“No, like the wings, that’s just folklore.”

“What can you do?”

“Aren’t you curious about what you can do?”

“I can do magic?”

“Absolutely. You can do very powerful magic. You’re a Fall faerie.”

“What does that mean?”

“There are four kinds of faeries; Spring, Summer—”

“Fall, and Winter?”

“Yep.”

“Why am I a Fall faerie?”

“Because you were born in the fall. That’s why your blossom grows in the fall.”

“That doesn’t sound very magical,” Laurel said, a little disappointed. “It sounds like science.”

“It is. Not everything in our lives is magical. Actually, faeries are pretty normal, for the most part.”

“Then what about the magic?”

“Well, each kind of faerie has its own kind of magic.” His face took on an air of reverence. “Winter faeries are the most powerful of all faeries, and the most rare. Only two or three are produced in an entire generation, often less. Our rulers are always Winter faeries. They have dominion over the plants. All of them. A mature redwood would bend itself in half if a Winter faerie asked it to.”

“It sounds like they can do almost anything.”

“Sometimes I think they can. But Winter faeries mostly keep their abilities—and their limitations—to themselves, passing them down through the generations.

Some say the greatest gift of the Winter faeries is their ability to keep a secret.”

“So what do Fall faeries do?” Laurel asked impatiently.

“Fall faeries are the next most powerful, and like Winter faeries, more rare. Fall faeries make things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things from other plants. Elixirs, potions, poultices. That sort of thing.”

That didn’t sound very magical at all. “So, I’m like a cook? I mix stuff together?”

Tamani shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not a matter of simply mixing things together—otherwise everyone could do it. Fall faeries have a magical sense for plants and can use them for the realm’s benefit. Give me every book ever written on tonics and I still couldn’t even make a mixture to stop mold. It’s magic, even if it seems sensible.”

“It just doesn’t sound like magic, that’s all.”

“But it is. Different Fall faeries have different specialties. They make potions and elixirs to do all sorts of things—like creating a mist to confound intruders or making a toxin to put them to sleep. Fall faeries are crucial to the survival of the fae as a species. They’re very, very important.”

“I guess that’s cool.” But Laurel wasn’t entirely convinced. It sounded like chemistry to her, and if her biology class was any kind of indicator, she wouldn’t be very good at it.

“What do Summer faeries do?”

Tamani smiled. “Summer faeries are flashy,” he said, resuming his conversational tone. “Like summer flowers. They create illusions and the most incredible fireworks. The sorts of things humans typically think of as magic.”

Laurel couldn’t help but think that being a Summer faerie sounded a lot more fun than being a Fall faerie. “Are you a Summer faerie?”

“No.” Tamani hesitated. “I’m just a Spring faerie.”

“Why ‘just’?”

Tamani shrugged. “Spring faeries are the least powerful of all the faeries. That’s why I’m a sentry. Manual labor. I don’t need much magic for that.”

“What can you do?”

Tamani looked away. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because I did it to you last time you were here.”

Chapter 14

“DID WHAT?” LAUREL’S VOICE ROSE.

“You have to promise not to get upset.”

“You cast some kind of spell on me and now you expect me to just smile and tell you that’s okay? Well it’s not!”

“Look, it didn’t even work very well…never does on other faeries.”

Laurel crossed her arms. “Just tell me.”

Tamani leaned back against his tree. “I enticed you.”

“Enticed me?”

“I got you to follow me here.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You had to listen long enough to hear the truth.”

“So…what? You threw faerie dust in my eyes?”

“No, that’s ridiculous,” Tamani said. “I told you—real faerie magic isn’t quite what you’re thinking. There’s no pixie dust to make you fly, no waving magic wands, no puffs of smoke. It’s just things we can do that help us in our roles in life.”

“How does enticing help you be a sentry?” Laurel’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but Tamani continued explaining as though he hadn’t noticed.

“Think about it. I can chase an intruder away with my spear, but what good does that do? He’ll just run and tell his friends what happened, and they’ll come back looking for us.” Tamani spread his hands in front of him. “Instead, I entice him away, give him a memory elixir, and then send him off. Ever heard of a will-o’ the-wisp?”

“Sure.”

“That’s us. After a human drinks the elixir, all they remember of the whole incident is following a flash of light. It’s peaceful that way. No one gets hurt.”