He looked away, and Laurel could tell he’d been avoiding a conversation like this.

“Well?” she insisted.

“If you wanted it,” he finally said.

“If I wanted it?”

He nodded. “I’m not allowed to ask. You would have to ask me.”

Her breath caught in her chest, and Tamani looked at her.

“Why do you think David bothers me so much?”

Laurel looked down at her lap.

“I can’t just storm in and proclaim my intentions. I can’t ‘steal’ you away. I just have to wait and hope that, someday, you’ll ask.”

“And if I don’t?” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I guess I’ll be waiting forever.”

EIGHT

LAUREL STOOD IN HER ROOM, LOOKING OVER THE wild assortment of things splayed across her bed. She had come to appreciate her faerie-made clothing for more than just its beauty; it was like nothing you could find in the human world. Most of it was made out of a silky gossamer-like fabric that—although Laurel couldn’t be certain they weren’t teasing her—several of the other faeries said was made from spider silk. Whatever it was made from, it allowed for full-body photosynthesis, so Laurel didn’t feel the need to always wear tank tops and shorts like she did at home.

And then there was the dress she’d found in one of the Summer kiosks during a short walk she’d taken to clear her head after an especially grueling day. It was beautiful and just her size; a dark blue gown, cut low in the back to accommodate a blossom, with a skirt that was fitted to the knees then flared out, mermaid style. An overskirt of soft, sheer ruffles wound around the dress and floated on the lightest breeze. She had felt a little guilty taking it—after all, she had no occasion to wear it to—but it was just too perfect to leave behind.

She also had lots of long, sweeping skirts, peasant-cut shirts that reminded her of Tamani’s, and a few short skirts and dresses that made her feel like a storybook faerie. Just for fun.

But only a fraction of it would fit into her backpack.

And she wasn’t leaving without her kit.

Of all the things they’d given her, that was the most precious. About the size of a shoe box, her kit—presented to her by Yeardley that morning—contained dozens of essences. Specifically, it held several troll-deterring potions made by Fall faeries with far greater skill than Laurel. It also held many of the extracts she could use to further protect her home and family. Assuming she improved with practice, at any rate. It was worlds better than nothing.

But the kit half filled her backpack.

As she stood pondering the bed full of clothes, Katya stepped into her doorway and tossed something onto the bed. “You look like you could use this,” she said with a laugh.

Laurel picked up a pink bag that looked like soft tissue paper. She had a sneaking suspicion it was much stronger than it appeared. “Thanks,” she said. “I was just going to ring for Celia to see if she could find something.”

Katya looked at the pile of clothes on the bed, then dubiously at Laurel’s backpack. “You weren’t really going to try to get all that in there, were you?”

“No,” Laurel said with a grin.

“Good,” Katya said with a tinkling laugh. “I think that would take Winter-level magic.”

Laurel laughed at the joke that only another faerie would get. She loosened the drawstring at the top of the bag and caught sight of a K embroidered on one side in beautiful calligraphy. “I can’t take this. It’s monogrammed.”

Katya looked over. “Oh? Honestly, I hadn’t noticed. I’ve got loads of them.”

“Really?”

“Sure. They used to come back like that whenever I sent out my laundry. I guess they’re using someone different now.”

Laurel started pushing clothes into the pink bag. She would still have to leave some things behind, but it was an improvement.

For several seconds Katya watched silently, then—almost timidly—asked, “Do you really have to leave?”

Laurel looked up in surprise. With a few notable exceptions, the other faeries had been nice to her—and very chatty—but Laurel would not have called any of them friends. Obviously Katya felt otherwise. “I’ll be back,” Laurel said.

“I know.” Katya forced a smile then asked, “But do you really have to go back? I’ve only heard bits and pieces, but word is that your assignment has been completed. You have gained title to the land that holds the gate. Can’t you come back now?”

Laurel looked down at the clothes she was folding, avoiding Katya’s eyes. “It’s more complicated than that. I have family, friends. I can’t leave them alone.”

“You could go visit,” Katya suggested brightly, but Laurel sensed solemnity in her intent.

“It’s more than just wanting to see them,” Laurel said seriously. “I have to protect them. They’re in danger because of me and I have a duty to them.”

“A duty to humans?”

Laurel clenched her jaw. It wasn’t really Katya’s fault. She didn’t know any better. She’d never even seen a human before. An idea struck her, and rather than responding, Laurel dug into a small pocket in her backpack and pulled out a small photo. It was a picture of her and David at a dance earlier that spring. David stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her. The photographer had caught Laurel just as she had turned to look at David, her profile a laughing silhouette, David looking down at her with longing in his eyes. It was one of her very favorite pictures. She handed it to Katya.