Spells
Page 27
“But now your role will be more active.” He placed one hand on her arm, and Laurel was filled with sudden trepidation. “Laurel, someone is moving against us, against our land and our people, and time is not on our side. We need you to stretch your roots, Laurel. We need you to fight the raging river, whatever it may prove to be. If you cannot—”
Abruptly he looked away, peering out the picture window at the countryside of Avalon spread out below them. It was a moment before he spoke again. “If you cannot, I fear that all of this will crumble into nothing.”
“You’re talking about the trolls,” Laurel said when she found her voice. “You’re talking about Barnes.” She hadn’t spoken his name aloud in months—there had been no sign of him since December—but he was never far from her thoughts. Ever since last fall she’d been jumping at shadows and peeking around corners.
“I would be a fool to believe that he acted alone,” Jamison said. He turned back to Laurel, meeting her gaze with his pale blue eyes that matched the barely distinguishable roots in his silvery hair. “And so would you.”
“Who would align with him? And why?” Laurel asked.
“We don’t know,” Jamison replied. “What we do know is that Barnes himself is alive and out there somewhere.”
“But he can’t use me anymore. He can’t make me sell him the land,” Laurel protested.
Jamison smiled sadly. “If only it were that simple. There are still many things he can use you for. Even though he knows where the land is, he doesn’t know where the gate is. He could try to use you to discover that.”
“Why does he need to know? Can’t he just come in with his hordes and raze the whole forest?”
“He could try, but don’t underestimate the skills of our sentries, or the strength of the gate and the magic of the Winter faeries. The gate can be destroyed, but it would require a tremendous amount of concentrated force. If he cannot find exactly where the gate is, he cannot destroy it.”
“I would never tell,” Laurel said fervently.
“I know that. And deep down, I suspect that he knows that. But that will not stop him from seeking revenge on you, anyway. There are no other creatures in whom the concept of revenge is rooted so deeply as trolls. They feel the desire for vengeance more acutely than almost any other emotion. For that reason alone, he will come for you.”
“Then why hasn’t he?” Laurel asked. “He’s had plenty of opportunities. It’s been more than six months.” She shrugged. “Maybe he really is dead.”
But Jamison shook his head. “Have you ever observed a Venus flytrap?” he asked.
Laurel snickered inwardly, remembering her conversation with David about flytraps last year. “Yeah,” Laurel said. “My mom had one when I was little.”
“Have you ever wondered how the flytrap is able to catch the flies?” Jamison asked. “The fly is faster, can see danger approaching, has the ability to flee with the greatest of ease. Logically, every flytrap should starve to death. Why don’t they?”
Laurel shrugged.
“Because they are patient,” Jamison said. “They are so still and seem harmless. They do nothing until the fly has wandered, complacently, into the heart of the trap. Only when capture is virtually inevitable does the flytrap move. Trolls are patient too, Laurel. Barnes will wait; he will wait until you relax and stop being careful. Then, and only then, will he strike.”
Laurel felt her throat tighten. “What can I do to stop him?” she asked.
“Practice what Yeardley has taught you,” Jamison replied. “That will be your greatest defense. Be especially careful when the sun is down—”
“Barnes can go out during the day,” Laurel interrupted. “We already know that.”
“It is not foolproof,” Jamison said, his voice betraying no annoyance at her interruption, “but it is still a fact that Barnes—any troll—will be at his weakest during the day, and you will be weakest when the sun has gone down. Being careful after sundown will not stop them, but it will at least cost them their advantage.” He sat a little straighter. “And it will give your guardians theirs.”
“My guardians?”
“After the incident last fall, we placed sentries in the woods near your new home. Shar did not want me to tell you—he feared it would only make you skittish—but I feel you have a right to know.”
“I’m being spied on again?” Laurel said, the old grudge rising up within her.
“No,” Jamison said firmly. “You are simply being guarded. There will be no faeries peeking into your windows or infringing upon your private moments. But your house is being watched and protected. It has also been warded against trolls; as long as you are in it, only the strongest of trolls can reach you. But be aware that the woods behind your house are home to more than just trees. The sentries are there to keep you from harm.”
Laurel nodded, her jaw tight. It still bothered her that she had been closely watched—and occasionally made to forget—by sentries for most of her life in the human world. Even this slightly less intrusive reinstatement of her personal guard felt instantly confining. But how could she argue? She had seen Barnes’s rage firsthand, watched him shoot Tamani, then drop twelve feet from a window and run off after Laurel shot him. He was a force to be reckoned with and even though Yeardley had faith in her fledgling skills, Laurel didn’t. She needed help, and there was no way to deny it.
Abruptly he looked away, peering out the picture window at the countryside of Avalon spread out below them. It was a moment before he spoke again. “If you cannot, I fear that all of this will crumble into nothing.”
“You’re talking about the trolls,” Laurel said when she found her voice. “You’re talking about Barnes.” She hadn’t spoken his name aloud in months—there had been no sign of him since December—but he was never far from her thoughts. Ever since last fall she’d been jumping at shadows and peeking around corners.
“I would be a fool to believe that he acted alone,” Jamison said. He turned back to Laurel, meeting her gaze with his pale blue eyes that matched the barely distinguishable roots in his silvery hair. “And so would you.”
“Who would align with him? And why?” Laurel asked.
“We don’t know,” Jamison replied. “What we do know is that Barnes himself is alive and out there somewhere.”
“But he can’t use me anymore. He can’t make me sell him the land,” Laurel protested.
Jamison smiled sadly. “If only it were that simple. There are still many things he can use you for. Even though he knows where the land is, he doesn’t know where the gate is. He could try to use you to discover that.”
“Why does he need to know? Can’t he just come in with his hordes and raze the whole forest?”
“He could try, but don’t underestimate the skills of our sentries, or the strength of the gate and the magic of the Winter faeries. The gate can be destroyed, but it would require a tremendous amount of concentrated force. If he cannot find exactly where the gate is, he cannot destroy it.”
“I would never tell,” Laurel said fervently.
“I know that. And deep down, I suspect that he knows that. But that will not stop him from seeking revenge on you, anyway. There are no other creatures in whom the concept of revenge is rooted so deeply as trolls. They feel the desire for vengeance more acutely than almost any other emotion. For that reason alone, he will come for you.”
“Then why hasn’t he?” Laurel asked. “He’s had plenty of opportunities. It’s been more than six months.” She shrugged. “Maybe he really is dead.”
But Jamison shook his head. “Have you ever observed a Venus flytrap?” he asked.
Laurel snickered inwardly, remembering her conversation with David about flytraps last year. “Yeah,” Laurel said. “My mom had one when I was little.”
“Have you ever wondered how the flytrap is able to catch the flies?” Jamison asked. “The fly is faster, can see danger approaching, has the ability to flee with the greatest of ease. Logically, every flytrap should starve to death. Why don’t they?”
Laurel shrugged.
“Because they are patient,” Jamison said. “They are so still and seem harmless. They do nothing until the fly has wandered, complacently, into the heart of the trap. Only when capture is virtually inevitable does the flytrap move. Trolls are patient too, Laurel. Barnes will wait; he will wait until you relax and stop being careful. Then, and only then, will he strike.”
Laurel felt her throat tighten. “What can I do to stop him?” she asked.
“Practice what Yeardley has taught you,” Jamison replied. “That will be your greatest defense. Be especially careful when the sun is down—”
“Barnes can go out during the day,” Laurel interrupted. “We already know that.”
“It is not foolproof,” Jamison said, his voice betraying no annoyance at her interruption, “but it is still a fact that Barnes—any troll—will be at his weakest during the day, and you will be weakest when the sun has gone down. Being careful after sundown will not stop them, but it will at least cost them their advantage.” He sat a little straighter. “And it will give your guardians theirs.”
“My guardians?”
“After the incident last fall, we placed sentries in the woods near your new home. Shar did not want me to tell you—he feared it would only make you skittish—but I feel you have a right to know.”
“I’m being spied on again?” Laurel said, the old grudge rising up within her.
“No,” Jamison said firmly. “You are simply being guarded. There will be no faeries peeking into your windows or infringing upon your private moments. But your house is being watched and protected. It has also been warded against trolls; as long as you are in it, only the strongest of trolls can reach you. But be aware that the woods behind your house are home to more than just trees. The sentries are there to keep you from harm.”
Laurel nodded, her jaw tight. It still bothered her that she had been closely watched—and occasionally made to forget—by sentries for most of her life in the human world. Even this slightly less intrusive reinstatement of her personal guard felt instantly confining. But how could she argue? She had seen Barnes’s rage firsthand, watched him shoot Tamani, then drop twelve feet from a window and run off after Laurel shot him. He was a force to be reckoned with and even though Yeardley had faith in her fledgling skills, Laurel didn’t. She needed help, and there was no way to deny it.
