Spells - Aprilynne Pike

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will stay a few moments more before I return to the palace.”

      “Of course,” Aurora said with a nod before leaving them alone.

      Jamison stood in the doorway, surveying the room. As the sound of Aurora’s footsteps faded down the hall, Jamison spoke. “I haven’t been here since I escorted you to go and live with your parents thirteen years ago.” He looked up at her. “I hope you do not mind the rush into your work. We have so little time.”

      Laurel shook her head. “It’s fine. I just…I have so many questions.”

      “And most will have to wait,” Jamison said with a smile that softened his words. “The time you will spend here is too precious to be wasted on the manners and mores of Avalon. There are many years ahead for you to learn things like that.”

      Laurel nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed.

      “Besides,” Jamison added with a sly look in his eye, “I am sure your friend Tamani would be more than happy to answer every question you have time to ask him.” He started to turn to go.

      “When will I see you again?” Laurel asked.

      “I will come for you when your eight weeks are up,” he said. “And I will make sure we have some time to discuss things,” he promised. With a brief farewell he left, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Laurel feeling starkly alone.

      Standing in the middle of the room, Laurel turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. She didn’t remember this place, but there was a comfort to it – a realisation that, on some level, her tastes had not changed. Green had always been a favourite colour, and she generally chose simplicity over ornate patterns and designs. The canopy was a little girlish, but then, she had chosen it a lifetime ago.

      She walked over to the desk and sat down, noting to herself that the chair was just a little too small. She pulled out drawers and found sheets of thick paper, pots of paint, quill pens, and a composition book with her name on it. It took Laurel a few seconds to realise that the name looked so familiar because it was written in her own young-girl handwriting. Hands shaking, she carefully opened the book to the first page. It was a list of Latin words Laurel suspected were plants. She flipped through the pages and found more of the same. Even the English words didn’t make much sense. How utterly discouraging to realise that she had known more at seven than she did now, at sixteen. Or twenty, she corrected herself, or however old I’m supposed to be now. She tried not to think about her actual age too much; all it did was remind her of the seven years of her faerie life now lost to her memory. She felt sixteen; as far as she was concerned, she was sixteen. Laurel put the book back and stood to walk over to the wardrobe.

      Inside were several sundresses and a few ankle-length skirts made from a light, flowing material. A column of drawers revealed peasant-style blouses and fitted tops with cap sleeves. Laurel rubbed the material against her face, loving the silky soft feel of it. She tried on several and settled for a light pink sundress before continuing her exploration of the room.

      She didn’t get far before she walked to the window and caught her breath at the view below her. Her room overlooked the biggest flower garden she had ever seen; rows of flowers in every imaginable hue spread out below her in a cascade of colour almost as big as the grounds in front of the Academy. Her fingers pressed against the glass as she tried to take in the whole sight at once. It struck her as a waste that a room with such a magnificent view had just been sitting, empty, for the last thirteen years.

      A knock on the door startled Laurel and she hurried to answer it, adjusting her dress as she did. After taking a moment to smooth her hair, Laurel opened the door.

      “Laurel, I presume?” the tall faerie said with a smooth, deep voice. He studied her. “Well, you haven’t changed all that much.”

      A touch taken aback, Laurel could only stare blankly up at the faerie. She had seen pictures of herself as a child; she had changed immensely!

      The tall faerie wore what looked like linen Yoga trousers and a dark green shirt made of silky fabric that hung open at the chest in a way that did not seem the least bit sensual. Laurel considered her own tendency towards tank tops to expose more of her photosynthetic skin and decided this was similar. His demeanour was distinguished, formal. A look almost completely contradicted by his lack of shoes or socks.

      “I am Yeardley, professor of fundamentals. May I?” the faerie said, inclining his head.

      “Oh, of course,” Laurel blustered, opening the door wider.

      Yeardley strode in and the faerie behind him followed closely. “There,” Yeardley said, pointing to Laurel’s desk. The other faerie stacked the pile of books on Laurel’s desk, bowed low to both Laurel and Yeardley, and backed out of the doorway before turning to walk down the hall.

      Laurel turned back to the professor, who hadn’t looked away.

      “I know Jamison is eager for you to begin classes, but, to be quite frank, I cannot start you on even the most basic lessons until you have some sort of foundation on which to build.”

      Laurel opened her mouth to speak, realised she was in completely over her head, and closed it again.

      “I have brought you what I believe to be the most basic and essential information that is requisite to beginning your true studies. I suggest you start immediately.”

      Laurel’s eyes swung over to the stack of books. “All of those?” she asked.

      “No. This is only the first half. I have one more batch when you have finished. Trust me,” the faerie said, “these were as few as I could possibly justify.” He looked down at a piece of paper he had pulled from a shoulder bag. “One of our acolytes” – he looked up at her—“that’s the level you would be at, by the way, under more favourable circumstances – has agreed to be your tutor. She will be available to you during all daylight hours, and explaining such basic concepts to you will hardly be a strain, so feel free to use her. We hope you spend no more than two weeks relearning the things you have forgotten since you left us.”

      Wishing she could disappear through the floor, Laurel stood with her fists clenched.

      “Her name is Katya,” Yeardley continued, paying no attention to Laurel’s reaction. “I suspect she will come introduce herself soon. Don’t let her social nature distract you from your studies.”

      Laurel nodded stiffly, her eyes fixed firmly on the stack of books.

      “I will leave you to your reading then,” he said, turning on his bare heel. “When all the books are read, we can begin regular classes.” He paused in the doorway. “Your staff can summon me when you are finished, but don’t bother until you have read each book completely. There simply isn’t any point.” Without a goodbye he strode through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him, a loud click filling the deep silence of Laurel’s room.

      Taking a long breath, Laurel walked over to the desk and looked at the spines of some of the ancient-looking books: Fundamental Herbology, Origins of Elixirs, The Complete Encyclopedia of Defensive Herbs, and Troll Anatomy. Laurel grimaced at the last one.

      She had always enjoyed reading, but these books weren’t exactly light fiction. She looked from the tall stack of books to the picture window across the room and noted that the sun had already begun its descent into the western sky.

      She sighed. This was not what she had expected of today.

       Chapter Three

      Laurel sat cross-legged on her bed with a pair of scissors, cutting sheets of paper into makeshift note cards. It had taken her less than an hour of reading to realise that the situation demanded note cards. And highlighters. A year of studying biology with David had apparently turned her into a neurotic method-studier. But the next morning she was dismayed

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