Laurel stared at him. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “You hate me.”
Shar sighed as he squeezed another drop onto her hand, rubbing her blistered fingers this time. “I don’t hate you. I hate the way you treat Tam.”
Laurel looked away, unable to meet his accusing eyes.
“He lives for you, Laurel, and that’s not some kind of figure of speech. He lives every day for you. Even after you moved to Crescent City, all he did every day was talk about you, worry about you, wonder what was happening, if he would ever see you again. And even when I told him I was sick of hearing about you, I could tell he was still thinking about you. Every moment of every day.”
Laurel studied her blistered hand.
“And you!” Shar said, his voice getting a little louder. “You don’t appreciate that at all. Sometimes I think you don’t even realize he exists except when you’re around him. Like the only part of his life that matters is the part you see.” He looked up at her and placed her hand back on her own lap. “Did you know he lost his father last spring?”
“I did.” Laurel nodded emphatically, desperate to defend herself. “I knew that. I—”
“That was the worst part,” Shar continued, talking over her. “The worst ever. He was so distraught. But he knew it would be okay, because you were going to come see him. ‘In May,’ he told me. ‘She’s coming in May.’”
Laurel’s chest felt hollow, empty.
“But you didn’t come in May. He waited for you every day, Laurel. And then, when you finally showed up at the end of June, the second he saw you—the instant he saw you—you were forgiven. And every time you come and then leave—go back to your human boy—you shatter him all over again.” He leaned back with his arms across his chest. “And honestly, I don’t think you care.”
“I do,” Laurel said, her voice brimming with emotion. “I do care.”
“No, you don’t,” Shar said, his voice still even and calm. “You think you do, but if you really cared, you wouldn’t do it anymore. You’d stop stringing him along like a plaything.”
Laurel was silent for a few seconds, then she stood abruptly and started to walk away.
“I suppose you came to beg his forgiveness and give him a lot of pretty hopes before traipsing back to your little human boy again,” Shar said, just before she was out of sight.
“As a matter of fact, no.” Laurel turned, angry now. “I came to tell him that I can’t do this two-worlds thing anymore. That I have to stay in the human world and he has to stay in the faerie world.” She stopped and sucked in a breath, grabbing hold of her temper. “You’re right,” she said, calm now. “It’s not fair for me to breeze in and out of his life. And…and it has to stop,” she finished lamely.
Shar stared at her for a long time, then a hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Laurel, that’s the best decision I’ve ever seen you make.” He leaned forward just a bit. “And I’ve been watching you since you were just a wee thing.”
Laurel scrunched up her face. Thank you, Big Brother.
“Where’d you get the blisters?” Shar stood and crossed his arms over his chest.
Laurel rolled her eyes and turned away.
“This isn’t a game, Laurel.” Shar caught her wrist, and not gently. “There’s only one reason for using a monastuolo serum, and ‘for fun’ is not it.”
Laurel glared at him. “I ran into some trouble,” she said shortly. “I handled it.”
“Handled it?”
“Yes, I handled it. I’m not completely helpless, you know.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I dealt with it; it doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to pull her arm away.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Laurel. I said this isn’t a game. Do you think it’s a game?” Shar demanded, his eyes hard and flashing. “A contest between you and the trolls? Because I suspect that this little ‘problem’ is the same troll who was hunting you last year. The same troll who knows the gate is here on this land. The troll who wouldn’t think twice about murdering you and every faerie in the realm to get into Avalon. Your little problem is threatening our lives, Laurel.”
She pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest, saying nothing.
“I have a daughter, did you know that? A two-year-old little girl, barely more than a seedling. I’d like her to have a father for at least the next hundred years, if you don’t mind. But the chances of that happening are dropping precipitously right now because you have this animal-brained determination that you have to handle things yourself. So I ask you again, Laurel, are you going to tell me what happened?”
His voice hadn’t gotten any louder, but Laurel felt her ears ring as though he’d shouted. It was more than she could handle. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to stop the tears, but it didn’t help; they came anyway. She’d screwed everything up. She’d let down everyone who had any degree of importance to her at all. Even Shar.
Shar’s sharp whisper made Laurel’s head snap up. He’d said something in a language she didn’t understand, but he didn’t seem to be addressing her. She forced back her tears, and her eyes flashed around at the trees surrounding her. But no one appeared and Shar was still focused on her.
Shar sighed as he squeezed another drop onto her hand, rubbing her blistered fingers this time. “I don’t hate you. I hate the way you treat Tam.”
Laurel looked away, unable to meet his accusing eyes.
“He lives for you, Laurel, and that’s not some kind of figure of speech. He lives every day for you. Even after you moved to Crescent City, all he did every day was talk about you, worry about you, wonder what was happening, if he would ever see you again. And even when I told him I was sick of hearing about you, I could tell he was still thinking about you. Every moment of every day.”
Laurel studied her blistered hand.
“And you!” Shar said, his voice getting a little louder. “You don’t appreciate that at all. Sometimes I think you don’t even realize he exists except when you’re around him. Like the only part of his life that matters is the part you see.” He looked up at her and placed her hand back on her own lap. “Did you know he lost his father last spring?”
“I did.” Laurel nodded emphatically, desperate to defend herself. “I knew that. I—”
“That was the worst part,” Shar continued, talking over her. “The worst ever. He was so distraught. But he knew it would be okay, because you were going to come see him. ‘In May,’ he told me. ‘She’s coming in May.’”
Laurel’s chest felt hollow, empty.
“But you didn’t come in May. He waited for you every day, Laurel. And then, when you finally showed up at the end of June, the second he saw you—the instant he saw you—you were forgiven. And every time you come and then leave—go back to your human boy—you shatter him all over again.” He leaned back with his arms across his chest. “And honestly, I don’t think you care.”
“I do,” Laurel said, her voice brimming with emotion. “I do care.”
“No, you don’t,” Shar said, his voice still even and calm. “You think you do, but if you really cared, you wouldn’t do it anymore. You’d stop stringing him along like a plaything.”
Laurel was silent for a few seconds, then she stood abruptly and started to walk away.
“I suppose you came to beg his forgiveness and give him a lot of pretty hopes before traipsing back to your little human boy again,” Shar said, just before she was out of sight.
“As a matter of fact, no.” Laurel turned, angry now. “I came to tell him that I can’t do this two-worlds thing anymore. That I have to stay in the human world and he has to stay in the faerie world.” She stopped and sucked in a breath, grabbing hold of her temper. “You’re right,” she said, calm now. “It’s not fair for me to breeze in and out of his life. And…and it has to stop,” she finished lamely.
Shar stared at her for a long time, then a hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Laurel, that’s the best decision I’ve ever seen you make.” He leaned forward just a bit. “And I’ve been watching you since you were just a wee thing.”
Laurel scrunched up her face. Thank you, Big Brother.
“Where’d you get the blisters?” Shar stood and crossed his arms over his chest.
Laurel rolled her eyes and turned away.
“This isn’t a game, Laurel.” Shar caught her wrist, and not gently. “There’s only one reason for using a monastuolo serum, and ‘for fun’ is not it.”
Laurel glared at him. “I ran into some trouble,” she said shortly. “I handled it.”
“Handled it?”
“Yes, I handled it. I’m not completely helpless, you know.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I dealt with it; it doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to pull her arm away.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Laurel. I said this isn’t a game. Do you think it’s a game?” Shar demanded, his eyes hard and flashing. “A contest between you and the trolls? Because I suspect that this little ‘problem’ is the same troll who was hunting you last year. The same troll who knows the gate is here on this land. The troll who wouldn’t think twice about murdering you and every faerie in the realm to get into Avalon. Your little problem is threatening our lives, Laurel.”
She pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest, saying nothing.
“I have a daughter, did you know that? A two-year-old little girl, barely more than a seedling. I’d like her to have a father for at least the next hundred years, if you don’t mind. But the chances of that happening are dropping precipitously right now because you have this animal-brained determination that you have to handle things yourself. So I ask you again, Laurel, are you going to tell me what happened?”
His voice hadn’t gotten any louder, but Laurel felt her ears ring as though he’d shouted. It was more than she could handle. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to stop the tears, but it didn’t help; they came anyway. She’d screwed everything up. She’d let down everyone who had any degree of importance to her at all. Even Shar.
Shar’s sharp whisper made Laurel’s head snap up. He’d said something in a language she didn’t understand, but he didn’t seem to be addressing her. She forced back her tears, and her eyes flashed around at the trees surrounding her. But no one appeared and Shar was still focused on her.
