye.
Rye shut the front door with more force than she intended. It should not bother her that Flora was going out, or that she was dating other women. Rye had refused to keep seeing her. It was only natural that Flora continue her life. Hadn’t she been seeing that Frond creature before?
Rye yanked the broom closet door open with a shriek of rusty hinges. She grabbed her broom and slammed the door.
“Rye?” Holly stood in the front doorway. “You haven’t forgotten that I need that stuff filled in for my applications?”
“No. I haven’t forgotten. It’ll take me a couple of days, okay?”
“I have to send them in soon.”
“I’ll keep my antennae tuned,” Leek the sprite said. “If anyone asks about a broom, I’ll tell them about you. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Rye said. “Sure. Thanks.”
She trudged back up two flights of unfinished stairs. Knot straightened from taking a measurement on the floor.
“Leek want your broom?” he asked.
“Nah.” Rye shrugged and grabbed the shovel. “I’ll keep looking. Someone is bound to want one.”
Where could she find two thousand pieces? Perhaps Letty Elmwood might know of someone who needed a dinner cooking. That might be worth a shot. Holly would just have to wait a while. She hadn’t said when the deadlines for the applications were. Perhaps they had a few weeks. It was worth a try.
At lunch, Rye ate a sandwich as she flew to Noonpine.
The Lightning Tree Gallery was quiet and calm. Rye wiped her hands on the back of her ragged work pants before she wandered inside. Celandine the unnerving sylph was nowhere to be seen. Rye heard voices from the mezzanine. One was Letty Elmwood’s. Better not interrupt. Rye walked over to Flora’s weaving. They had a fancy little plaque on the wall beside it now. Flora Withe “You In Me.” There was no price.
Rye stared at the hanging. The pattern reminded her of the chaotic rainbow of coloured skeins beneath Flora as she lay naked on the mess on the floor of her workroom. Rye had never seen anyone as beautiful or as desirable. They had made love. Awed, amazed, and already deeply in love, Rye had peeled off her clothes to reveal herself as a fairy. Flora had not recoiled. Flora had reached out to touch her. Rye could feel the ghost of warm fingers on her wing membranes. She could feel Flora’s breath just before they kissed. The press of Flora’s lips. She could feel Flora’s warm body in her arms. She could hear Flora’s laugh. She smiled, because the echo of Flora’s happiness made her happy. She had wiped away Flora’s tears. She had shared Flora’s laughter. She felt again that thrill, which was part surprise and part awe and part disbelief, that shook her every time she saw Flora again after a few days apart. It was as though Flora was still inside her: You In Me. Rye had thought most of it ripped out as she had watched Flora run across the park. But, as she stared at Flora’s weaving, Rye felt it as strong as ever.
“Flora?”
Rye started. She jerked her head up to stare at the mezzanine. Her heart stopped. Flora stood at the railing looking down at her. Pale. Unsmiling. Watching her stare at the weaving inspired by their love.
“We should be going.” Another dryad woman stepped close to Flora. “Flora?”
Flora kept staring down at Rye. Rye stared back. There was not another woman in Infinity like her. Would she read in Rye’s gaze how Rye still yearned for her and loved her?
The strange dryad woman wandered out of sight. Letty Elmwood spoke. Flora reluctantly turned.
Rye watched. Everything else in Infinity ceased to exist. Flora was just up there. How long had she been standing there? Had she stood at the railing when Rye walked in and Rye had not noticed? Impossible. Rye would have seen her.
Flora walked away from the railing, but shortly reappeared at the top of the stairs. The other dryad walked behind her. With an unpleasant jolt, Rye recognised Frond Lovage. After a shocked moment, Rye’s attention fixed back on Flora. Rye watched her walk down every step. Getting closer. Step by step. Apart from a couple of glances where she was treading, Flora returned Rye’s stare. Flora looked like she was searching Rye’s face for something.
At the bottom of the steps, Flora halted. Rye watched her. It was all she could do. There was only four paces between them. Infinity became just that short space keeping them apart. Flora glanced at her hanging then back at Rye. She looked like she was waiting for Rye to answer a question.
Every particle of Rye yearned across the gap. She imagined her soul tearing out of her body. It would stride those four paces. It would softly touch Flora’s face. It would feel the warmth of her. It would smell that hint of pine sap. It would lightly and reverentially kiss her lips. Then it would fall to its knees and wrap its arms around Flora’s
waist and hold on as if it would never let her go.
“We really ought to be moving,” Frond Lovage said. “You know how I loathe being late. Flora?”
Flora blinked and looked around, surprised, as if she’d completely forgotten the other dryad.
“I booked your favourite table.” Frond walked to the door.
Flora glanced back at Rye. Rye hardly dared breathe. I love you. I want you. I need you. I adore you. I don’t care about all that other shit. I want to spend the rest of my life in your arms. Nothing in my life is right without you. Is there anything I can say or do that will persuade you to- “Your mother was very kind to send those flowers before last night’s performance.” Frond held the door open. “Flora? Is something wrong?”
She takes you to lunch at a restaurant and knows which is your favourite table? Your mother sends her flowers? A rising theatre star. Famous. Rich. Of course your parents approve of her. Magazine columnists want you two to be a couple. You deserve someone who can treat you right. Like she can. It’s for the best. For both of us.
Flora cast a look at Rye. So sad. Rye’s throat tightened with impending tears. I love you!
Flora strode to the door.
Rye watched her walk away. Again. Her heart ripped. Again.
Chapter Seventeen
Rye frowned at the packet in her hand. Her mind was blank. She had no idea what she had been intending to make for tea. She had better get herself thinking again before she called those two people Letty Elmwood had recommended that she contact about possible catering jobs. For a pretentious, over-dressed, overly made up sylph, Letty had been really nice to her at lunchtime. Not that Rye’s recollection of their conversation was anywhere near complete. Her day had shattered shortly after she walked into the gallery.
“Want me to help?” Holly said.
“Um,” Rye said. “Look, I’m not hungry. Can you get yourself something?”
“Yeah. You really don’t look good. I could make you something.”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
An hour later, Rye hung up the phone. Okay. Neither Mrs. Henbane-Wheat nor Mr. Mandrake had offered her a job, but both wanted to talk to discuss menus. If only one of them offered her a job, that would be decent money.
“You going to do some more cooking?” Holly asked.
“Yeah. Maybe. I have to go and discuss menus and stuff.”
“You should ask Flora to help you,” Holly said.
Rye scowled.
“She helped you with Ms. Elmwood’s dinner, didn’t she?” Holly said.
Rye fiddled with her pencil. “Ms. Withe is a busy lady. She’s got more important things to do than waste her time talking to me.” The pencil snapped.
“Waste? When did Flora become Ms. Withe? What are you talking about?”
Rye dropped the pencil halves and stood. “I need a shower. Did you leave me a towel?”
Holly frowned at Rye and trailed her out into the hall. “Are you acting like the last dreg in the bottom of a bucket because you and Flora have argued? Did you do something stupid to –”
“Holly!” Rye shoved the door open. “Ms. Withe was very friendly and kind and generous to us both for a while. For which we are both grateful. I am not going to bother her about this dinner thing or anything else, okay?”
For a dangerous moment, Holly looked like she intended to retort. But she gave Rye a filthy look then strode into her bedroom with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders.
Rye chewed her lip as she stripped. Did Holly have any idea that she and Flora had been lovers? Surely not. Rye had been so careful. Flora had said that she hadn’t betrayed them. Rye peeled off her tight T-shirt and drew an unrestricted breath. She stepped into the warm shower and eased her wings out from their daylong tight fold.
Holly probably wanted her to be friends with Flora because Flora was a famous weaver. Holly derived a lot of kudos with her friends from her connection with Flora. And Flora had been kind and encouraging to Holly. Of course Holly liked her. It made sense that she would want Rye and Flora to be friends. No need to panic. There was no reason to think that Holly suspected anything. Not that there was now.
“No. Don’t think about that.” Rye scrubbed shampoo into her hair. “Think about food. Cooking. Menus. Money. And how you’re actually going to get that fucking goblin two thousand pieces. You’re going to do it. The kid is going to get an ident number and be safe. Just like you promised her.”
The next evening, Rye let herself into the apartment and flicked on the lights. She found a note on the kitchen table.
Rye! Flora called. She wants you to call her back tonight. Holly.
Rye frowned as she fingered the note. What could Flora possibly want to talk to her about? Surely they had said it all? This wouldn’t be some stupid trick of Holly’s to get her to phone Flora, would it?
“Fey.”
Rye strode into the hall and quickly dialled Flora’s mobile number.
“Rye!” Flora said. “Thank you for calling.”
Rye felt that familiar exhilarated rush at the sound of Flora’s voice which was so inappropriate now. “Um. Sure. I got a note from Holly. You called?”
“Yes.” Pause. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.”
Rye frowned. That was not a good way to start a conversation. “Tell me what? Is this about the gallery? Look, I wouldn’t have been there if I’d known.”
“No, it’s not about that,” Flora said. “I know you’re going to be hurt. And I hate to do it to you. But I can’t not tell you.”
Rye’s frown deepened to a scowl. What could possibly be this bad? Flora was getting married to Frond Lovage? Oh, no. Not that. Please. “What… what’s wrong?”
“I’m guessing that you don’t read many women’s magazines.”
“Magazines? No. Why?”
“This week’s copy of Hedgerow,” Flora said. “Page thirty. You ought to take a look.”
“Why?”
“This sort of nuisance happens occasionally. No one really pays any attention to it. Teenage girls do not read Hedgerow. Holly will not have seen it. I would bet large sums on that.”
“Seen what? Babe, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, branch,” Flora said. “There’s a picture of us in the gossip section. Listen, Holly won’t have seen it and they don’t name you.”
“Picture?”
“Yes. A photograph. Of us kissing.”
“What?”
Rye dropped the phone and bolted for the front door. She scrambled down seven flights of stairs two and three at a time. She hurtled across the street to Cloudnut’s All-Purpose Store, but skidded to a stop in time. She couldn’t go in there to buy a magazine. Holly was working in there.
Rye ran down the street to the hypermart. She stood sweating and panting in front of the magazine rack. Hedgerow? She grabbed a copy of the glossy magazine. Page what? Rye flicked past advertisements, a story about a famous woman and her pet moths, the latest diet, cosmetic tips, more and more advertisements.
“Oh, fuck.”
Rye stared. Page thirty. Top centre, under the heading Needle’s Eye. The photograph showed her and Flora kissing.
“That’s my favourite magazine.”
Rye started, jerked the magazine closed, and stared at a squat gnome woman who smiled at her through a wispy white beard.
“They have the nicest stories, don’t they?” The gnome grabbed the last copy of Hedgerow and dropped it into her shopping trolley.
Rye strode away to the cashiers. She was so stunned that she didn’t even blink at handing over five pieces.
Outside, Rye opened Hedgerow to page thirty.
A hot favourite to be one of this year’s Golden Spindle nominees, it looks like Flora Withe is engaged in another successful project. The whisper about ShadeForest City was that Frond Lovage was the inspiration for sexy Flora’s sizzling new weaving. The stage sensation currently wowing fans and critics alike in her latest role in the Cumin Bugloss play
Second Time Loss was also tipped to be responsible for Flora suddenly sporting a stylish range of hats. Yes, ladies, a reliable source confirms that the dryad weaving star has something to hide: Buds! True love is in the hair for the thirty-three year old only child of banking magnate Bark Withe and his society hostess wife, Hazel. But move over, Frond! Our ever sharp Eye has snapped this romantic moment. Who is Flora Withe’s Mystery Budmate? The Eye will keep searching for the answer to this exciting secret.
“Crap.”
Rye trudged back to her apartment in a daze. She set Hedgerow on the kitchen table and opened it to the offending page. The photograph was crisp and clear and unmistakably them. But how? How could anyone have seen them kiss?
They stood in front of a sapling. Flora had worn that hat the time they had met in the park to finally and irrevocably break off their relationship. The irony! The stupid magazine called that a romantic moment. If that sneaky photographer had waited just a little longer, he might have had a very different picture. Flora fleeing in tears and Rye standing heartbroken.
Where had the bastard been? Lurking in some bush?
Rye put a hand to her forehead. “The bloody ball game.”
There had been photographers covering the games. One had only to turn around and zoom in. Rye slumped.
Eventually, she heard a strange buzzing hum. The phone hung off the hook. She carried the phone into the kitchen, set it beside Hedgerow, and dialled.
“Rye?” Flora said. “Have you seen it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. But it may not be as bad as you fear. Hedgerow doesn’t have a huge circulation. And it’s only a gossip column snippet. Rye?”
Rye sighed. “Fey.”
“Holly will not read Hedgerow. Do you hear me? Their audience is middle-aged women with a reasonable discretionary spending capacity, insecurities about their age, increasing waistlines, and an intense interest in other people’s intimate relationships. Rye? You’re not panicking?”
“No. I’m – Shit!”
Rye dropped the handset and darted into the lounge. She tugged the old magazine out from under the sofa cushion. Daisy Bark’s mother had given Holly this. Rye flicked hurriedly back to the front page. Hedgerow.
