Broken Wings (3 page)

“Do… do you come this way often?” Rye asked.

“No. I’m on my way back from the opening of a new gallery down in Onionfield.”
Flora negotiated the turn into Rye’s street. “Sixteen ninety, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. That tree there. With the broken branches at the top.”

The carpet turned into the ascending lane and lifted fast enough to leave Rye’s
stomach behind for several seconds. Flora parked with barely a whisker’s width
between the front of the carpet and Rye’s garbage hamper.

“Thanks for the lift,” Rye said. “Again.”

“I’ll come clean with you. This wasn’t exactly on my route home. I was coming to
see you.”

Rye fumbled the release latch on the safety harness. “Oh?”

“I’d kill for a cup of tea. Would you think me too terribly pushy if I invited
myself in for a drink?”

“Um. I only have plain stuff.”

“Marvellous. They served nothing but exotic non-alcoholic punches at that
gallery. My tongue is ready to disown me.”

Rye smiled. She felt an air of unreality when she opened the door and led the
way along the short hall to the kitchen.

The apartment stifled. The tree’s heating system was on the blink again. Rye set
her bags on the table and peeled off her jacket. She wished she could remove her
shirt, but settled for rolling up her sleeves.

“Can I do anything to help?” Flora removed her sunglasses. She wore only light
makeup on her creamy skin. Even in the dingy setting of Rye’s kitchen, she
looked gorgeous.

“Um. You did. You saved me twenty minutes walk. Sit down. I’ll put the kettle on
and tidy this stuff away.”

“Couldn’t you shop somewhere closer?”

“I suppose so.” Rye set pots of pollen and honey on a shelf. “But the stuff is
fresher at the market. And cheaper. You never get kowhai flowers like this at
the hypermart. They put something on them to make them stay yellow longer in the
store. This is what they should look like. Taste much better, too.”

One of Flora’s green eyebrows twitched. Her interested stare sharpened.
Uncomfortable, Rye turned away to put her vegetables in the bottom bins.

“Holly not home?”

“She’s shopping,” Rye said. “She has to decide what to spend her prize money
on.”

“You don’t go together?”

Rye smiled. “She’d rather ask the doorpost about clothes than me. To be fair,
she’d get better advice that way.”

Flora laughed.

Rye grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. They were thick and mismatched. Still,
if Ms. Withe had not baulked at entering an apartment in Hollowberry, she
probably wouldn’t run screaming at cheap, ugly crockery. Rye gave herself the
mug with the chip in the rim. She hesitated over biscuits. Her willowy guest
looked more like the body-sculpting-at-the-gym type than the sort to eat junk
food. On the other hand, Rye wanted something sweet, and Ms. Withe need not eat
if she didn’t want to. Rye surprised herself by shaking a few biscuits onto a
plate rather than just plonking the jar on the table.

“Holly seems a very nice young woman.”

“She was,” Rye said. “Before adolescence. I’m hoping she will be again when she
comes out of it.”

Flora smiled. “Do you two live here alone?”

“Us and the damp patches. There’s no room for anyone else.”

Flora drank half her tea like she really needed it and then helped herself to
one of the biscuits. Rye noticed she didn’t wear a ring, bracelet, earring, or
tattoo that might indicate she was married. Still, there were so many different
species, races, and religious groups that Rye didn’t pretend to know all the
possible symbols to indicate that someone was in a committed relationship. For
all she knew, dryads might marry several husbands at once and have children by
planting acorns.

“Do you have any children?” Rye asked.

“Me? Oh, no. But I hope to, eventually. Five or six, perhaps. Or seven.”

“Good luck.”

Flora smiled. “Maybe I’ll change my mind once I realise what’s involved. As an
only child, I have some rather romantic notions about large families.”

“You’re welcome to borrow Holly for a few days as a cure.”

Flora chuckled. “Have you been looking after her long?”

“Eleven years. Not that I’m counting.”

Flora’s green eyebrows soared. “You can’t have been much older than Holly is
now.”

“Nineteen. It was the best thing I ever did. No matter how pissed she gets me, I
don’t ever regret it for a second. More tea?”

“Yes, please.” She sat back in her chair. “Look, let me be honest. I was coming
to see you for more than just a cup of tea.”

“Oh?”

“I could’ve called, but I got the impression that the phone isn’t your best
medium of expression.”

Rye blushed at the same time she self-consciously grinned. “Um. You noticed.
What did you want? If it’s about some stain I left on the backseat, I’m sorry.”

“Did you? I don’t mind. What I wanted to ask is if you’d like to have a few
drinks with me.”

Rye felt every speck of her body go still.

“I know this place near the bridge,” Flora said. “Very low key. Relaxed. The
music isn’t so loud that you can’t hear yourself think. In fact, it’s quite
comfortable for conversation. We could – Have I said something wrong?”

“Um.” Rye found it difficult to breathe. She ran her hand through her hair and
scowled at the peeling wallpaper.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You’ll probably find this
hard to believe, but I’m not normally this pushy.”

Rye’s mind had gone blank.

“Branch,” Flora murmured. “I’ve done this rather badly, haven’t I? I’m so sorry.
Look, I think I’d better leave. Please think it over. If you change your mind,
you have my number. And thanks for tea.”

Rye stood with a scraping of her chair legs. Her limping brain realised that she
had better see her visitor out.

The front door slammed.

“Hey, Rye!” Holly strode to the kitchen. “You’ll never guess what is parked –
Oh. Ms. Withe.”

“Hello, Holly,” Flora said.

Rye chewed her lip and didn’t know where to put herself. Flora behaved as though
the awkwardness didn’t exist. She looked genuinely interested when Holly dug out
her purchases to show her.

Rye sat and watched and tried to think. Flora Withe wanted to have a few drinks
with her. Was that so shocking? Rye had been out to the pub with some of the
blokes from work on odd occasions. Rye imagined Flora Withe would prove better
company than Knot and Blackie. There was the disturbing aspect that she was
easily the most attractive woman Rye had ever met. But that was not likely to
matter. Rye had been safely celibate for years, and it was highly improbable
that Flora Withe was gay. Even if she were, Rye would be deluding herself to
think that the successful, stylish, poised, beautiful dryad would want anything
to do with a builder’s labourer. On the other hand, she was a very nice person.
The last hour or so had been enjoyable and easy… and adult.

“I’d better be going.” Flora rose and picked up her sunglasses and purse.
“Thanks for the tea.”

“I’ll see you out,” Rye said.

Holly leaped to her feet. “I’d better come to give you directions. Rye is
hopeless. You’ll end up in the river.”

“Don’t you have to go and show Daisy your new clothes?” Rye said.

Holly’s rebellious pout faded in an eye blink. “Oh, yeah. Stupid me. Okay. See
you later, Ms. Withe.”

Holly grabbed her bags and strode out. Rye frowned. That had been unexpectedly
easy.

“She’s a good kid,” Flora said.

“Yeah. But very strange sometimes,” Rye said. “I guess it’s the hormones
poaching her brain.”

Flora smiled. “Look, I’m really sorry about before. Can we forget I said
anything?”

“Um. Well. I was sort of thinking that… um. Yeah. I mean to the drinks.”

Flora’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

“I was a bit, you know, surprised. So, if… if the offer still stands.”

“Of course. When? How about Third Day?”

“Um. No, I can’t,” Rye said. “How about next Fifth Day? Or today?”

Flora blinked. “Sure. Why not? No time like the present. Shall I pick you up at
seven?”

“Can… can I meet you at the corner of the street?”

Rye surveyed the piles of her clothes. She pulled on her tightest of tight
T-shirts. Then what? Rye frowned and ended up choosing the shirt and pants that
Holly had picked out for her to wear to the school art exhibition.

She pulled out the loose knot in the wall and retrieved a small wad of money.
She had just paid Holly’s school fees, so her savings only amounted to
fifty-five pieces. She took a ten piece note. That would cover the cost of a
couple of jars of beer. Although, Flora Withe did not look the beer type. She
probably drank wine. Rye reluctantly took a second note and promised herself
that she would forgo next week’s beer ration.

Rye tapped on Holly’s bedroom door. Holly made no attempt to disguise her
surprise.

“What are you dressed like a normal person for?” Holly asked.

“I’m… um, I’m going out for an hour or two.”

Holly smiled. “Yeah? And here I’ve been thinking you’re dead from the neck
down.”

Rye tugged nervously at her shirt sleeve. “Um. One of the blokes at work is
having a bachelor party. I told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You probably weren’t paying attention. It’s Spike. He’s getting married. So…
Um. I won’t be gone long. Will you be okay? If you’d rather I stayed, I will.”

“Go! I’m not three years old. I can throw a wild party.”

Rye stiffened.

“Joking,” Holly said. “Shit, you can be hard work. I’ll quietly decay here on my
own and finish my homework, okay? I’ll keep the chain across and not open the
door to anyone strange until you come back.”

Rye frowned and strode to the front door.

“Wait!” Holly called. “Those pants. You can’t go in them.”

“What’s wrong with them? They don’t have holes.”

“Gods of fashion, see my martyrdom! Come and put these on.”

Rye poked her head into Holly’s room and saw a pair of new black pants thrust at
her. “Where did you get those?”

“I showed you them earlier. I bought them with my prize money.”

To Rye’s surprise, the pants were a good fit. They were baggy enough in the back
of the legs that her wing membranes didn’t show and they were exactly the right
length. Rye took a critical look at Holly.

Her little sister was as tall as she was. When had that happened?

“Much better,” Holly said. “If you get any stains on them, I’ll kill you.
Slowly. With blunt instruments. And eyebrow tweezers.”

Rye should not have been surprised when Flora flew past the grimy bridge
district, with its docks, warehouses, and seedy bars. They continued to the
trendy north side of the bridge. None of the streetlights had any broken lamps.
Rye had no real idea where they were, except that she was out of her natural
habitat. The carpet lowered into a parking lot. Rye made out the name Owl’s Nest
on the wall sign.

They stepped into a world wholly alien to the Ball and Chain Pub. Instead of
smoke, a blaring jukebox, and tables sticky with spilled beer, this place was
subdued lighting, tasteful music, and chic décor. Rye’s attention quickly slid
from the booths and bar to her companion. This was the first good look she had
of Flora in decent lighting. She wore a slinky little black dress. Rye’s wing
buds twitched.

“Good evening, Ms. Withe.” A well-dressed woman nodded to them. “Can I show you
to a place at the bar or a booth?”

Rye trailed them to a booth. She tried not to be so conscious of Flora’s body.
She didn’t realise that she had agreed to a drink until a waitress brought them
each one. Before Rye could dig out her wallet, Flora dropped a crisp twenty on
the waitress’s tray. The size of the bill for two drinks made Rye blink. She
sipped her drink, which contained a strong spirit, and made a mental note to eke
this one out because she could only afford one round.

“You… you come here often?” Rye asked.

“I used to. When I was younger. I’m slowing down. I must be getting old.”

Rye didn’t think she looked very old. Although, it was harder to pick the ages
of some species than others. She looked sleek and firm, with no hint of brown or
autumnal reds or gold in her dark green hair. If Rye had to guess, she would go
for early thirties.

“I seem to have lost most of my appetite for loud music and nonstop dancing all
night long,” Flora said. “I’ve noticed that when I do come here now, it’s
usually on nights when they don’t have a live band. I’d rather talk and get to
know someone. I suppose that’s a rather sad admission. How about you? What sort
of haunt do you frequent?”

“Um. I don’t get out much. When I was younger, I couldn’t leave Holly alone.”
Rye didn’t mention that she had worked two jobs back then, too, and couldn’t
have afforded a busy social life even if she’d wanted one. “I don’t have much
time.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how you raised your young sister on your own. I don’t
think I could have done it. Nor anyone else I know. I do admire you for it.”

Rye shifted uncomfortably and sipped her strong drink. She wished she had a beer
instead. She wasn’t used to spirits.

“Um,” Rye said. “So, Ms. Withe, Holly says –”

“Flora. Please.”

“Um. Right. Flora.” Rye cleared her throat. “Holly says you’re a famous artist.”

“That’s very flattering, but not terribly accurate.”

Rye began to relax as their conversation wandered away from her and over every
possible topic. This really was much, much better than the grunted conversations
she had with her drunken workmates at a pub. When it came to ordering fresh
drinks, Rye only sweated for the several minutes between placing the order and
when she handed her two ten piece notes to the waitress.

“I’m having a few friends over for dinner on Second Night,” Flora said. “You’d
be more than welcome.”

“Um. Thanks. But I can’t. Um. I have night class.”

“Night class? What are you studying?”

“I’m aiming to take the longest ever to get a basic business certificate. I’ve
been at it for six years and still have a couple to go.”

“That’s astonishing. I do admire your perseverance.”

“It’s not by choice. I can’t take more than two classes a year.”

“So, you’re not only raising your sister and putting her through a good school,
but you’re also educating yourself?” Flora shook her head. “You’re amazing.”

Embarrassed, Rye stared down at her remaining drink. She glugged it in one
swallow. When Flora smiled, Rye couldn’t help smiling back. She also couldn’t
help flicking a glance down at Flora’s bosom. Rye quickly looked away. She felt
too warm and light-headed.

“Um. Where is the bathroom?” Rye asked.

While Rye waited in the bathroom for a stall, one of the women at the basins
gave her a disturbingly frank appraisal.

By the time Rye emerged, some couples had taken to the dance floor. She gave
them a wide berth as she made her way back to the booth. There was something odd
about the dancers, though Rye couldn’t immediately identify what it was. She
frowned around at the other patrons when she sat. In all the time they’d been
here, she had been too engrossed in Flora to notice anyone else. With a jolt,
she realised that all the couples dancing together were women. Rye’s gaze jerked
to the booths across the room and to the bar. Banshee, naiad, sylph, leprechaun,
and dryad. They were, one and all, female.

“Is something wrong?” Flora asked.

Rye stared at her. Slowly, oh so slowly, her brain drew out the shocking
conclusion of what being in a gay bar meant about Flora. Rye reached for her
fresh drink and swallowed heavily.

“Rye?” Flora touched Rye’s wrist.

“Um.” Rye felt horribly conscious of the light press of warm fingertips against
her bare skin. She turned her frown away to the dancers.

“Did you want to dance?” Flora asked.

“What? Oh. Um. I can’t imagine I’d be any good at it.”

“It’s not a contest.”

Rye followed her. She felt awkward, stiff, and self-conscious. When she
concentrated on Flora, though, she relaxed. Flora’s smile, her voice, the way
she swayed held Rye’s attention firmly fixed. Rye noted the shape of her lips,
the curve of her throat, and the roundness of her bosom. That long-dormant part
of Rye uncurled and grew stronger inside her.

The music changed to a slow number. It seemed the most natural thing in the
world that Rye and Flora draw closer together. Flora rested her hands on Rye’s
sides. Rye didn’t pull away and didn’t want to. At some point, her own hands
found Flora’s waist.

She could feel Flora moving to the music. Beneath the mingled aromas of floral
perfumes, fruity drinks, and musty whiffs of pheromones from different species,
Rye smelled a faint, elusive scent like pine sap. It made her want to press
close to Flora, to touch her and to inhale deeply the smell of her skin. Rye
felt drunk, and not only from the alcohol she’d swallowed.

Flora ran her hands up Rye’s arms. Their bodies almost touched.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Flora said.

When they stepped out into the parking lot, the cool night air slapped Rye in
the face. If anything, it made her head spin worse. She closely followed Flora
to the flying carpet.

Flora slotted her mobile into the ignition but turned to Rye without starting
the engine. Her hand burned the side of Rye’s face. No power in all of Infinity
could have stopped Rye from twisting around to kiss her. The first passionate
kiss Rye received in years, soft and warm and probing, hit her like a bolt of
pure magic.

“Oh, Elm,” Flora whispered. “I’ve needed to do that since I saw you in that
bathroom.”

Their kisses merged their mouths. Hot, wet, hungry. Their tongues writhed
together, deeper, stronger. Beneath Flora’s musky perfume, Rye again smelled
that tantalising scent like pine sap. It seemed to be the essence of Flora. Rye
couldn’t inhale it deeply enough. Her hands clutched at Flora, needing to touch
all of her. Her flesh felt more than alive where Flora’s body pressed against
her. Rye shifted to maximise their contact all along her length. She slipped off
the seat and ended up kneeling in the foot space.

Flora giggled. Rye felt stupid.

“It had to happen to one of us, didn’t it?” Flora said.

Rye wished it hadn’t been her. Flora pulled her close and ran her hand through
Rye’s hair. For that look in her eyes, Rye would’ve fallen off a hundred seats.

“I was in danger of thinking you too good to be true,” Flora said in a husky
whisper. “At least now I know that you and this is real.”

Rye kissed her and finally touched the warm, smooth skin of her naked thigh.
Flora threw her head back to moan. Rye kissed Flora’s throat and worked her lips
down the salty skin to the bosom lifted close to her mouth. To her astonishment,
Flora’s breasts had firmed. Rye clasped her wildly erotic discovery. The dryad’s
chest hardened to the texture of wood. Through the silky fabric of Flora’s
dress, Rye’s lips squeezed and teased nut-hard nipples. Flora moaned and dug her
fingers into Rye’s hair. Rye’s wing buds twitched against the restraint of her
tight T-shirt and drew the cloth even tauter against Rye’s aching nipples. The
insanely sensitive spot below the base of Rye’s neck, between the top of her
wings, throbbed in counterpoint with the matching one between her legs. Flora’s
leg slid up to Rye’s hip. Rye knelt on the seat with one leg and thrust her hand
up Flora’s dress. Her fingers found damp panties.

“Oh, fey,” Rye whispered.

Flora’s hips moved into Rye’s touch even as Flora slid down in her seat. Rye’s
fingers worked beneath the lacy panties. She found pubic hair that felt soft and
springy like warm moss. Flora groaned and she clutched at Rye’s hair and
shoulders as she writhed to the rhythm of Rye’s fingers. Rye’s wing buds
strained against the restraint of her T-shirt as her wings tried to unfold with
her arousal.

“Oh, Elm,” Flora panted. “Oh, Holy Elm.”

Need drove Rye’s fingers harder and deeper into slippery flesh. Even though Rye
was maddeningly aware of the tangy smell of Flora’s arousal, it did not fully
swamp out that thin trace of pine sap which seemed to have infused her brain and
every excited nerve and fibre. Flora groaned with rising pitch toward her
climax. As she jerked with her release, her blindly clutching fingers hit the
hotly throbbing lump high on Rye’s back. Rye loosed a shuddering groan as her
world squeezed with the pleasurable pain of orgasm.

Rye sagged, panting, and nearly slid off the edge of the seat again. She rolled
back to slump into her seat. Flora sat with her eyes shut and her head thrown
back.

After a few moments, Flora reached across to lay a hand on Rye’s thigh.

“Oh, that was good,” Flora whispered.

Rye lifted the hand to kiss.

Flora sighed and shifted. She sat up and leaned close to Rye. “Maybe I’m not
quite as old as I thought. Torrid sex in a parking lot. Not a usual geriatric
activity, I wouldn’t have thought.”

Rye smiled. She liked the feel of Flora’s hand sliding down her chest and
twisted closer to give Flora easier access. She put a hand on Flora’s hip. Just
touching her felt wonderful.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Rye said.

Flora smiled as she kissed Rye. “And you have a truly impressive physique,
lover. Real, not manufactured in a gym. You’re so real. Everything about you is
genuine. And strong. You’re so wholly unlike anyone I’ve met before.”

Flora ran a hand down from Rye’s hair to her shoulder and then across Rye’s
back. Her hand stopped. Through Rye’s clothes, her fingers rested on the hard
lump of the top of Rye’s right wing bud. She frowned.

“This isn’t going to be the most romantic thing I ever say to you,” Flora said.
“Which species are you?”

Rye’s blood went cold. She stared with horror at Flora. “No.”

Rye twisted around, wrenched the door open, and scrambled out of the carpet.

“Rye?” Flora called.

Rye stumbled to her feet and ran.