Broken Wings (5 page)

Rye strolled through the school gates ten minutes early for her class. She had
just stepped inside when the lights died.

“No panic!” A goblin caretaker hurried down the corridor with a torch bobbing in
his big grey claw. “Power dead. Go outside.”

Rye went to stand out in the parking lot. She nodded to one or two of her
classmates. More students arrived and the time for the start of class passed,
but the school remained black. After about a quarter of an hour, one of the
teachers came out to say that the classes had to be cancelled.

Rye shouldered her bag and headed for the gates. When she hit Lowbranch Street
she automatically turned right, but she had not gone more than a dozen paces
before she stopped. A large transit carpet flew past, crammed with people going
home from work. Rye frowned. She had two hours before she was due home. Holly
would be around at the Barks’ house. She had her pay in her back pocket.

Rye ran back down the street and stopped at the first public transit node. She
quickly scanned the flashing timetables. Newbud. There had to be a route that
could get her there. Yes. The brown carpet to the bridge district node and the
taupe carpet to Newbud. She felt only a slight twinge for her extravagance as
she handed over four pieces for her fare. She would not buy beer this week.

She had changed to the taupe carpet and was whizzing north from the bridge
district before it occurred to her to wonder that Flora might not be at home, or
might have company.

Rye jogged to Whiterow Gardens. The flutters of unease and sense of not
belonging didn’t stop her from looking for the call panel on a decorative but
also sturdily functional gate around the base of the tree. There were only ten
buttons. That meant each apartment occupied a whole level to itself, unlike the
sixth of a wedge that Rye lived in. She wiped her hands on the back of her pants
before pressing Flora’s button.

A jogger in trendy gear shot Rye a disapproving look as he passed. Rye craned
her neck to see if she could see any lights in Flora’s penthouse.

“Crap,” Rye said. “I should’ve called first.”

Click.

“Rye!” Flora said. “What are you doing here?”

Rye grinned and looked up to see where the camera might be. “Um. If it’s not a
good time, I could –”

The gate clunked open.

“Come up,” Flora said.

Rye smiled all the way up ten flights of stairs. She paused on the porch to
regain her breath and wipe sweat from her face before knocking.

Flora looked surprised when she opened the door. “Is the elevating carpet not
working?”

“Elevating carpet? Oh. I’m so used to the one in our tree being broken that I
didn’t think to look for one.”

Rye set her bag down inside the door and kicked off her work boots. Flora wore
baggy casual pants and a snug little top that seemed designed to draw Rye’s
attention to her chest. After an awkward moment of staring, they exchanged
chaste kisses.

“What a great surprise,” Flora said.

“I’m not interrupting?”

“No. I’m all alone and thinking about you.”

Rye grinned like an idiot as she followed Flora through to the living room.

Flora fetched Rye a cold beer. “I couldn’t remember what sort you mentioned that
you like. They all look the same to me. The man in the store suggested this
brand.”

“Wow. This is great. Thanks.”

Flora smiled as she sipped her glass of wine. “I thought you had night class?”

“The school had a power cut,” Rye said. “So, I thought – Can you smell burning?”

“Branch!” Flora leaped to her feet and dashed into the kitchen.

Rye followed. Smoke hazed the room. Flora stood holding a pot which oozed black
smoke.

“I suppose it will have to be Lowood’s takeaway for tea again,” Flora said. “Or
my usual table at the Ravenous Acorn.”

Rye took the pot from Flora and ran cold water into it. The charred lump in the
bottom hissed.

“What was this?” Rye asked.

“A highly nutritious and appetising meal that any idiot could prepare by simply
heating it in water for seven minutes. I suppose that makes me a special kind of
idiot.”

Rye smiled and set the incinerated remains aside. “Where do you keep your food?”

“That is the pantry. You don’t have to heat my dinner for me.”

“I have no intention of doing that.” Rye pulled open both doors to reveal a vast
walk-in pantry. “Wow. You could lose a whole family back here and still have
room for the preserves.”

Barely a tenth of the storage space was occupied. She found some thrush’s eggs
that smelled reasonably fresh.

“There’s not much in there,” Flora said. “You probably guessed that I don’t
often try to feed myself. For fear of lowering your opinion of me, I’m not only
hopeless with food but also extremely careless. If something stays in there long
enough to grow legs and crawl out, it’s welcome to its freedom.”

Rye smiled. “Do you like omelettes?”

Flora watched with undisguised amazement as Rye chopped, grated, and whisked.
Her surprise deepened when she tasted the result.

“Hmm,” Flora said. “That’s really good. Really, really good. You know, Rye
Woods, you constantly take me by surprise. Which not many people do.”

Rye smiled to herself as she wiped down the counter. This was a great kitchen.

“I feel really guilty about having you cook for me and then making you watch me
eat,” Flora said. “Won’t you have something?”

“I’ll make dinner for me and Holls when I get home. But anyone who buys me
Midnight Beer has a right to ask for more than an omelette. Where do you keep
your detergent?”

“Leave that. You are not doing the dishes. Aloe will do them in the morning.”

“Aloe?”

“My housecleaner. I suppose if I had a particle of sense I’d hire a cook as
well.”

Rye trailed Flora into the lounge. She should not have been surprised that Flora
could afford to pay someone to do her household chores for her.

Flora sat close, with her legs drawn up beneath her. “How long can you stay?”

“I usually get home just after eight. I’m not sure what time the transit carpet
will get back, so I’d better not leave it too late.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll take you. When are you going to get a new broom? It must
be wildly inconvenient without one.”

Rye shrugged. “Tell me what you wove today.”

Flora smiled and began talking about her day.

At some point, Rye finished her beer and started a second. Smooth, dark, and
malty, it was about the best beer she’d ever tasted. Flora had carried her jar
of wine into the lounge and was well on the way to finishing it. Flora’s company
and the beer softened the Infinity space around Rye in a very pleasant way.
Coming here was the smartest idea she’d had in years.

“Oh,” Flora said, “if you’ve come from work, does that mean you have a bangy
thing with you?”

“Bangy thing?”

“You know. For hitting things that stop working properly. One of the shelves in
my workroom is loose. If I bribed you with another beer, would you save me from
having to deal with a tradesman who will call me girlie?”

Rye smiled and went to get her hammer from her work bag.

Flora showed her the offending shelf. Rye immediately saw the problem and
fetched a screwdriver. It was the work of half a minute to tighten it.

“There you go,” Rye said. “All fixed. Girlie.”

Flora’s eyes widened in mock outrage. She threw a hank of wool at Rye. Rye threw
it back. Flora grabbed two more and hurled them. Rye bent to scoop up as much as
she could hold and tossed them.

Flora grabbed a long loom needle and advanced threateningly. “Girlie?”

Rye backed away, laughing, with Flora stalking her. When Rye tripped and landed
on her backside, Flora leaped forward to tickle. Rye grabbed for her wrists, all
the while laughing. Their wrestling knocked over baskets and spilled more yarns
on the floor. Flora began laughing too. Rye rolled her over and pinned her
amongst the colourful mess. Flora lay beneath her in glorious disarray. Rye
stopped laughing. Flora lost her smile. Rye’s breathing grew faster and
shallower. Flora’s eyes darkened.

“Rye,” Flora said. “Should we –”

Rye kissed her. After a moment’s hesitation, Flora responded and slid her arms
up around Rye. Their kisses grew harder, more insistent. Rye had never wanted
anything as passionately as she wanted Flora. Rye’s lips couldn’t encompass
enough of her, and she wanted to feel Flora against her whole body. Flora’s
hands clutched at Rye as she writhed and strained beneath her. Her moans bucked
Rye’s arousal up and up. Rye’s wing buds jerked on the brink of bursting through
her T-shirt. The scent of pine sap swamped every other smell and set the blood
roaring through Rye’s veins.

Rye peeled Flora’s top off her and stared at the dryad’s firm breasts before
cupping them in her hands and sucking at them with her mouth. Though breasts and
nipples were hard against Rye’s tongue, Flora’s pale skin was still satin
smooth. Flora’s fingers dug into her hair and shoulder. Rye’s wing buds tried to
unfold with her soaring excitement. She didn’t care. She impatiently tugged at
Flora’s pants. For a moment, she paused, panting, to savour the sight of the
naked dryad lying on a fragmented rainbow. She plunged her face into Flora’s
groin.

When Rye worked her lips back up to her throat, Flora tugged Rye’s belt undone.
Rye shoved her pants down and lowered herself onto her. They writhed and
strained against each other, moaning, and rising to their climaxes. Flora’s
every gasp and half-cry stoked Rye’s lust. Their groans came faster. Their
bodies rubbed harder. Rye grunted and clutched at Flora as her world crashed
with pleasure. Not long afterward, Flora spasmed against her.

Rye sagged. Flora took a shuddering breath and sat up to clutch Rye’s shirt
front in both hands.

“Don’t leave me,” Flora said. “I couldn’t handle it a second time. Do you hear
me, Rye?”

Rye grunted.

“Are you still with me?” Flora asked.

Rye nodded. As her crisis passed, she began realising what they’d done. She was
naked from the waist down. She could feel a darkness hovering just around her,
ready to pounce.

Flora’s fists tightened. “Listen to me. I don’t care what you are. I don’t know
what species you are, but I don’t care. Do you hear me?”

“Shit.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. Rye, look at me. Please.”

Rye lifted her head. Flora’s serious concern showed through the flush of her
afterglow. Rye frowned and put her hands over Flora’s fists. She looked beyond
her. They were in Flora’s workroom. Rye sucked in air as if she hadn’t breathed
for an hour.

“Flora,” Rye said.

Flora smiled. “Yes, lover. Branch, you had me frightened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

Flora leaned close to lightly kiss Rye. She loosened her grip on Rye’s shirt.
“What do we do now?”

Rye sat back on her heels. Her wing buds poked uncomfortably inside her shirt.
“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you put your pants back on? I won’t look.”

Flora turned away to gather her clothes. Rye put a gently restraining hand on
her arm.

“It doesn’t matter,” Flora said. “Honestly. What is important is that you don’t
feel as though you have to run away from me.”

“You’re wonderful.”

Flora smiled. She softly stroked Rye’s cheek and rose. Some magic passed from
her fingertips to infuse the whole of Rye’s body and mind. Flora really was the
most incredible person in the whole of Infinity.

“Wait,” Rye said.

Rye yanked her shirt off. Flora watched. Rye wrestled her tight T-shirt up over
her head. The release of her cramped wings and chest was like a second orgasm.
Returning blood flow tingled in several places.

Flora’s gaze roved Rye’s bare torso with her typically small pair of breasts and
the pronounced breastbone and upper body musculature of a winged creature. Flora
would not yet be able to see the wing buds on Rye’s back, which were the compact
bundles formed by the folded sections of each wing support lying hard against
each other.

Slowly, fearfully, Rye strained to unfold her wings. The five sections of each
of her wing supports sequentially snapped out straight. Rye’s wing supports
jutted up above her shoulders. Flora did not run screaming in horror. Instead,
she looked like she’d been turned to stone.

Rye stood. Might as well let Flora see it all. She lifted her wing supports
until they projected at the flying angle, which stretched her thin membranes to
their full extent from her shoulders, down her back, the back of her legs, and
to her ankles.

“Oh, Holy Elm,” Flora said. “You’re a fairy.”

Rye stood her ground as Flora stepped close. Rye began to feel the enormity of
what she’d done. This was the first time since her escape from Fairyland that
she had revealed her species to anyone. Her wings twitched. She had to exert
herself to prevent them from defensively folding. She did fold her arms across
her chest.

Flora rested a warm hand on Rye’s arm. “Thank you.”

“You… you don’t want to throw me out?”

“Throw you out? Because you’re an even bigger turn on than I thought? Oh, Elm, I
have to touch your wings. May I?”

Rye nodded.

Flora reached out to softly stroke Rye’s wing membrane. “It’s warm. And pliable.
So smooth.”

Flora wandered around behind Rye. Rye again had to concentrate not to let her
wings snap into a defensive fold hard against her back. Flora’s delicate touches
made her shiver.

Flora wore a soft smile when she walked back to Rye’s front. “Amazing. I’d love
to see you fly.”

“We don’t. Not really. We glide.”

“Then I’d love to see you glide.”

“I can’t,” Rye said.

“I suppose it would create something of a sensation for you to hurl yourself
between trees naked. Although I’d be more than happy to watch.”