Wings Free with Bonus Material (7 page)

LAUREL’S HAIR WAS WILD AND TANGLED WHEN THEY
arrived. It would take ages to brush out later, but it was worth the forty-five-minute drive in the old convertible with the wind whipping across her face. They pulled into the long driveway, and Laurel held her breath as it curved around a clump of trees and the cabin came into view.

The appearance of her old house was accompanied by a wave of nostalgia Laurel hadn’t expected. The log cabin was small but quaint, nestled in a large circle of thick green grass surrounded by a rickety fence. Laurel had often missed her old home since moving but never as intensely as the moment it came into view for the first time in four months. For twelve years she’d lived in this house and on this land. She knew all the twisty paths through the vast forest behind the house and had spent hours wandering them. It wasn’t precisely that she wished she lived there again, but she didn’t want to let it go.

Her parents began unloading rakes and buckets and cleaning supplies. Laurel pulled her guitar from the backseat, and her mom laughed. “I love that you play that old thing.”

“Why?”

“It just reminds me of when I used to play it back at Berkeley.” She grinned at Laurel’s dad. “When we first met. We were such hippies back then.”

Laurel eyed her mom’s long braid and her dad’s Birkenstock sandals and gave a snort. “You’re hippies
now
.”

“Nah, this is nothing. We were
really
hippies back then.” Her mom slipped one hand into her dad’s, entwining their fingers. “I used to take that guitar to sit-ins. I’d play ‘We Shall Not Be Moved’ terribly off-key and everyone would bellow along. Remember that?”

Her dad smiled and shook his head. “The good ol’ days,” he said sarcastically.

“Aw, it was fun.”

“If you say so,” her dad relented, leaning in for a kiss.

“Do you mind if I wander a bit?” Laurel asked, slipping the strap of the guitar over her shoulder. “I’ll come back in a while to help.”

“Sure,” her mom said as she dug through the trunk.

“See ya soon,” Laurel said, already walking toward the back of the house.

The forest was filled with both broad-leaf and pine trees that shaded the soft green foliage carpeting the ground. Most of the tree trunks were covered with dark green moss that hid the rough bark. Everywhere you looked was green. It had rained
lightly that morning and the sun was out, turning the millions of droplets of water into sparkling orbs that made every surface twinkle like sheets of emeralds. Paths twisted into the darkness between the trees, and Laurel slowly headed down one.

It was easy to imagine she was walking through hallowed ground—the ruins of some great cathedral from ages before memory. She smiled when she saw a moss-clad branch illuminated by a thin beam of sunshine and rubbed her hand across it so the glistening drops of water dripped from her fingers and caught the light as they fell to the ground.

When she had been out of her parents’ sight for several minutes, Laurel slipped her guitar to the front and untied the scarf. With a sigh of relief, she lifted her shirt a bit to let the flower petals spring free. After being tied down most of the day, they ached to be released. The petals stretched out slowly like sore, cramped muscles as Laurel continued down the thin, leaf-strewn path. She heard the distant gurgle of a large stream and picked her way through the vegetation in its direction, finding it in just a few minutes and plopping down on a rock at its edge. She kicked off her flip-flops and let her toes dangle into the chilly water.

She’d always loved this stream. The water was so clear in the still current that you could see to the bottom and watch fish flit back and forth. Where it splashed over rocks in small waterfalls, it churned into a perfect white foam that looked like thick, frothy soap bubbles. The whole scene belonged on a postcard.

Laurel began picking out chords from her favorite Sarah McLachlan song. She hummed along quietly as the scent from the flower enveloped her.

After the first verse, a rustle off to her left made her head jerk up. She listened carefully and thought she heard soft whispers. “Mom?” she called tentatively. “Dad?”

She leaned the guitar against a tree and worked at the knot in the scarf where she’d tied it around her wrist. She’d better get the petals out of sight before her parents saw.

The long silk scarf refused to come loose from her wrist and she heard another rustle, louder than the first. Her eyes shot to the spot the sound had come from, just over her left shoulder. “Hello?”

Carefully, Laurel folded the soft petals down and wrapped them around her waist. She was about to secure them with the scarf when a figure stumbled out from behind a tree as though he had been pushed. He shot a nasty look at the tree for just a second before his face turned to Laurel. His agitation melted away and an unexpected warmth filled his eyes. “Hi,” he said with a smile.

Laurel gasped and tried to back away, but her heel caught on a root and she fell, letting go of the petals to catch herself.

It was too late to conceal anything; they sprang up in full view.

“No, don’t…! Oh, dear. I’m sorry. Can I help you?” the stranger said.

Laurel looked up into deep-green eyes almost too vibrant to be real. A young man’s face peered down at her as she lay splayed on the ground.

He extended his hand. “I really am sorry. We…I did make some noise. I thought you’d heard me.” He smiled sheepishly. “I guess I was wrong.” His face looked like a classic
painting—cheekbones clearly defined under smooth, tanned skin that looked like it would fit in better on an L.A. beach than in a chilly, moss-covered forest. His hair was thick and black, matching the eyebrows and lashes framing his concerned eyes. It was rather long and damp—as though he hadn’t gone inside when it started raining—and somehow he’d managed to dye just the roots the same brilliant green as his eyes. He had a soft, gentle smile that made Laurel’s breath catch in her throat. It took her a few seconds to find her voice.

“Who are you?”

He paused and studied her with a strange, unflinching look in his eyes.

“Well?” Laurel prompted.

“You don’t know me, do you?” he asked.

She was slow to answer. She felt like she
did
know him. There was a memory there, at the edge of her mind, but the harder she reached for it, the faster it slipped away. “Should I?” Her voice was guarded.

The probing gaze disappeared as abruptly as it had come. The stranger laughed softly—almost sadly—and his voice bounced off the trees, sounding more like a bird than a human. “I’m Tamani,” he said, still holding a hand out to help her up. “You can call me Tam, if you like.”

Suddenly aware that she was still lying on the damp ground where she had fallen, Laurel felt embarrassment flood over her. She ignored his hand and pushed herself to her feet, forgetting to hold onto her petals. With a sharp gasp she yanked her shirt down, wincing as the bloom crushed against her skin.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll keep my distance from your blossom.” He grinned and she felt like she was missing some in-joke. “I know whose petals I’m allowed to get into and whose I’m not.” He inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. And fabulous as you smell, your petals are off-limits to me.” He raised an eyebrow. “At least for now.”

He lifted a hand to her face and Laurel couldn’t move. He brushed some leaves out of her hair and glanced quickly up and down her frame. “You seem to be intact. No broken petals or stems.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, trying to conceal the petals peeking out from the bottom of her shirt.

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

She glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“You don’t live here,” she said, confused. “This is
my
land.”

“Really?”

Now she was flustered all over again. “Well, it’s my parents’ land.” She held tight to the tail of her shirt. “And you’re…you’re not welcome here.” How had his eyes gotten so intensely, impossibly green?
Contacts,
she told herself firmly.

“Aren’t I?”

Her eyes widened as he took a step closer. His face was so confident, his smile so contagious, she couldn’t step away. She was sure she’d never met anyone like him before in her life, but a sense of familiarity overwhelmed her.

“Who
are
you?” Laurel repeated.

“I told you; I’m Tamani.”

She shook her head. “Who are you really?”

Tamani pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh, all in good time. Come with me.” He took her hand and she didn’t pull away as he led her deeper into the forest. Her other hand gradually forgot what it was doing and she let go of her shirt. The petals slowly rose until they were spread out behind her in all their beautiful glory. Tamani looked back. “There, that feels better, doesn’t it?”

Laurel could only nod. Her mind felt fuzzy, and although somewhere in the back of her consciousness she suspected she should be bothered by all of this, it somehow didn’t seem important. The only thing that mattered was following this guy with the alluring smile.

He brought her to a small clearing where the leaves above them parted, allowing a circle of sunlight to filter down through the branches onto a patch of grass dotted with spots of spongy green moss. Tamani sprawled in the grass and gestured for her to sit in the spot across from him.

Enraptured, Laurel just stared. His green-and-black hair hung in long strands that fell across his forehead, just shy of his eyes. He was dressed in a loose white shirt that looked homemade and similarly styled brown baggy pants that tied just below the knees. They were decidedly old-fashioned, but he made them seem as trendy as the rest of him. His feet were bare, but even the sharp pine needles and broken sticks along the path hadn’t seemed to bother him. He was maybe six inches taller than her and moved with a catlike grace she’d never seen in another boy.

Laurel folded down into a cross-legged perch and looked over at him expectantly. The strange desire to follow him was slowly starting to fade, and confusion was working its way in.

“You gave us quite a scare, running off like that.” His voice had a soft lilt—not quite British, not quite Irish.

“Like what?” Laurel asked, trying to clear her head.

“Here one day, gone the next. Where have you been? I was starting to panic.”

“Panic?” She was too bewildered to argue or demand more information.

“Have you told anyone about that?” he asked, pointing over her shoulder.

She shook her head. “No—oh, yes. I told my friend David.”

Tamani’s face snapped into an unreadable slate. “Just a friend?”

Laurel’s wits slowly began to trickle back in. “Yes…no…I don’t think that’s any of your business.” But she said it quietly.

Small lines showed at the corner of Tamani’s eyes, and for just an instant, Laurel thought she saw a flash of fear. Then he leaned back and his soft smile returned; she must have imagined it. “Perhaps not.” He fiddled with a blade of grass. “But your parents don’t know?”

Laurel started to shake her head, but the absurdity of the situation finally managed to get through. “No…yes…maybe—I shouldn’t be here,” she said sharply, rising to her feet. “Don’t follow me.”

“Wait,” Tamani said, his voice panicked.

She pushed past a low-hanging branch. “Go away!”

“I have answers!” Tamani called.

Laurel paused and looked back. Tamani had risen up on one knee, his expression imploring her to stay.

“I have answers to all of your questions. About the blossom and…anything else.”

She turned slowly, not sure if she should trust him.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he said, his voice more quiet now.

Laurel took two steps forward and Tamani instantly relaxed. “You stay over there,” Laurel said, pointing to the far side of the clearing. “And I’m going to sit over here. I don’t want you to touch me again.”

Tamani sighed. “Fair enough.”

She settled into the grass again but stayed tense and alert, ready to run. “Okay. What is it?”

“It’s a blossom.”

“Will it go away?”

“My turn now; where did you go?”

“Crescent City. Will it go away?” she repeated, her voice sharper.

“Sadly, yes.” He sighed forlornly. “And more’s the pity.”

“You’re sure it goes away?” Laurel’s hesitation disappeared as she clung to the good news he offered.

“Of course. You’ll blossom again next year, but like all blossoms, they don’t last forever.”

“How do you know that?”

“My turn again. How far is this Crescent City?”

She shrugged. “Forty, fifty miles. Something like that.”

“Which direction?”

“Nope, my turn. How do you know about this thing?”

“I’m just like you. We’re the same kind.”

“Then where is yours?”

Tamani laughed. “
I
don’t blossom.”

“You said you were my kind. If that’s true, you should have one too.”

Tamani leaned on one elbow. “I’m also a guy, in case you didn’t notice.”

Laurel felt her breath quicken. She was
very
aware that he was a guy.

“What direction?” he repeated.

“North. Don’t you have a map?”

He grinned. “Is that your question?”

“No!” Laurel said, then glared at Tamani when he laughed. She felt her real question itching to be asked, but she was afraid of the answer. Finally she swallowed and asked quietly, “Am I turning into a flower?”

An amused smile ticked at the corner of Tamani’s mouth, but he didn’t laugh. “No,” he said softly.

Laurel felt her whole body relax with relief.

“You’ve
always
been a flower.”

“Excuse me?” she said. “Just what do you mean by that?”

“You’re a plant. You’re not human, never have been. Blossoming is only the most obvious manifestation,” Tamani explained, more calm than Laurel thought he had any right to be.

“A plant?” Laurel said, not bothering to hide the disbelief in her voice.

“Yes. Not just any kind of plant, of course. The most highly
evolved form of nature in the world.” He leaned forward, his green eyes sparkling. “Laurel, you’re a faerie.”