Illusions (17 page)

Yuki grimaced, almost imperceptibly. “I wasn't scared,” she said, lifting her chin a tiny bit. She'd coaxed the swing into swaying side to side. “I hate calling her off a job. She doesn't like it. It's not that she's mean or anything, she's just not the nurturing type. She expects things of me, and one of them is to stay out of trouble. It's not a bad thing; she has big plans and doesn't let anyone or anything stand in her way.” There was a small hesitation. “I want to be like that someday,” she added quietly.

“I think you're already like that,” Tamani said. He got behind her and grabbed the chains of her swing, pulling her carefully to a stop. Then he put one foot on the seat, wedging it between Yuki's small sandals. Pushing off with his other foot, he stood and started them swinging, pressing his chest against her back. He felt her breath catch. “I worry about you being alone all the time. Dealing with her. She kinda scared
me
. I didn't want to tell her I was the one driving.”

Yuki smiled up at him over her shoulder, clearly amused.

He hesitated, trying to time it for best effect. “If anything happens, if you get into trouble—with her, with anyone—will you tell me?”

She looked at him for a long time, their faces only inches apart, before she nodded slowly. “I will,” she whispered.

And for once, Tamani believed her.

AFTER TAMANI DISAPPEARED HALF THE DAY AND
ignored her the rest, Laurel got sick of trying to pretend that everything was fine and begged out of her usual study session at David's house, telling him she needed some alone time. David accepted this stoically and without comment. Perhaps because they had spent the entire weekend either together or on the phone. Or maybe because once Tamani finally
did
get back, he spent the afternoon fawning over Yuki.

Once home, Laurel dragged her backpack behind her as she climbed the stairs, enjoying the way it thumped, sounding like a petulant child stomping up the steps. Come to think of it, she
was
feeling a little petulant. Tamani must have doped Ryan, even though he knew Laurel wouldn't approve. And he had to know she knew. It was the only logical reason for him to ignore her like he had today.

She was
not
mad that Yuki had a crush on Tamani. That was
his
problem.

Laurel swung her bedroom door open and bit off a scream. Tamani was sitting on her window seat, a silver knife dancing an elaborate jig across his fingers.

“You scared me!” she said accusingly.

Tamani shrugged. “Sorry,” he said, the knife disappearing into his clothes somewhere.

Laurel pursed her lips and turned away, pretending to dig through her backpack. She heard him sigh as he stood.

“I
am
sorry,” he said, standing close behind her. “I didn't mean to scare you. You weren't here when I arrived. So . . . I let myself in.”

“It was locked!” Laurel said. She had turned her key into the deadbolt not thirty seconds ago.

“Human locks? Please,” Tamani said. “May as well leave the door open.”

“You really shouldn't be in here without permission,” she muttered, refusing to give up her anger so easily.

“I apologize. Again,” he said, the tiniest hint of tension entering his tone. “I hardly ever come in here unless I need to deliver something like”—he gestured almost aimlessly toward her table—“you know. It's not like I stalk you or peek in your windows or anything.”

“Good.” But she couldn't think of anything else to say. So she grabbed the only homework she had—a Speech assignment she hadn't planned on even looking at until after dinner—and sat at her desk, pretending to read it.

“Are you upset?” Tamani asked.

“Am I
upset
?” Laurel asked, slamming her hands down on the desk and turning to face him. “Are you kidding me? You ignored me all weekend, picked a fight with David in the hall, drugged Ryan, and had stupid Yuki hanging all over you every chance she got. I'm not ‘upset,' Tamani, I'm mad!”

“Drugged Ryan? What happened to Ryan?”

Laurel held up a hand. “Don't even try the innocent act on me. I am so sick of it.”

“What happened to Ryan?” Tamani repeated.

Now Laurel threw both hands in the air. “Someone hit him with a memory potion. There's a twelve-hour block he just simply doesn't remember. Convenient, isn't it?”

“Actually, yes,” Tamani said.

“I knew it,” Laurel said. “I
knew
it! I told you never to use those potions on my family and friends again. I was very specific!”

Tamani just stood silently, looking at her.

“But no,” Laurel ranted on, feeling as though something had burst inside her and now that everything had started coming out, she couldn't stop it. “No, you have to be Tamani with the plan. Tamani manipulating the stupid worthless humans. Tamani going behind my back and lying to me!”

He met her gaze and held it until it was she who had to look away. “You're not even going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“If I did it.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Did you do it?” she asked, more to placate him than anything.

“No.”

She hesitated only a moment. “Did one of your sentries do it?”

“Not as far as I know. And if they did, it was a violation of a direct order and I will see them relieved of their position here and sent right back to Orick.”

She looked up at him in shock now. His voice was too firm, too steady. He wasn't lying. Mortification washed over her. “Really?” she asked softly.

“Really.”

She sank down into her chair, feeling the grudge she'd been nursing all day start to melt.

“I suppose I should be used to it by now,” he said quietly.

“What?” Laurel asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“The way you still don't trust me.”

“I trust you,” Laurel countered, but Tamani just shook his head.

“No, you don't,” he said, laughing bitterly. “You have
confidence
in me; in my abilities. If you're in trouble, you know I'll save you. That's not the same as trust. If you trusted me you'd have at least asked me before assuming I was guilty.”

“I should have asked,” Laurel blurted, feeling unbearably small. But he wasn't looking at her now; he was staring out the window. “I was going to ask, but you were avoiding me! What was I supposed to think?” She stood and walked over to him, willing him to turn around and look at her. “I'm sorry,” she finally whispered to his back.

“I know,” he said with a heavy sigh. Nothing more.

She laid a hand on his shoulder and tugged. “Look at me.”

He turned and when he met her gaze, she wished he hadn't. Pain radiated from his face—pain and betrayal. He placed his hand over hers and the pain turned to longing.

Desperate to be looking anywhere but Tamani's eyes, Laurel studied the hand covering hers, at once so familiar and so foreign. Tamani's hands weren't like David's, thick and strong. They weren't much bigger than Laurel's own, with long, slender fingers and perfectly shaped nails. She spread her hand under his, moving ever so slightly to allow his fingers to fall into the hollows between hers. She could feel Tamani's eyes on her as she stared at their hands, wanting this so badly.

And knowing she couldn't have it.

Unwilling to go forward, unsure how to go back, Laurel looked desperately up at Tamani. He seemed to understand her silent plea. Disappointment clouded his expression, but with it, determination. He lifted his hand from hers, leaving a glittering print on her skin. Then he slid her hand slowly down his arm, pushing it from him until it once again hung by her side.

“I'm sorry,” Laurel whispered again, and she was. She didn't want to hurt him. But she couldn't give him what he wanted. Too many people needed her now, and sometimes it felt like she was letting them all down.

After a long look Tamani cleared his throat and turned back to the window. “So we know
I
didn't give Ryan anything,” Tamani said, a little stiffly. “And I'll make sure none of the other sentries did either. But if that's the case, what are we left with?”

“Yuki seems like the most obvious answer.” Laurel went over to her bed and sat with her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. “And
if
she can make memory elixirs, she must be a Fall.”

“Yes.
If
.” Tamani paused thoughtfully. “But why give him the memory elixir at all? He didn't remember anything.”

“But he did see the trolls, at least for a second. Maybe it was a precaution? In case he remembered later?”

“It just seems . . . sloppy. She had to know we'd notice his memory loss.”

“Unless . . .” Laurel hesitated. “Unless she
doesn't
think we would notice. If she doesn't realize I'm a faerie, she might assume I wouldn't know about things like this.”

“Which takes us back to ‘if Klea's actually telling the truth,' which none of us really believe,” Tamani said, shaking his head.

“I don't trust Klea, but other than giving us guns and showing up at convenient moments, she's never done anything suspicious. She's saved my life almost as often as you have. Maybe we should stop being paranoid and just . . . trust her,” Laurel said, trying to put some enthusiasm behind it.

Tamani shrugged. “Maybe. But I doubt it.” Circumstantial evidence wasn't enough—if only they could know for certain that Yuki was a Mixer. “What about your experiment this weekend? Did it work?”

Laurel flopped backward onto her mattress, arms flung wide. “Depends. Did the cells stay alive under the globe long enough to process the phosphorescent? Yes. Did I learn anything useful? No.”

“What happened?”

Laurel stood and walked over to the experiment she still had set up at her desk—two small glass dishes with clear, sticky residue in them and a closed light globe sitting nearby. “This is Yuki's sap. This is a little of mine. I didn't want to dilute it in sugar water . . . I wasn't even sure it would work with the phosphorescent. But it did, and both samples glowed. Mine only glowed for half an hour. Yuki's glowed for forty-five minutes.”

“But Katya said she glowed for a whole night!”

Laurel nodded. “But she also said they would drink whole vials of this stuff, and it makes sense that most photosynthesis would take place in our skin. I'm not sure a difference of fifteen minutes rules out the possibility that Yuki's a Fall.”

“Did you want to try some of my sap? Maybe there will be a bigger difference.”

“Do you mind?”

Tamani produced his silver knife and made a shallow cut across his thumb before Laurel could protest. He squeezed a few drops of sap into an empty dish. Laurel reopened the golden light globe and set it next to the fresh sample. She hated that he was so willing to hurt himself for her, but now that he had, she should at least do something to make it worthwhile. With a small dropper she added some phosphorescent to Tamani's sap, which immediately glowed a gentle white.

“I better go,” Tamani said without looking at her, moving toward her bedroom door as he wound a small bit of cloth around his thumb.

“Don't you want to see how long it takes?” Laurel asked, suddenly hesitant to have him leave her.

“I'm sure you'll let me know how it turns out.”

“I'll walk you to the door,” Laurel said, scrambling to her feet, desperate to be some kind of passable hostess.

They walked downstairs to the front door in silence. Tamani laid one hand on the doorknob and opened it a crack before stopping. “Laurel, I . . . I don't think I can . . .” He licked his lips and there was a blazing determination in his eyes that made Laurel's breath quicken.

But even as she saw that fire, it was gone. “Never mind,” he mumbled, throwing the door all the way open.

David was standing on the porch, looking as surprised as Laurel felt. “I found your notebook in my backpack,” he said, holding up a green spiral-bound book. “I must have grabbed them both. I just wanted to return . . .” His voice trailed off.

There was a beaten expression on Tamani's face that even David couldn't have missed. He ducked his head and slid between David and the door frame without a backward glance.

David watched Tamani disappear around the corner, then turned back to Laurel.

“Thank you,” Laurel said, taking her notebook from him.

He continued to stare silently at her.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Laurel said firmly.

“But—”

“I don't have the energy to have this conversation—again,” Laurel insisted. “If you're still bothered by it tomorrow, we can talk about it. But if you come to your senses before then, it would be greatly appreciated,” she said and shot him a tense smile as she closed the door between them.

TAMANI WATCHED DAVID RUSH AROUND TO THE
driver's side of Laurel's car and open the door for her. After they walked hand in hand through the front doors of the school, Tamani grabbed his gloves out of his backpack. He was so tired of them. Still, another week, maybe less, and he could throw them away, hopefully forever.

He fastened the Velcro strip at his wrist and stared at his hand. He could still feel her fingers on his shoulder, her hand beneath his. Maybe he should have pushed for more. Maybe he would have gotten more. But for how long? A day? Maybe a week, before she started feeling guilty and cut things off again—cut
him
off again?

He followed David and Laurel inside. His eyes found her the instant he passed through the doors. She was standing with David, as usual, and hadn't noticed him yet. David's arm was draped casually over her shoulders and Tamani wrangled with his jealousy. He knew that, for humans and faeries alike, romance was often impermanent, especially between young lovers. Laurel had even told him, once, that she wasn't looking for her “one true love.” Tamani clung to those words, though her behavior since that time seemed at odds with her claim.

A cool hand caught his wrist and pulled Tamani back to reality.

“I called your name, but you didn't hear me,” Yuki said in her perfect, unaccented American English.

“Sorry.” Being alert was central to Tamani's job. One moment of distraction could be the end of Laurel. This was why Shar had been reluctant to send Tamani in the first place. Chastising himself for letting his feelings for Laurel endanger her, however slightly, however briefly, Tamani turned and smiled at Yuki, though he kept one ear tuned to Laurel's conversation.

Yuki returned his smile, then asked if he had watched some television program he'd never heard of before. He shook his head and invited her to tell him about it. After that it was pretty easy. She tended to prattle on about human musicians, internet gossip, and television programs with ludicrous or demeaning premises, but this made it easy to nod amicably at everything she said.

Laurel had turned and was walking toward her first class. Yuki was in the middle of explaining how Japanese
aidoru
differed from American starlets, so Tamani just shifted a little, to better keep an eye on Laurel as she navigated the sea of students. He didn't even see David until a shoulder slammed into him, swinging him around and wrenching Yuki's arm away.

“Watch it!” Tamani said, suppressing the urge to break David's nose. Or his neck.

But David just looked back with a satisfied grin on his face before continuing down the hall. “Sorry, bro,” he said, mimicking Tamani's brogue. “My bad.”

“I don't know what Laurel sees in that guy,” Yuki said disapprovingly. “She seems nice, I guess. But he's kind of . . . intense.”

Tamani nodded. His eyes searched for Laurel again as Yuki touched his shoulder tentatively and asked if he was okay. He opened his mouth to reassure her when his eyes found Laurel's face.

She was looking back, her hands gripping the straps of her backpack, glaring. Tamani had to look twice to make sure, but it was true! She wasn't glaring at him.

She was glaring at David.

It was a nice change of pace.

But this did little to dissipate Tamani's anger. He hated that he couldn't go all out with his rival. Couldn't fight David, couldn't steal Laurel, couldn't court her the way a faerie should be courted—not without giving them both away. He sat and fumed through Government. Laurel sat so close—just inches away, in the next desk over—but what did it matter? She may as well be a hundred miles away. A thousand. A million.

And, of course, she was a Fall faerie, which limited him in other ways. But he didn't like to think about that.

About halfway through class Laurel passed him a note. He glanced at it—the results of the phosphorescent test on his sap. Thirty-seven minutes. Right between Laurel and Yuki. Tamani had to admit he didn't really know what that meant—if anything. He took out a pen and started to write a response. Scratched it out and tried again. But they were the wrong words. Were there any right words with her anymore? With a sigh he shoved the note into his backpack with all his writing scribbled out. He didn't look at Laurel; didn't know if she even noticed.

Laurel waved at him as she left the classroom—concern in her eyes—but even that felt like mockery as Tamani dragged himself out of his chair, collected his meaningless, stage-prop pile of books and supplies, and headed to his next class.

By the time he'd finished second hour, he'd had enough. He escorted Yuki to her third-period class, but couldn't bear to go to his own. After wandering the school grounds for a while, he walked out to the parking lot instead and slumped into the driver's seat. With the top down and his shirt unbuttoned, he enjoyed the sunlight that filtered down through the autumn clouds.

A few minutes before the lunch bell, Tamani forced himself to return to the school, having made the same decision he made about twice a week. All of the heartache, the anger, the fear that this was as good as it was ever going to get, was worth it. Here, he could see her eyes and bask in her smiles—even when she wasn't smiling for him. Every day was worth the pain.

But he didn't have to like it.

The hall was empty. There were a few more minutes before the flood of humans would be released, and they would pour out of their classrooms, half climbing over each other to get to their meals, ravenous beasts all. He spun the sticky dial on his locker—not that he would care if someone made off with anything he kept in there—and yanked on the latch. He casually tossed his backpack in and tried to decide what to do for the lunch break. Would Yuki want to have lunch with Laurel's group? He wanted to see Laurel, but he didn't know if he could bear the sight of David. Not today.

Tamani heard footsteps and turned to see David walking along the opposite side of the hallway, glaring. A few other kids were milling about—they must have gotten out of class early. What was that saying humans had about speaking of devils?

Tamani knew he should turn away, ignore the boy's dirty looks and petty one-upmanship. He knew better than to feud with a human. He had a job to do.

Instead, he returned David's glare, measure for measure.

David slowed down, then stopped in front of Tamani, the air between them cooling tangibly.

“You got a problem, Lawson?” Tamani asked.

David hesitated. He was clearly out of his element. But Tamani knew from two years of experience just how stubborn and persistent this human boy could be. He wouldn't back down. “You know what my problem is,” David replied.

“Let me rephrase,” Tamani said, taking two steps forward. “You have a problem with
me
?”

“I have nothing
but
problems with you,” David said, matching Tamani with two steps of his own, bringing him within arm's reach.

Tamani took one more step forward, halving the gap, and felt, rather than saw, eyes turn toward them. “Tell me how you really feel,” Tamani said, so quietly he doubted anyone else even heard.

“Even my vocabulary couldn't quite describe it,” David said, crossing his arms over his chest.

It wasn't exactly trash talk—maybe nerd trash talk—but Tamani had to admit it was clever. “Luckily,” Tamani said, a malicious grin playing at the corners of his mouth, “I know a lot more words than you,
òinseach
.” He threw the Gaelic word at David with more scorn than the literal translation probably warranted. The lunch bell rang, but Tamani scarcely heard it.

“You're just baiting me,” David said, but he sounded unsure. Hesitant. “You want me to make Laurel mad. You want her to feel sorry for you.” More students were gathering around them, hopeful for some entertainment.

“Not at all,” Tamani said, placing the fingertips of one hand against David's chest. “I want to put you in your place,
burraidh
.” He pushed just hard enough that David had to take one small step backward to keep his balance.

The combination of confusion and anger had just the right effect. David stepped forward and pushed Tamani back. He could have kept himself upright, or taken David to the ground with his own momentum, but instead Tamani staggered back, then came forward with both hands outstretched. He put a lot of show into the push, but little effort; still David had to take two steps back this time. Before he could recover, Tamani moved in close and shoved him one more time, so David's back hit the lockers with a rickety metal
clang
.

“Fight!” an anonymous student shouted from the crowd. Others took up the chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Oh yes,
Tamani thought.
A cornered animal will
always
fight.

As David's fist slammed into Tamani's jaw, he was forced to admit that the boy had a good arm. But Tamani's pain was swallowed up in satisfaction; David had thrown the first punch. He was fair game.