Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Five

Stepping through the gate into the human realm had somehow failed to inspire anything like the trepidation Rowen now felt, facing the doorway to Laurel and Tamani's house. A human home, in spite of its inhabitants. The gate to Avalon went from one forest to another. This was a threshold between worlds.

Inside the first room it was dim—though the odd bluish light from outside poured through the windows, illuminating a smattering of chairs and tables, and Rowen could just make out paintings on the wall that were recognizably her grandmother's work.

"You knew I was following you?" Rowen pressed, trying to ignore the persistent ache at the back of her head.

"I didn't; the queen did," Tamani said, tossing the words over his shoulder. "One kind of faerie has the power to become invisible, and I only know one Sparkler who would do what you've done."

"Winter faeries can sense any plant's presence," Laurel added with a wry laugh. "We learned that the hard way."

"Indeed," Tamani said, a similar edge to his voice.

Rowen stared silently between them, but neither saw fit to enlighten her further.

"You didn't stop me, though."

Tamani shrugged. "Things are changing. More than you might realize. I didn't feel the need to air family drama in front of our guest or our monarch, and Yasmine seemed ... curious, I suppose. Though it's hard to say; the Winter court has a habit of keeping its motives hidden."

Rowen was speechless. Weeks of preparation and practice and planning, and she'd only made it through because they let her?

"So you don't think we're lazy about defending the gate, your illusions wouldn't have gotten you past the sentries in any event," Tamani said. "You're awfully loud for a ballerina."

Rowen prickled, but saw the teasing glint in Tamani's eye and tried to swallow her anger.

"The kitchen is this way," Laurel said. "Come on." She turned toward a darkened doorway and Rowen followed, backed closely by Tamani.

It felt uncomfortably like being a prisoner.

As Laurel entered, the room exploded into white light. Reflexively, Rowen gasped and flinched back, staggering against Tamani—Mixer lights only got that bright when they were setting something on fire. But the light made no heat, and Rowen lowered her hands from where they'd flown to shield her face. Did they already have a Sparkler staying with them?

Will I ever be special anywhere?

"Laurel," Tamani said rather sternly, giving Rowen's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Take it slow, Rowen's never seen electricity before. You're freaking her out."

"Oh." Laurel's hand paused on some sort of white panel on the wall. "Should I—"

"No," Tamani said. "Don't turn it back off. Just ... take it slow." He chuckled low in his throat and Rowen had to suppress an urge to smack him. There was nothing funny about any of this!

"I'm sorry," Laurel said, and at least her voice was sympathetic. "This is just how we make light in the human world. You'll get used to it," she added, but she sounded uncertain. "Here, sit."

Rowen sank into a wooden chair that was—thankfully—perfectly familiar and peered around the kitchen with wide eyes. It looked a bit like the laboratories up at the Academy, but shinier, somehow; almost every surface was at least mildly reflective. There was an enormous black armoire, a silver basin beneath a night-darkened window, glass canisters and glossy boxes on nearly every surface—many with windows of their own, some glowing a sickly green that reminded Rowen of phosphorescing algae.