Illusions (6 page)

WHILE THE WINTER PALACE SLUMBERED, THE ACADEMY
hummed along, both students and staff. If nothing else, there was always someone working on a mixture that had to be cured by starlight. As they walked toward the staircase Laurel waved at a few faeries she knew and their eyes widened upon seeing her. But true to their carefully honed discipline, they returned to their projects without comment and left Laurel and Tamani alone.

As soon as Laurel's foot touched the bottom step, a tall female faerie scuttled over to them. She was dressed in the unassuming clothes of the Spring staff. “I'm sorry, but it's far past visiting hours. You'll have to come back tomorrow.”

Laurel looked over in surprise. “I'm Laurel Sewell,” she said.

“I'm afraid I can't let you go up, Laurelsule,” the faerie said firmly, squishing Laurel's first and last name together.

“I'm Laurel. Sewell. Apprentice. I'm going up to my room.”

The faerie's eyes widened and she immediately bowed at the waist. “My most abject apologies. I've never seen you before. I didn't recognize—”

“Please,” Laurel said, cutting her off. “It's fine. We'll be done soon and then I'll be gone again.”

The faerie looked mortified. “I hope I didn't offend you—there's no reason you can't stay!”

Laurel forced herself to smile warmly at the faerie—surely a new Spring, worried about being demoted from her position. “Oh, no, it wasn't you at all. I'm needed back at my post.” She hesitated. “Could you . . . could you alert Yeardley that I am here? I need to speak to him.”

“In your room?” the faerie clarified, eager to please.

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

The faerie dropped into a deep curtsy—first to Laurel and then to Tamani—before hurrying off toward the staff quarters.

Tamani wore a strange expression as Laurel led him upstairs and down the hall. A smile blossomed on her face when she saw the curlicues of her name engraved on her familiar cherry door. She turned the well-oiled doorknob—that neither had nor needed a lock—and entered her room.

Everything was just as she'd left it, though she knew the staff must come in to dust regularly. Even the hairbrush she'd forgotten was still lying in the middle of her bed. Laurel picked it up with a grin and thought about bringing it back with her, but decided to tuck it away instead. A spare. After all, she'd bought another one when she got home.

She looked around for Tamani. He was lingering in the doorway.

“Well, come in,” she said. “You should know by now that I don't bite.”

He looked up at her then shook his head. “I'll wait here.”

“No, you won't,” Laurel said sternly. “When Yeardley comes I'll have to close the door so we don't wake the other students. If you're not in here you'll miss the entire conversation.”

At that Tamani went ahead and entered her room, but he left the door open and stayed within arm's reach of the door frame. Laurel shook her head ruefully as she walked over and closed the door. She paused, hand on the knob, and looked up at Tamani. “I've been meaning to apologize for the way I acted earlier,” she said softly.

Tamani looked confused. “What do you mean? I told you, I don't care if Jamison blames me, I—”

“Not that,” Laurel said, looking down at her hands. “Pulling rank at the land. Snapping at you, acting lofty. That's all it was, an act. None of the other sentries were going to take me seriously if I didn't act like a pain-in-the-ass Mixer with a superiority complex.” She hesitated. “So I did. But it was all fake. I don't—I don't think that way. You know that; I
hope
you know that. I don't approve of other fae thinking that way either and—anyway, that's an argument with no end.” She took a breath. “The point is, I'm sorry. I never meant it.”

“It's fine,” Tamani mumbled. “I need to be reminded of my place now and again.”

“Tamani, no,” Laurel said. “Not with me. I can't change the way the rest of Avalon treats you—not yet, anyway. But with me, you are never
just
a Spring faerie,” she said, touching his arm.

He looked up at her, but only for a second before his eyes focused on the ground again, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

“Tam, what? What's wrong?”

He met her eyes. “The Spring faerie down there, she didn't know what I was. She just knew I was with you and I guess she assumed I was a Mixer too.” He hesitated. “She bowed to me, Laurel. Bowing is what
I
do. It was weird. I—I kinda liked it,” he admitted. He continued on, his confession spilling out with gathering momentum. “For just those few seconds, I wasn't a Spring faerie. She didn't look at a sentry uniform and immediately put me in my place. It—it felt good. And bad,” he tacked on. “All at the same time. It felt like—” His words were cut off by a soft knock at the door.

Disappointment flooded through Laurel as their conversation was cut short. “That'll be Yeardley,” she said softly. Tamani nodded and took his place against the wall.

Laurel opened the door and was assaulted by a mass of pink silk. “I thought I heard you!” Katya squealed, throwing her arms around Laurel's neck. “And I could hardly believe it. You didn't tell me you were coming back so soon.”

“I didn't know myself,” Laurel said, grinning. It was impossible not to smile around Katya. She was wearing a silky, sleeveless nightgown, its back cut low to accommodate the blossom Katya would have in another month or so. She had grown her blond hair down to her shoulders, which made her look even younger.

“Either way, I'm glad you're here. How long can you stay?”

Laurel smiled apologetically. “Just a few minutes, I'm afraid. Yeardley is on his way up, and once I'm done speaking with him I need to get back to the gate.”

“But it's dark,” Katya protested. “You should at least stay the night.”

“It's still afternoon in California,” Laurel said. “I really do need to get home.”

Katya grinned playfully. “I guess if you must.” She looked at Tamani, her eyes a touch flirtatious. “Who's your friend?”

Laurel reached out to touch Tamani's shoulder, prompting him to step forward a little. “This is Tamani.”

To Laurel's dismay, Tamani immediately dropped into a respectful bow.

“Oh,” Katya said, realization dawning on her. “Your soldier friend from Samhain, right?”

“Sentry,” Laurel corrected.

“Yes, that,” Katya said dismissively. She grabbed both of Laurel's hands and didn't give Tamani another look. “Now come over here and tell me what in the world you are wearing.”

Laurel laughed and allowed Katya to feel the stiff fabric of her denim skirt, but she shot Tamani an apologetic grimace. Not that it mattered; he was back to standing against the wall and averting his eyes.

Katya flounced down on the bed, the silken folds of her nightgown tracing her graceful curves, its low back revealing so much perfect skin. It made Laurel feel plain in her cotton tank top and skirt, and inspired a fleeting wish that she hadn't brought Tamani upstairs. But she brushed the thought aside and joined her friend. Katya prattled on about inconsequential things that had happened in the Academy since Laurel's departure only last month, and Laurel smiled. Just over a year ago, she wouldn't have believed that the daunting, unfamiliar Academy was somewhere she might laugh and talk with a friend. But then, she had felt the same way about public school the year before that.

Things change
, she told herself.
Including me.

Katya sobered suddenly and reached out to place her fingertips on each side of Laurel's face. “You look happy again,” Katya said.

“Do I?” Laurel asked.

Katya nodded. “Don't mistake me,” she said in that formal way Katya had, “it was lovely to have you here this summer, but you were sad.” She paused. “I didn't want to pry. But you're happy again. I'm glad.”

Laurel was silent—surprised.
Had
she been sad? She ventured a glance at Tamani, but he didn't seem to be listening.

A sharp rap sounded at the door and Laurel jumped off her bed and hurried to open it. There stood Yeardley, tall and imposing, wearing only a loose pair of drawstring breeches. His arms were folded across his bare chest and, as usual, he wasn't wearing shoes.

“Laurel, you asked for me?” His tone was stern, but there was warmth in his eyes. After two summers of working together he seemed to have grown a soft spot for her. Not that you could tell by the amount of class work he gave her. He was—above all else—a demanding tutor.

“Yes,” Laurel answered quickly. “Please come in.”

Yeardley walked to the center of the room and Laurel began to shut the door.

“Do you need me to leave?” Katya asked quietly.

Laurel looked down at her friend. “No . . . no, I don't think so,” Laurel said, glancing at Tamani. “It's really not a secret; not here, anyway.”

Tamani met her eyes. There was tension in his face, and Laurel half expected him to contradict her, but after a moment he looked away and shrugged. She turned back to Yeardley.

“I need a way to test a faerie's, um, season.” Laurel would not use the word
caste
. Not in front of Tamani. Preferably not ever.

“Male or female?”

“Female.”

Yeardley shrugged, nonchalant. “Watch for her blossom. Or for pollen production on males in the vicinity.”

“What about a faerie who hasn't blossomed yet?”

“You can go to the records room—it's just downstairs—and look her up.”

“Not here,” Laurel said. “In California.”

Yeardley's eyes narrowed. “A faerie in the human world? Besides yourself, and your entourage?”

Laurel nodded.

“Unseelie?”

The Unseelie were still a mystery to Laurel. No one would talk about them directly, but she had gathered from bits and pieces that they all lived in an isolated community outside one of the gates. “I don't think so. But there is some . . . confusion regarding her history, so we can't be sure.”

“And
she
doesn't know what season she is?”

Laurel hesitated. “If she does, it's not something I can ask her.”

Comprehension dawned on Yeardley's face. “Ah, I see.” He sighed and pressed his fingers against his lips, contemplating. “I don't think I've ever had anyone ask for such a thing. Have you, Katya?”

When Katya shook her head, Yeardley continued. “We keep meticulous records of every seedling in Avalon, so this problem presents a unique challenge. But there must be
something
. Perhaps you could formulate a potion of your own?”

“Am I ready for that?” Laurel asked hopefully.

“Almost certainly not,” Yeardley said in his most matter-of-fact tone. “But practice needn't always lead to success, after all. I think it would be good for you to begin learning the basic concepts of fabrication. And this seems a fine place to start. An identification powder, like Cyoan,” he said, referencing a simple powder that identified humans and non-humans. “Except you would have to figure out what separates the castes on a cellular level, and I'm unaware of much research in that area. It simply doesn't
lead
anywhere.”

“What about thylakoid membranes?” Katya asked softly. As one, they all turned to face her.

“What was that?” Yeardley asked.

“Thylakoid membranes,” Katya continued, a little louder this time. “In the chloroplasm. The thylakoid membranes of Sparklers are more efficient. For lighting their illusions.”

Yeardley cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

Katya nodded. “When I was younger we sometimes stole the phosphorescing serums for the lamps and . . . um . . . drank them. It would make us glow in the dark,” she said, lowering her lashes as she related the childish antic. “I . . . had a Summer friend, and she did it with us one day. But instead of glowing for one night, she glowed for three days. It took me years to figure out why.”

“Excellent, Katya,” Yeardley said, a distinct note of pleasure in his voice. “I would like to discuss that more fully with you in the classroom sometime this week.”

Katya nodded eagerly.

Yeardley turned back to Laurel. “It's a start. Focus on plants with phosphorescing qualities that could show evidence of a more efficient thylakoid, and try to repeat the kind of reaction you get with Cyoan powder. I will work personally with Katya, here at the Academy.”

“But what if she's not a Summer faerie?”

“Then you would be twenty-five percent closer to your goal, would you not?”

Laurel nodded. “I need to write this down,” she said, not wanting to admit to Yeardley that she had no idea what Katya was talking about. But David probably would. Laurel grabbed a few note cards from her desk where—after last summer—the staff always kept them stocked, and sat by Katya. Katya spoke quietly as Laurel wrote down the basics and fervently hoped that the biological terminology was the same in Avalon as the human world.

“Experiment when you can, and we'll see what Katya and I can come up with here,” Yeardley said. “I'm afraid that's all I can do for you tonight.” He paused, giving her an approving smile. “Glad to see you again, Laurel.”

Stifling her disappointment, Laurel returned his smile as he left the room, closing the door behind him. After the near-fit she'd thrown getting here, the whole visit felt very unproductive.

“Did you hear that?” Katya said, her voice low but excited. “He's going to work with me personally. I'm part of your entourage now,” she added, taking Laurel's hand. “I am going to help with a potion that might be used in the human world. I'm so excited!”