Chelsea! She could say she was doing something with Chelsea. Her brilliant idea fizzled almost as soon as it came into being. Chelsea didn’t even lie for herself; she certainly wouldn’t lie for Laurel.
Still, Laurel couldn’t bear the thought of missing the festival. She didn’t have any clue what it might be like, but she knew exactly what she would wear. It was the perfect opportunity to wear the dark blue gown she’d picked up near the end of her stay in Avalon. Though she had felt a little guilty taking it at the time, now it seemed like kismet.
Smiling in anticipation, Laurel put down her diamond tube and surveyed her work. She hadn’t given a conscious thought to the mindlessly repetitive task since the first vial shattered in her hand.
There, lined neatly at the top of her desk, sat four perfectly formed sugar vials.
That Friday, Laurel sat at the kitchen counter, toiling over her Spanish homework. There were only about six weeks until finals, and conjugating verbs in the past imperfect remained a complete mystery. Her petals hung limply behind her; two had already fallen out, and Laurel’s relief managed to crowd out her disappointment. It felt dangerous to be in bloom while trolls were stalking her. There hadn’t been any more scares in the last few weeks, but then, she and David had been extremely careful. They rarely hung out anywhere except at Laurel’s house, and even at school Laurel kept her full kit in the bottom of her backpack and carried it around at all times.
She’d been working extra hard on her Avalon studies as well. This week’s success with the sugar-glass vials had renewed her confidence; unfortunately, it had been dwindling again as her attempts at potion brewing continued to fail. She hadn’t even managed to make another vial since Monday. And now she’d run out of ingredients for the monastuolo serum, which left her mixing fertilizers or insect repellents—not exactly the kind of thing that would come in handy against a troll. But she couldn’t stop practicing, not when so many people were depending on her to get things right.
With tonight being Halloween, Laurel’s stress level was ratcheted up a notch. She didn’t like the idea of a bunch of people running around in masks. What was to keep trolls from terrorizing the town? On top of that, her mom and dad had volunteered for a Halloween program where the kids went trick-or-treating at local businesses. Laurel would have felt much more comfortable with them being home, where she—and, more importantly, her faerie sentries—could keep an eye on them. But that would require telling them about the trolls, which was unlikely to go over well. Particularly seeing as how Laurel’s mom was already in perpetual shock over the existence of faeries. No, it was better that they were blissfully ignorant. Besides, the trolls weren’t after her parents; they were after her.
As if sensing her thoughts, Laurel’s mom came downstairs and grabbed the coffeepot, filling her travel mug with dark, hours-old coffee. “I gotta head back to the store,” she said, her eyes studiously avoiding Laurel’s blossom—or what was left of it. “I won’t be back till late. You’re having friends over tonight to help hand out candy, right?”
“In about half an hour,” Laurel said. That had been her brainchild. She couldn’t protect everyone, but at least she could keep Ryan and Chelsea safe. Not that Laurel really felt the trolls represented much of a danger to them, but something had Laurel feeling universally paranoid tonight.
“Have fun,” her mom replied, popping the lid onto her mug. She took a sip and made a face. “Ugh, this is terrible. Well, the candy’s in the top cupboard.” She gestured vaguely.
“Great! Thanks for picking that up.” Laurel smiled, probably trying a little too hard, but it was better than not trying at all.
“No problem. And there should be plenty, so you can eat some too.” She hesitated, and her eyes met Laurel’s. “I mean, not you specifically. Obviously you don’t eat it. But, you know, David and Chelsea and—I gotta go.” She breezed past Laurel, fleeing the awkwardness. It was always like that; things would be good for a while, then something would remind Laurel’s mom just how strange life had truly become. Laurel sighed. Moments like these always depressed her. The disappointment was just starting to wash over her when her mom cleared her throat from behind Laurel’s right shoulder.
“Um,” she said tentatively, “you seem to be falling apart.” She was looking down rather strangely at three more petals that had fallen out while Laurel was doing her homework. Her mom paused for a second and looked like she would turn and head out the door, but then she changed her mind and leaned down and picked up a petal. Laurel sat still and held her breath, trying to figure out if this was a good thing or not. Her mom held the long petal—bigger than any other she’d ever seen on a regular plant, Laurel was sure—and then lifted it toward the window, watching the sun shine through it. Another pause and then her mom looked over at her. “Can I…do you mind if I take this with me to the store?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost timid.
“Sure!” Laurel said, cringing as her voice filled the room—too bright, too cheery.
But her mom didn’t seem to notice. She nodded and tucked the petal carefully into her tote. She glanced down at her watch and sucked in a loud breath. “Now I really am late,” she said, whirling toward the door. She took two steps, then stopped and turned. As if breaking through an unseen barrier, she rushed back and hugged Laurel. Really hugged her.
It was too short—only a few brief seconds—but it was real. Without another word, her mom strode out, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she opened the door and shut it hard behind her.
Still, Laurel couldn’t bear the thought of missing the festival. She didn’t have any clue what it might be like, but she knew exactly what she would wear. It was the perfect opportunity to wear the dark blue gown she’d picked up near the end of her stay in Avalon. Though she had felt a little guilty taking it at the time, now it seemed like kismet.
Smiling in anticipation, Laurel put down her diamond tube and surveyed her work. She hadn’t given a conscious thought to the mindlessly repetitive task since the first vial shattered in her hand.
There, lined neatly at the top of her desk, sat four perfectly formed sugar vials.
That Friday, Laurel sat at the kitchen counter, toiling over her Spanish homework. There were only about six weeks until finals, and conjugating verbs in the past imperfect remained a complete mystery. Her petals hung limply behind her; two had already fallen out, and Laurel’s relief managed to crowd out her disappointment. It felt dangerous to be in bloom while trolls were stalking her. There hadn’t been any more scares in the last few weeks, but then, she and David had been extremely careful. They rarely hung out anywhere except at Laurel’s house, and even at school Laurel kept her full kit in the bottom of her backpack and carried it around at all times.
She’d been working extra hard on her Avalon studies as well. This week’s success with the sugar-glass vials had renewed her confidence; unfortunately, it had been dwindling again as her attempts at potion brewing continued to fail. She hadn’t even managed to make another vial since Monday. And now she’d run out of ingredients for the monastuolo serum, which left her mixing fertilizers or insect repellents—not exactly the kind of thing that would come in handy against a troll. But she couldn’t stop practicing, not when so many people were depending on her to get things right.
With tonight being Halloween, Laurel’s stress level was ratcheted up a notch. She didn’t like the idea of a bunch of people running around in masks. What was to keep trolls from terrorizing the town? On top of that, her mom and dad had volunteered for a Halloween program where the kids went trick-or-treating at local businesses. Laurel would have felt much more comfortable with them being home, where she—and, more importantly, her faerie sentries—could keep an eye on them. But that would require telling them about the trolls, which was unlikely to go over well. Particularly seeing as how Laurel’s mom was already in perpetual shock over the existence of faeries. No, it was better that they were blissfully ignorant. Besides, the trolls weren’t after her parents; they were after her.
As if sensing her thoughts, Laurel’s mom came downstairs and grabbed the coffeepot, filling her travel mug with dark, hours-old coffee. “I gotta head back to the store,” she said, her eyes studiously avoiding Laurel’s blossom—or what was left of it. “I won’t be back till late. You’re having friends over tonight to help hand out candy, right?”
“In about half an hour,” Laurel said. That had been her brainchild. She couldn’t protect everyone, but at least she could keep Ryan and Chelsea safe. Not that Laurel really felt the trolls represented much of a danger to them, but something had Laurel feeling universally paranoid tonight.
“Have fun,” her mom replied, popping the lid onto her mug. She took a sip and made a face. “Ugh, this is terrible. Well, the candy’s in the top cupboard.” She gestured vaguely.
“Great! Thanks for picking that up.” Laurel smiled, probably trying a little too hard, but it was better than not trying at all.
“No problem. And there should be plenty, so you can eat some too.” She hesitated, and her eyes met Laurel’s. “I mean, not you specifically. Obviously you don’t eat it. But, you know, David and Chelsea and—I gotta go.” She breezed past Laurel, fleeing the awkwardness. It was always like that; things would be good for a while, then something would remind Laurel’s mom just how strange life had truly become. Laurel sighed. Moments like these always depressed her. The disappointment was just starting to wash over her when her mom cleared her throat from behind Laurel’s right shoulder.
“Um,” she said tentatively, “you seem to be falling apart.” She was looking down rather strangely at three more petals that had fallen out while Laurel was doing her homework. Her mom paused for a second and looked like she would turn and head out the door, but then she changed her mind and leaned down and picked up a petal. Laurel sat still and held her breath, trying to figure out if this was a good thing or not. Her mom held the long petal—bigger than any other she’d ever seen on a regular plant, Laurel was sure—and then lifted it toward the window, watching the sun shine through it. Another pause and then her mom looked over at her. “Can I…do you mind if I take this with me to the store?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost timid.
“Sure!” Laurel said, cringing as her voice filled the room—too bright, too cheery.
But her mom didn’t seem to notice. She nodded and tucked the petal carefully into her tote. She glanced down at her watch and sucked in a loud breath. “Now I really am late,” she said, whirling toward the door. She took two steps, then stopped and turned. As if breaking through an unseen barrier, she rushed back and hugged Laurel. Really hugged her.
It was too short—only a few brief seconds—but it was real. Without another word, her mom strode out, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she opened the door and shut it hard behind her.
