Broken Wings (9 page)

“You heard,” Knot called. “Down we go. Take your things. Assemble near the
gates.”

Rye trotted down amongst flurries of speculation from her fellow workers. When
they gathered, Grub the overseer stomped out to talk to them.

“Due to a safety problem,” Grub said, “we have to stop work for the day and
close the site.”

A loud cheer drowned out his next words.

Knot elbowed Rye. “Smile. The pubs will be open in an hour. A whole day
drinking, and not having to tell the wife.”

“But it’s a day without pay,” Rye said.

Knot shrugged and turned to arrange his unexpected holiday with some of the
others. Rye frowned. She shoved through the dispersing crowd.

“Mr. Grub! Wait.” Rye strode across to the scowling overseer.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Look, if you need someone to help make things safe, I’m willing to work.”

“Ain’t nothing you can do. Push off. I’m busy.”

Rye frowned at his retreating back. “Shit.”

It was eleven o’clock in the morning. She couldn’t even go to Pansy’s to try to
work an afternoon shift because the fast-food shop didn’t open until three.

Rye jammed her fists in her pockets and strode down the street. She was going to
be short this week. Good job she was doing that cooking for Flora soon. Rye
stopped. She had most of a day stretching emptily ahead of her. Flora hadn’t
mentioned anything special she would be doing today.

Rye burst into a run when she emerged from the Rootway underpass. She could be
at Flora’s in time for lunch.

Rye wiped the sweat from her face and pressed Flora’s buzzer. Flora answered
promptly.

“Rye! Has something happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. The council shut down the building site for the day. Are you busy?”

The gate clunked open. Rye strode through and waited for the elevating carpet.
It whisked her up the ten flights without any sensation of movement. Rye stepped
out and put her arms around Flora. Flora moved fluidly into the embrace and
returned Rye’s kiss. Rye’s hand slid down to Flora’s backside. Fey, Flora felt
good.

Flora broke off for air. When Rye tried to kiss her again, Flora put her fingers
against Rye’s mouth.

“Hold that thought, lover,” Flora whispered. “Laurel won’t stay long, I’m sure.”

Rye stiffened and jerked her arms from around Flora. They weren’t alone?

“Laurel is my closest friend,” Flora said. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned her a
hundred times. We often have tea and gossip with each other. I’m glad you two
can meet.”

Rye’s world tightened and darkened with the first tendrils of incipient
flight-panic. Flora’s warm fingers gripping Rye’s hand helped stabilise her. Rye
took a deep breath and let Flora lead her along the hall to the living room.

A dryad woman with red and gold highlights in her hair smiled at their entrance.
Laurel looked a good ten years older than Flora. She put aside a cup of tea and
rose. Rye knew she should not find the situation frightening or intimidating.
The woman was Flora’s friend. Her smile and curiosity were wholly natural. Rye’s
wing buds contracted hard all the same.

“Laurel, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Flora said. “Laurel Stone, this
is Rye Woods.”

“Oh,” Laurel said. “Hello, Rye. This is a pleasant surprise.”

Laurel held out a hand. Rye wiped her hand on her pants leg before completing
the shake.

“Flora has spoken a great deal about you,” Laurel said. “So, it’s nice to be
able to put a face to the name.”

“Um. Yeah.” Rye said.

“Flora says that you’re a builder?” Laurel said.

“Um. Yeah,” Rye said.

“Let me get you a drink,” Flora said. “Beer?”

“Um. Oh. I’ll go.”

Rye all but bolted for the kitchen door. Her hands trembled as she popped the
top off the beer. She glugged half of it. Flora wouldn’t have told her friend
that Rye was a fairy, would she?

Shit. Someone else knew about her affair with Flora. She might have guessed, but
she hadn’t. How much had Flora told? Not only her own, but Holly’s, future lay
in the balance. Rye was playing with fire for a few fucks. This had to be the
stupidest thing she had done in eleven years.

Flora slipped her arms around Rye from behind. “Laurel has tactfully left. I
don’t remember, but were you quite that inarticulate when we first met?”

Rye lifted her beer and found the jar empty.

“Rye? What’s wrong?”

“What have you told her?”

“The usual. Girl talk stuff. How sexy you make me feel. How hot you are on the
sofa. What squirmy hardware you have. That –”

“Crap!” Rye broke free of Flora’s arms and stomped out.

“Rye!” Flora ran after her. “What’s the matter?”

Rye scooped her work bag off the floor and slammed a palm onto the button for
the elevating carpet. Flora interposed herself between Rye and the door.

“What’s happening? Rye? You’re going to have to tell me, because I’m out of my
copse here.”

“I should never had done this. Fey! Stupid!”

“What is stupid? Branch.” Flora grabbed the front of Rye’s jacket. “Are you
going to run again?”

“Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I got sent back? And Holly?
Shit!” Rye tugged free and stormed around the curved hallway to the front door.
“I should never have done this. Never. My own fucking fault.”

“Rye!” Flora came running. “I didn’t tell her that you’re a fairy. I didn’t.”

Rye paused with her hand on the door.

“I didn’t tell her that,” Flora said. “I promised you, remember? You don’t
believe me?”

Rye was angry and scared, but that thing was happening again as it always did
when she was with Flora. The harshness of the world lost its potency.

“Don’t you believe me?” Flora stepped away from the door. “You don’t trust me?
If you don’t, then perhaps you had better leave.”

Rye took a deep breath and released the door. She ran her hand through her
sweaty hair.

“I would never tell anyone,” Flora said. “Believe me?”

Rye nodded. She held out her hand. Flora took it.

“I’m sorry,” Rye said. “It’s scary. No one has ever known before. It’s always
been just me and Holly. When she was little, I had to lie to her. I told her we
were of mixed bogle and brownie blood. I hated doing that to her, but I couldn’t
risk her blurting out the truth. When she was older, I told her. I still worry
sometimes because I’m not sure she fully realises how dangerous it would be for
us to get sent back.”

“What would happen to you?”

Rye shook her head. “It’s Holly I worry about. The kid has no idea what it’s
like. After here, she wouldn’t take well to life there. Not at all. It’s… it’s
very different.”

Flora laid a hand on Rye’s chest. “Lover, I won’t tell anyone. Please believe
me.”

Rye nodded and let out a long breath.

“Come back into the lounge,” Flora said. “Let’s sit down. Tell me how I’ve
managed to win the privilege of your company at this time of day. And how long I
have you for.”

Rye kicked her boots off and accepted another beer. Flora sat close. As Rye
talked, she relaxed. Between beer and Flora, the world mellowed. The phone
beeped. Flora excused herself to go and answer it at the wall plate near the
door.

Rye took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Almighty King and Queen of the Fey,
this was a much better way of spending the day than on the building site. It was
such a luxury to be able to stop and do nothing for a few hours.

“Rye?”

Rye opened her eyes. Flora bent over her. She lay on Flora’s sofa with a duvet
thrown over her.

“It’s five o’clock,” Flora said. “I thought it was about time we began thinking
about getting you home.”

“Five? I didn’t sleep all afternoon?”

“You looked exhausted. I’m not surprised. You really need to take better care of
yourself. If I walked half the distance you do in a week, I’d die.”

“We didn’t even have sex? A whole afternoon with you, and I slept it away.
Fey.”

“It didn’t go quite as I expected, either. But you obviously had some rest to
catch up on.”

Rye shook her head. She was too disgusted with herself for words.

Flora stroked Rye’s hair and kissed her cheek. “It gave me a bounce to walk in
here every half an hour or so and see you there. You looked very cute.”

“Asleep,” Rye said unhappily. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe we’ll get it right next time.”

“There may never be a next time. I can’t rely on the council shutting down the
site too often.”

“Don’t say never,” Flora said. “There are other ways we can arrange time
together.”

That night, while frying sandwiches, Rye did some hard thinking. The cold,
unpalatable fact was that there was not enough time in a week for her to work
two jobs, possibly a third, go to night school, spend the faintest smear of time
at home with Holly, and have anything left over for her relationship with Flora.
Something had to go. She needed the jobs. She couldn’t live on any less than she
earned now, and she really needed more. A broom would give her more time, and
leave her with a little more energy. To afford the broom, she needed a third
job. She spent so little time at home with Holly as it was that she could not
reduce it any further. The only possible conclusion was that she must stop going
to night school or end it with Flora.

Rye stared at the photograph in the magazine. Flora was gorgeous.

Their relationship was never going anywhere. Rye had known that from the start.
Perhaps it was best that they ended it sooner rather than later. It might hurt
less that way.

Rye sighed.

Flora was a successful artist.
ShadeForest City’s rising weaving sensation.
Rye was a builder’s labourer and sandwich fryer. Flora lived in a luxurious
penthouse apartment in the trendiest suburb in the city. Rye lived in squalor.
She couldn’t even afford two bedroomed squalor. Flora swirled comfortably
through the glittering upper ranks of society. Rye had to hide for fear of
discovery. And as an uneducated lump, she would not have anything to say to
those people even if she got dumped amongst them. Flora inhabited the tops of
trees. Rye grubbed around amongst the roots.

She was Flora’s novelty bedmate. When the fizz wore off, Flora could pick up
some other lucky woman and whisk her away in her fancy carpet.

Rye gently stroked the photograph with a fingertip. The thought of Flora with
anyone else caused a physical pain. Flora was one of the nicest people Rye had
ever known. Fun to be with. Not at all as she’d expected from some rich,
high-flying artist.

“Oh, fey,” Holly said from the doorway. “Are you still moping?”

Rye started. She hastily shoved her notebook on top of the magazine. “What do
you want?”

“When is dinner?”

“Um. Soon. I was waiting for you to emerge from all that noise.”

Rye watched Holly go into the kitchen, then quickly jammed the magazine under
the sofa cushion. She found Holly slouched at the table. Rye handed her some
dock roots to peel.

“I hate being poor,” Holly said.

“Me, too.”

“It’s all right for you.” Holly grabbed a dock root and hacked the tail off it.
“You don’t spend all day with kids who have mobiles and the latest clothes and
get their hair done and everything. Then there’s me.”

“If a person likes you for what you own, rather than who you are, then they’re
not really worth knowing.”

“You always say stupid shit like that.”

“Language.”

Holly slammed the dock root and knife onto the table. “It’s true! My life is so
miserable. And you don’t care.”

“You got invited to that girl’s birthday party, didn’t you? Poppy
what’s-her-name? Didn’t you tell me that she was the most popular girl in your
class? She clearly doesn’t care that –”

“I never wanted to go to that stupid party anyway!”

Holly jerked to her feet and stormed into her bedroom. Rye had seen tears.

“Holls?” Rye pushed Holly’s door further open. Holly lay face down on her bed.
Rye went in and sat to stroke her back. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t go to the party. I don’t have a present to take. We can’t afford one.”

Rye resisted the temptation to point out that Holly had recently squandered all
her fifty piece prize money from the school art competition.

“Daisy is giving her the most scathing pair of earrings,” Holly said. “Everyone
else will be giving great stuff. And I’d be this giant nothing. I hate my life.
Hate it.”

“Look, I know this doesn’t help with this problem, but if you didn’t want to go
to the party, maybe you could help me. I’ve agreed to cater this dinner for
Flora.”

Holly tensed and twisted her head to direct half a teary frown up at Rye.

“I’ll need someone to help serve and stuff,” Rye said. “Her guests are these
big-wig artists.”

Holly wriggled around further. “This is at her house? A proper dinner party,
just like you read about? With artists?”

“Yeah. A bunch of important ones by the sound of it. Not that the names mean
anything to me. She said there’d be one bloke called Privet Sunder.”

“Thunder.” Holly sat up. “You’re peeling me? Privet Thunder is going to be at
Flora’s dinner party, and you’re going to cook it? And I could go and meet him?”

“Yeah. But you’d –”

“Fucking shit!”

“Language!”

Holly leaped to her feet and bounced on the bed.

Bemused, Rye waited for Holly to jump down to the floor. “Wait! Before you begin
the endless conversation with Daisy, this is work. You won’t be an honoured
guest. You’d have to do all the icky stuff I told you to. Peeling vegetables,
stirring pots, and serving the table.”

“I heard. Of course I’ll do it! A Flora Withe dinner party with Privet Thunder
there! That’s a squillion times better than Poppy Wildcorn’s limping birthday
party. Daisy will gnaw her leg off!”

Rye smiled to herself as she followed Holly into the hall. “You hate helping me
in the kitchen.”

“That’s different. Privet Thunder! My mind has just melted.”

Rye watched Holly carry the phone into her bedroom. She wandered back into the
kitchen to finish preparing dinner. Clearly, she couldn’t break up with Flora
until after the dinner party. Good. She didn’t have to think about it for over a
week.

“We got close to the bed,” Flora said.

Rye smiled and helped Flora up off the bathroom floor. Flora reached in to turn
the shower off. Rye began pulling her underwear on.

“Do you have to wear such tight clothes?” Flora asked. “There are times we can
barely peel you out of them.”

“I need to keep my wings as flat as possible.”

“Doesn’t it hurt to have them cramped up like that all day?”

Rye shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“I’d love to see you walking around with them out. And flying.”

“I can’t fly. ”

“Glide, then.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Rye tucked her loose shirt into her pants as she followed Flora out of the
ensuite bathroom and through Flora’s bedroom. Something about Flora’s bedroom
made Rye uncomfortable. A huge walk-in closet covered all one wall. It was
bigger than Rye’s living room. The carpet was thick and springy enough to make
her feet feel like they’d won a lottery. The huge bed looked like something that
would be advertised in a glossy magazine. In fact, the whole room looked
straight out of an upmarket advertisement. The same might be said of the
kitchen, but Rye felt less intimidated there. Possibly because it was the one
place where Flora did not radiate complete, unthinking self-confidence.

Rye filled the kettle and set it on the stove to heat. Flora sat at the table to
munch biscuits.

“I wonder why I always crave something sweet post-coital?” Flora said.

“Take the taste out of your mouth?”

“I like the taste of you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve had sex with before.”

“Is that good or bad?” Rye asked.

“Good. Definitely good. I have buds, don’t I?”

Rye padded over to bite off part of the biscuit that Flora held up for her.
Flora playfully lifted her legs around Rye’s thighs and locked her ankles.

“So, why couldn’t you glide?” Flora asked.

That magic of togetherness was working at full blast, because Rye felt merely a
faint tendril of unease about the topic of her wings. The only person she’d ever
discussed it with was Holly. That had been a difficult conversation.

“My wings won’t hold me,” Rye said. “The supports were broken. And not set
properly. That’s why they don’t look straight.”

“That must have been a nasty accident.”

“Yeah,” Rye lied.

“Couldn’t you get them re-set?”

Rye shrugged. She kissed Flora and changed the subject. “Did you get a chance to
look at that menu?”

“Yes. Let me fetch it.”

Rye made tea and joined Flora at the table. Flora had written some annotations
on the menu Rye had made up.

“This sounds terrific,” Flora said. “I’ve made just a couple of suggestions. And
by the way, I love the sound of those fruit and wine jellies.”

Rye nodded. “Okay. That looks good. Did you find out how many vegetarians there
are?”

“Two. And there’s one partial insectivore. I hope that’s not too much of a
nuisance?”

“Nope.”

Flora stroked Rye’s arm. “I’m really looking forward to this. I know you’re
going to do a splendid job.”

“I’m so nervous that I can hardly spit.”

“I thought you might be. But I have every confidence in you. Did Holly agree to
help?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rye said. “The kid who hates washing up begged me to let her peel
veggies and sweep floors. She found this article in one of her friend’s mum’s
magazines about napkin folding. Would it be a problem to have cloth rabbits and
butterflies all over the table?”

Flora laughed. “Just make sure she doesn’t put the rabbits in front of the
vegetarians.”

When Flora went to dress, Rye had a moment of wondering how she could possibly
contemplate not seeing Flora any more. It seemed like the stupidest idea in all
of Infinity.

Rye took a last look at the menu before folding it and stuffing it in her
pocket. She could get most of what she wanted at her normal market, but she
would need to find a source for the more exotic ingredients. There were some
boutique gourmet food shops she passed on her way home from the building site.
In the Noonpine area, of course.

“Crap,” Rye whispered. How was she going to pay for any of this?

Flora breezed back in. She picked up her purse and lightly kissed Rye. “Much as
I’d like to keep you here forever, I suppose I’d better take you home.”

“Um. Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

Rye squirmed. She loathed having to do this.

“Rye? Is it something between us? About this morning? The dinner? Holly? Please
talk to me, or I’ll begin imagining the worst.”

“Um.”

Rye wanted to curl up in a hole and pull a rock in on top of her. But she didn’t
have a choice. There was no way in Infinity that she could afford to buy the
ingredients herself. Her wings pulled tight against her back. Her chest muscles
were taut enough to hinder easy breathing.

“Um. About dinner,” Rye said. “I… um. Is there any way you could advance me some
of the money?”

“Oh. Of course. I should’ve thought. Here.” Flora pulled several banknotes out
of her purse. “Is this enough? I can get you more if you need it. Actually, why
don’t I write you a credit note for the rest right now?”

“No! This is good. Really.”

Rye shoved the cash into her pocket. She didn’t want to have to admit that she
didn’t have a bank account into which she might deposit a credit note.

On Third Night when Rye returned home from her shift at Pansy’s Fried
Sandwiches, she saw the light on in the kitchen. Holly knelt beside the cooler.

“Touch those and you’re dead,” Rye said.

“I was just making sure they were safe.”

“Uh huh.” Rye peered over Holly’s shoulder to count the fruit cups.

“All there. See?” Holly poked her tongue out.

Rye pulled her shirt off as she strode to the bathroom. “Did you manage to
borrow a plain black dress?”

“Yeah. Ivy Samphire’s sister had one. You want to see it?”

“I trust you.”

“When did that happen?”

Rye ignored that and shut the bathroom door. She trusted Holly not to want to
look like an idiot in front of Flora and her posh guests. One less thing to
worry about. She stepped into the warm shower and fretted about a hundred other
things that might go wrong.

The next morning, Rye left Holly transit fare to get from school to Flora’s
house.

Rye had dropped her tools and grabbed her bag before the blast of the lunch
whistle died away. She hurtled down the steps and across the site. Less than
quarter of an hour later she jogged into a street of poncy boutique shops in
Noonpine.

Flashily-dressed people sauntered to their lunch appointments or sat around the
outdoor tables at restaurants and cafés. Rye clomped along in her boots. She
picked up her box of specialty vegetables and spices at the Mulberry Shoot.
They were wickedly expensive, but she couldn’t prepare the dishes she planned
without them. At Grain and Sons Fine Meats, she purchased ferret fillets and
their selection of insects even included the big smoked wetas she wanted. The
bill there ate up the last of the cash Flora had given her.

Rye carried her box down past the awnings, benches, and display boards. She
noticed the name Lightning Tree Gallery. Wasn’t that the place Holly raved over
when Flora said she had some of her work on display in it?

Rye strode over to the window. A large chunk of bent blue glass sat on a
pedestal on the other side of the window. Rye shook her head. She supposed it
meant something to someone. Beyond the glass lump, the gallery interior looked
intimidatingly posh. Paintings and hangings littered the walls. Which ones were
Flora’s?

“Oh, look!”

Rye turned to see a pair of young female sylphs dressed in diaphanous robes in
matching shades of faded orange. They were holding hands as they stepped close
to the gallery window.

“It’s still here,” the taller one said. “Oh, darling, wouldn’t it be perfect for
the lounge? I’m sure I can convince auntie to buy it for us for a wedding
present. It’s only seven thousand. Even she can’t complain about that.”

Rye thought her eyeballs might drop out.
Seven thousand?

Rye walked off, taking her burden of groceries and astonishment. Seven thousand
pieces for a lump of glass? No wonder Flora could think nothing of paying twelve
hundred for a dinner party, or casually pulling over three hundred pieces from
her purse. It was a different world.

Flora didn’t answer her buzzer, but the gates clunked open. Rye felt very
strange letting herself into Flora’s apartment.

“Flora? Babe? Are you here? It’s me. Rye.”

Rye wandered around the curved corridor to the kitchen. It was empty, pristine,
and just waiting to be cooked in. Rye put her fruit cups in the cooler. She
found a note stuck to the pantry door.

Gone to the salon to get myself made beautiful. Back by 3:00 or 3:30 at the
latest. Fingers crossed. Do whatever you need to. The wine I told you about is
in the bottom rack. BTW, the florist will be delivering at 4:00. If, by some
nightmare, I’m not back, please leave the flowers on the table. I’ll take care
of them when I get home. If you need me for anything (Except sex. Alas!) press
the blue button on the phone screen. It’ll automatically connect to my mobile.
Love, F.