Broken Wings (8 page)

Rye kissed Flora’s hand and changed the subject. “Where did you manage to find a
place to trade in the Horrible Holly for a nice model?”

Flora laughed. “She’s a good kid. She wasn’t in the least horrible. I wish I’d
had a little sister like her. Although, I do realise that it might be different
if I lived with her.”

Rye smiled. “So? Did you learn why I’m the evil bog monster?”

“You really need to talk with her.”

“I tried. It’s hard to do when she keeps slamming doors in my face.” Rye sighed
and shook her head at the memories. “But if I ever get the opportunity, what
should I be talking about?”

Flora sipped her wine as if considering her words before answering. “I know you
have definite ideas about what you want Holly to do with the next few years of
her life. Do you know what Holly wants?”

“I haven’t a clue. She just tells me that she hates school. But that’s just a
phase.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not having her end up in jobs like mine. Once she’s got a good education,
she can choose a good career.”

Flora patted Rye’s thigh. “Is this how you discuss it with her?”

Rye bristled. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing. Easy, lover. I’m not criticising you. Or belittling your parenting
skills. I’m trying to help. Holly doesn’t want to walk out of school and into
any old job, if that’s what you’re worried about. She has given her future a lot
of thought. A lot more than I ever had at her age. It’s impressive how much
talking she’s done with people, and not just her careers counsellor at school.
She’s actually gone to ask people about their jobs. Which I find amazing.”

Rye frowned. “What does she want to do?”

“She wants to develop her strong natural talent. She wants to get into fabric
and clothes design.”

Rye scowled. “She does?”

“You’re not really surprised? If you remember, we met the evening I handed her
first prize for a fabric creation of hers.”

Rye downed the remainder of her wine and rose to pour a refill.

“Holly wants to leave school at the end of this year,” Flora said, “and take up
an apprenticeship. She’s even made a list of people she would like to train
with. She’s dead serious.”

Rye took a long swallow of wine.

“What’s wrong?” Flora said.

“I suppose paying apprenticeship fees will be the same as university enrolment.”

“Fees? No. You won’t have to pay. And I’d have no problem helping her find a
placement. I know –”

“No!” Rye’s emphatic gesture spilled wine on the floor. “I pay. I don’t take
anything I don’t have to. I don’t need charity.”

“Charity? No. I’m talking about a scholarship. And I can talk to people I know
and introduce Holly to them. It’s important she finds the right placement to
suit her and her teacher.”

“Oh.” Rye scowled down at the stains on the floor. Stains on stains.
“Scholarship?”

“Yes. Holly is very talented.”

Rye set her empty glass down and paced. Holly wanted to become an artist? That
wasn’t at all what she had planned. “It’s not exactly a steady job, is it? Not
with proper prospects and security.”

Flora smiled and spread her hands. “Some of us manage to make a living.”

“I know. But you’re good.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that Holly promises to be very good.”

Rye sat on the roughly finished floor and pulled her free copy of yesterday’s
newspaper out of her work bag. Blackie handed her a mug of tea. The boys
dissected last night’s big game while Rye scanned the advertisements for brooms
and work available. Finding nothing, she turned to the front page.

Treaty Ratified After Heated Debate. 
The controversial trade and amity treaty with Fairyland was approved with a
slender majority last night after fierce debate in parliament. The government
stressed the financial benefits that might flow from the new treaty. Opponents
claimed that no democratic government should deal with closed, totalitarian
societies that persecute their own citizens. They concentrated their attack on
civil rights abuses allegedly rampant under Fairyland’s theocratic regime. The
extradition clause came in for fiery argument.

A cold ache tightened Rye’s stomach. Her wing buds and the flight muscles across
her chest clenched uncomfortably.

“What does extra-thing mean?” Knot asked.

“Extradition,” she said. “Um. It’s when a country hands someone back to the
country where they came from. They do it so that people can be punished in their
own country, where they committed their crime.”

“Sounds about right, don’t it?” Knot said. “Why should we have to put up with
dregs coming here? Got enough of our own.”

“I reckon they should send all foreigners back where they come from.” Blackie’s
stubby antennae bristled erect. “Especially fucking elves. Whiny wankers. And
fucking gnomes. There’s nothing worse than a fucking gnome.”

Knot grinned. “Ain’t your mother-in-law a gnome?”

“I’d shove that fat old bitch on a ship to the Plainlands tomorrow,” Blackie
said. “Actually, I’d drop her in the sea with a rock tied to her beard. Gnomes.
Shit. They’re all the fucking same.”

Knot turned to Rye. “What’s that word for people like him?”

“Bigots,” Rye said.

“I ain’t!” Blackie said. “I got pure sprite, bogle, and gremlin blood in me.
Born and raised here. I’m no fucking foreigner. And I’ll tell you another thing.
Those fucking fairies have got it about right. Keep all the weird bastards in
their own country. I heard they hang crims there. I reckon it’d be no loss if
those flying freaks all hung each other! Then none of the bastards could come
here.”

Rye stood and walked away.

Rye could not imagine how she could be more comfortable. She reclined on one of
Flora’s sofas with the naked dryad a warm weight lying against her front. Flora
idly smoothed part of Rye’s wing membrane against her own hip and thigh. Rye
could smell Flora’s perfume and their sex. Beneath that, and even more
compelling than both, she smelled that tantalising aroma like pine sap. Rye bent
her nose closer to Flora’s hair and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply. The
pine scent invaded her brain and permeated her whole being, as if Flora was what
Rye had been missing all her life.

Rye reverently kissed Flora’s hair. Her lips pressed a knot. Flora’s hair had
formed a tight, nasty tangle about the size of the top of Rye’s thumb.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” Flora said. “It’s the strangest
phenomenon. Whenever I’m with you, the rest of Infinity fades into nothing. Yet
time speeds up.”

Rye’s smile quickly faded. Her fingers found another tangle in Flora’s hair. And
another. Her fingers worked their way around the crown of Flora’s head to find
it ringed with the knots.

“Gently.” Flora sat up.

“Sorry. You’ve got some nasty knots.”

Flora twisted around to level a strange look at Rye. “Knots?”

“Tangles in your hair. If you get a comb, I’ll tease them out. I used to do
Holly’s hair for her. I hardly ever made her cry.”

“You don’t know much about dryad biology, do you?”

“I know a lot more now than I used to. Why?”

“These aren’t hair tangles. They’re buds.”

Rye frowned. “Buds? You’re about to flower? Or have I somehow pollinated you?”

Flora laughed. Rye felt stupid. Flora captured one of Rye’s hands to kiss.

“They mean that I’m serious about someone,” Flora said.

“Oh.”

Rye was conscious of a watchfulness beneath Flora’s smile. She had no clue how
to interpret it and didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

The moment passed. Flora rose and padded into the kitchen to fetch the abandoned
jar of wine. When she returned, Rye sat up and swung her legs over the side of
the sofa so that Flora could sit astride her lap. Flora held the glass to Rye’s
lips for her to sip then drank from the same spot herself. Being with Flora felt
so right and natural. This could not be wrong.

“What are you thinking?” Flora asked.

“That you’re the sexiest thing on two legs.”

Flora smiled. “You find creatures with more legs sexier?”

Rye tickled Flora until she threatened to dump the contents of the wine glass on
her head.

“Can I fly you home from work on Fourth Day?” Flora stroked Rye’s neck and
shoulders. “In rush hour traffic, that should give us a good three quarters of
an hour of hand-holding and quick, steamy kisses. That might just keep me from
exploding with sexual frustration until next Fifth Day.”

“Yes, please.”

Rye ran her hands along Flora’s thighs, hips, and around to her buttocks. Warm,
fascinating curves. So smooth. So perfect. How was it possible to be awed by
Flora and yet, at the same time, feel completely comfortable with her?

“You’ve got the most adorable look on your face.” Flora said. “What are you
thinking?”

“How amazing you are. By the way, not this Fourth Night or the next, but the one
after, I have it off. The school is closed for some holiday. Holly is going to a
birthday party.” Rye ran her hands up Flora’s back. “So, how about you and me
planning a hot evening together?”

“Fourth Night? I can’t. I’m hosting a duty dinner.” Flora grimaced. “Branch,
Trunk, and Root, it would have to be the one engagement I can’t cancel or shift.
These are people it’s important for me to be nice to, but who otherwise might
not be within my closest social orbit. My agent. A couple of gallery owners. The
curator of a private museum. You could come.”

“Um. I don’t think I’d have any place with them.”

“I don’t blame you,” Flora said. “I’d rather not do it myself. I think I’m
repressing it. I haven’t even arranged a caterer yet. We could end up eating
takeaway from Lowood’s Mushroom House. That would boost my reputation, don’t you
think?”

“It would get you talked about.”

Flora smiled and gently stroked Rye’s wing support.

“Oh, Elm, I suppose I –” Flora’s fingers stilled. “Rye? If I wanted an enormous
favour from you, would I be better reminding you of an incident for which you
still owe me an apology, or promising sexual favours?”

“Sex. What do you want?”

“Cook for me. Please.”

“Sure. Do you actually have any food in the house?”

“I don’t mean now,” Flora said. “My dinner party.”

Rye stared, aghast. “What?”

Flora set her glass aside and looped her arms around Rye’s neck. “You could do
that divine ferret dish again. Those acorns! My mouth has wet dreams about them.
Although, I think one or two are vegetarian. I’ll check. Please, lover. Say you
will.”

Rye shook her head. “You need a real cook.”

“You are a real cook. But no maple malt sauce. I couldn’t possibly sit in the
same room with Windy Hempweed and have memories of you licking maple malt sauce
off my breasts.”

Rye grinned.

“Please,” Flora said. “It’ll be a proper business deal. I’ll pay you twelve
hundred pieces.”

“Fey.” That was as much as she earned at the building site in a month.

“It’s what I paid the last time. Dinner for six. Four courses and nibbles
beforehand.”

“Over a thousand pieces?” Rye said. “Just for cooking dinner?”

“You’ll have to buy all the food. And pay for someone to help serve. I bet Holly
would do it.”

“She’s going to a birthday party.”

“I bet she won’t if you tell her that Privet Thunder is one of my guests. He’s
only the top of her wish list for apprenticeship teachers. It would do her no
harm at all to become a name and face to some of my guests.”

“That’s not fair.”

Flora smiled. She wriggled closer, so that their breasts touched, and began
stroking Rye’s wing support. Flora’s other hand stroked Rye’s hair, teased the
nape of her neck, then ran down toward the sensitive spot between the place
where Rye’s wings joined her back. Flora kissed her deeply. Rye could barely
conceal her rising interest.

“Is that the best you can do?” Rye said. “I doubt I’d fry you a sandwich for
that.”

“Oh!” Flora’s face was a picture of outrage.

“Are you sure you’re a dryad and not a leprechaun?”

“You shit!”

The ensuing wrestling bout tumbled them both onto the carpet. They lay in a
tangle laughing.

“Do we have time for another fuck?” Rye asked.

“Are you sure you want to with this sexless lump?”

Rye eased herself over Flora and spread her wings. Flora’s eyes widened as they
usually did and her breasts rose with a sharp, deep breath. Rye could not
understand how her broken, ugly wings turned Flora on, but she wasn’t
complaining. Rye kissed Flora and began slow hip motions.

“You are the most desirable creature in Infinity,” Rye said. “And you know it.
So, how about that screw?”

“Why not?” Flora reached up to touch Rye’s wings. “I had nothing planned for the
next twenty-three seconds.”

Later, when Rye was tying her boot laces, Flora came to stand close and smooth
Rye’s hair.

“So?” Flora said. “Will you cook for me? Please, lover.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Flora bent to kiss her. “Thank you. I know it’ll be terrific.”

“What if I screw up? Will it ruin your career?”

“Of course. Rye! I’ve eaten your cooking. I have every confidence in you. And –”

Rye stood. “And what?”

Flora ran a hand down Rye’s chest and ended by taking hold of her hand. “And I
have something to tell you, but I’m not sure this is the right time.”

“Is this about the pollination thing?”

Flora smiled. “Buds. It’s related, yes.”

“You’re not going to have my acorns?”

Flora looked astonished and she burst out laughing. “I can see that I really
need to teach you some dryad biology.”

“If the lessons are anything like I’ve been getting so far, I might have to fail
a few classes so that I need remedial tutoring.”

Flora stroked Rye’s cheek. “How did you remain celibate for all those years? I
can’t believe you didn’t have women flocking around you. But just make sure you
keep fighting them off now.”

Rye frowned to herself as she followed Flora through into the garage. “You’d be
jealous?”

“Of course. Wickedly. Vindictively. There is not another species breathing who
comes close to dryads when it comes to possessiveness. There, I’ve warned you.
No other women.”

Rye climbed into the carpet and snapped the safety harness in place. Her memory
conjured the photograph of Flora and Frond Lovage. Rye would not ask about them,
because she didn’t want to know the answer. She was fortunate to get even a part
of Flora’s life. And, dryad or not, that Frond creature couldn’t be so great
between the sheets if Flora spent half her life panting for Rye.

One thousand two hundred pieces.

Rye punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape. Sure, she had to buy the
food, but the profit should make a nice start to her second-hand broom savings.

Flora had given her a copy of an old dinner menu, so Rye had an idea about what
was required. The thought of her food being set in front of all those posh
artists gave her more than a ripple of unease. Part of her, though, was thrilled
at the challenge. It would certainly be a more enjoyable way of earning some
extra cash than cleaning municipal toilets.

Rye slid a hand under the sofa cushion beneath her pillow. She pulled out the
magazine with Flora’s photo. Rye put her hand on the page to hide Frond Lovage.

“I don’t know how much longer you’re going to stay interested in me,” Rye
whispered. “But I intend to savour it. I’ll cook all the dinners you want.”

Rye drifted off to sleep with menu ideas swirling through her mind.

Rye knelt in soil. She tugged weeds out with her fingers. A shadow fell across
her. She looked up. Sunlight momentarily blinded her. She saw the outline of a
female body in a loose shift and with folded wings. A face resolved out of the
brightness. A homely, round, lovely face. Chastity, the junior priestess. She
smiled and held out a hand.

The garden vanished. Rye stood in the temple robing room. Chastity shut the
door and smiled at Rye. She had the most beautiful scalloping on the edges of
her wing membranes. Chastity kissed her.

Crack! Rye saw the priestess’s arm scythe downward. The whip snapped against
flesh. Chastity’s body jerked. She didn’t cry out or make a sound. Blood ran
from her wings. Bloody rents in the membranes looked like vampire mouths. Blood
ran down the back of her legs and onto the floor. Chastity turned around, but it
wasn’t her any more. She was Flora.

Rye stood out in the open. Her mother lay at her feet in the mud. It oozed on
her mother’s wings. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Dead. Holly stood
staring at Rye, but she was sixteen, not five years old.

Alarms screamed all around. Rye tried to cover her ears. She ran. The noise
followed. They were going to catch her.

Rye jolted awake with a shout dying on her lips. Her alarm clock buzzed. She
panted as if she really had been running from all the priestesses in Fairyland.

The building site whistle sounded three long blasts for down-tools.