“Awesome! Can I watch?” her dad asked, sounding more like a little boy than a grown man.
“Sure, because my dad watching over my shoulder won’t be awkward at all,” Laurel said cheerfully.
“Fine,” he said, moving over to give her a hug. With his mouth close to her ear he whispered, “You look gorgeous. Keep your door open.”
“Dad!” Laurel hissed, but he only raised an eyebrow at her. She chanced a glance at Tamani, but he just looked bemused. “Fine,” she said, then pulled away and began walking toward the steps. “It’s this way,” she said to Tamani.
Tamani paused for a second, then walked over to Laurel’s dad and stuck out his hand, which Laurel noted was temporarily free of pollen, probably courtesy of Tamani’s pocket-lining. “Great to meet you, Mr. Sewell,” he said.
“Absolutely, Tam.” Laurel cringed. It sounded twice as bizarre coming out of her dad’s mouth. “We’ll have to talk more one of these days.”
“Sure,” Tamani said, reaching his other hand up to clasp her dad’s shoulder. “But for now, wow, it’s Saturday—your store must be really busy.”
“Oh, it usually gets busy at about twelve,” he said, pointing to the clock that read just after eleven.
“Sure, but school started a few weeks ago and people always want books for school, right? I bet they’re really busy down there and could use your help. You should go to the store. Help out. We’ll be fine here.”
It took Laurel about three seconds to realize what was happening.
“You know, you’re right,” her dad said, his voice sounding a little far away. “I should go help them.”
“Well, it was good to see you for a little while at least. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“Yep, that would be great!” Laurel’s dad said, looking a little more like himself. “Well, you two get some good work done. I think I’m going to go down and help Maddie out at the store. It’s a Saturday; I bet it’s busy.” He grabbed his car keys and was out the door.
“Okay,” Laurel said, turning to Tamani, “not cool.”
“What?” Tamani asked, looking genuinely confused. “I got him out of the way.”
“Him? That him is my dad!”
“Enticement doesn’t hurt him,” Tamani protested. “Besides, I’ve been living on my own for years—I don’t do well with hovering parents.”
“My house, my rules,” Laurel said sternly. “Don’t do it again.”
“All right, fine,” Tamani said, raising his hands in front of him. He paused and looked up to where she was standing, a few steps above him. “He was right though, you do look gorgeous.”
Her anger evaporated and she found herself staring at the floor, trying to think of something to say.
“Come on,” Tamani said, sweeping past her, a picture of unaffected nonchalance. “Let’s get started.”
Over the past few years, Laurel’s room had gone from a fairly typical teenager’s room to a pink, fluffy chemistry lab. Her gauzy curtains and girlish bedspread were the same, and the prisms strung along her window still sparkled in the sun and cast rainbows across her room. But instead of bouncing off CDs, makeup, books, and clothes, the light caught vials, mortars, and reagents—bags of leaves, bottles of oils, and baskets of drying flowers.
At least her room always smelled good.
Laurel sat at her desk chair and gestured to a pink vanity stool for Tamani, trying not to think about how often David had sat in that same chair to watch her work.
“So,” Tamani said, talking more to her blossom than her face. “What have you got so far?”
“Uh,” Laurel said, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest, “not a whole lot, actually. I made the phosphorescent right, so that’s good. I tried to make some Cyoan powder too, but it’s just way beyond me.”
“Why Cyoan? That won’t tell you anything about a faerie.”
“But we want something similar. And sometimes, when a Mixing is going really well and I make a mistake, I get this feeling like, well, I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like when I’m playing my guitar, and I play a chord and it sounds right, but I know it’s wrong because it’s not, you know, what I was going for. . . .”
Tamani was smiling helplessly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Laurel laughed. “Me either! And that’s kind of the problem. I think Katya’s right, that different kinds of faeries must process light differently. Like, I like sunlight, but I don’t really use it in my Mixing. And Spring faeries . . . I think you guys are adaptable. I mean, you stay up all night sometimes, right?”
“Frequently,” Tamani said, in a weary tone that suggested that he’d been staying up a lot of nights lately.
“And the sentries in Hokkaido can withstand enormous amounts of cold.”
Tamani hesitated. “Well, yes, but they have help from the Fall faeries with that. They make them a special tea from—”
“White Bryony, I remember,” Laurel said. “But still, the energy has to come from somewhere. And the Winter faeries use a ton of energy when they . . . what?” she demanded, when Tamani got a strange brightness in his eyes.
“Listen to you,” he said, pride creeping into his tone. “You’re amazing. You totally get this stuff. I knew you would slip right back into being a Fall faerie.”
“Sure, because my dad watching over my shoulder won’t be awkward at all,” Laurel said cheerfully.
“Fine,” he said, moving over to give her a hug. With his mouth close to her ear he whispered, “You look gorgeous. Keep your door open.”
“Dad!” Laurel hissed, but he only raised an eyebrow at her. She chanced a glance at Tamani, but he just looked bemused. “Fine,” she said, then pulled away and began walking toward the steps. “It’s this way,” she said to Tamani.
Tamani paused for a second, then walked over to Laurel’s dad and stuck out his hand, which Laurel noted was temporarily free of pollen, probably courtesy of Tamani’s pocket-lining. “Great to meet you, Mr. Sewell,” he said.
“Absolutely, Tam.” Laurel cringed. It sounded twice as bizarre coming out of her dad’s mouth. “We’ll have to talk more one of these days.”
“Sure,” Tamani said, reaching his other hand up to clasp her dad’s shoulder. “But for now, wow, it’s Saturday—your store must be really busy.”
“Oh, it usually gets busy at about twelve,” he said, pointing to the clock that read just after eleven.
“Sure, but school started a few weeks ago and people always want books for school, right? I bet they’re really busy down there and could use your help. You should go to the store. Help out. We’ll be fine here.”
It took Laurel about three seconds to realize what was happening.
“You know, you’re right,” her dad said, his voice sounding a little far away. “I should go help them.”
“Well, it was good to see you for a little while at least. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“Yep, that would be great!” Laurel’s dad said, looking a little more like himself. “Well, you two get some good work done. I think I’m going to go down and help Maddie out at the store. It’s a Saturday; I bet it’s busy.” He grabbed his car keys and was out the door.
“Okay,” Laurel said, turning to Tamani, “not cool.”
“What?” Tamani asked, looking genuinely confused. “I got him out of the way.”
“Him? That him is my dad!”
“Enticement doesn’t hurt him,” Tamani protested. “Besides, I’ve been living on my own for years—I don’t do well with hovering parents.”
“My house, my rules,” Laurel said sternly. “Don’t do it again.”
“All right, fine,” Tamani said, raising his hands in front of him. He paused and looked up to where she was standing, a few steps above him. “He was right though, you do look gorgeous.”
Her anger evaporated and she found herself staring at the floor, trying to think of something to say.
“Come on,” Tamani said, sweeping past her, a picture of unaffected nonchalance. “Let’s get started.”
Over the past few years, Laurel’s room had gone from a fairly typical teenager’s room to a pink, fluffy chemistry lab. Her gauzy curtains and girlish bedspread were the same, and the prisms strung along her window still sparkled in the sun and cast rainbows across her room. But instead of bouncing off CDs, makeup, books, and clothes, the light caught vials, mortars, and reagents—bags of leaves, bottles of oils, and baskets of drying flowers.
At least her room always smelled good.
Laurel sat at her desk chair and gestured to a pink vanity stool for Tamani, trying not to think about how often David had sat in that same chair to watch her work.
“So,” Tamani said, talking more to her blossom than her face. “What have you got so far?”
“Uh,” Laurel said, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest, “not a whole lot, actually. I made the phosphorescent right, so that’s good. I tried to make some Cyoan powder too, but it’s just way beyond me.”
“Why Cyoan? That won’t tell you anything about a faerie.”
“But we want something similar. And sometimes, when a Mixing is going really well and I make a mistake, I get this feeling like, well, I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like when I’m playing my guitar, and I play a chord and it sounds right, but I know it’s wrong because it’s not, you know, what I was going for. . . .”
Tamani was smiling helplessly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Laurel laughed. “Me either! And that’s kind of the problem. I think Katya’s right, that different kinds of faeries must process light differently. Like, I like sunlight, but I don’t really use it in my Mixing. And Spring faeries . . . I think you guys are adaptable. I mean, you stay up all night sometimes, right?”
“Frequently,” Tamani said, in a weary tone that suggested that he’d been staying up a lot of nights lately.
“And the sentries in Hokkaido can withstand enormous amounts of cold.”
Tamani hesitated. “Well, yes, but they have help from the Fall faeries with that. They make them a special tea from—”
“White Bryony, I remember,” Laurel said. “But still, the energy has to come from somewhere. And the Winter faeries use a ton of energy when they . . . what?” she demanded, when Tamani got a strange brightness in his eyes.
“Listen to you,” he said, pride creeping into his tone. “You’re amazing. You totally get this stuff. I knew you would slip right back into being a Fall faerie.”
