Chapter Twenty-Four. Rory
Rory
“Hey,” Rory said, nudging Maggie’s foot. “I almost forgot to tell you. I have the photos I promised.”
They were sitting at their usual table in their usual pizzeria, a booth just a little too small to hold all five of them and just a little too loud to be heard without raising their voices, and which Maggie and Elliott loved with an unwavering devotion.
“What? You’re serious? Photos of Daye? Gimme gimme.” Maggie made grabbing motions with her hands.
“Just got them developed,” Rory confirmed, placing the yellow envelope on the table.
Before Maggie could reach it, Elliott swiped the envelope from under Rory’s hand, pulling out the stack of pictures.
“Wow.” Elliott sat back, slack-jawed. “That’s—”
“I want to see—” Maggie leaned past Noah and grabbed the photo from her twin. “Oh.” Maggie’s mouth rounded around the vowel. “Oh, wow.”
“What?” Hanna asked. Maggie passed the photo she was holding to Hanna and grabbed the next one.
“I always thought she’d look more like … flowers, being a flower girl and all,” Elliott said, staring at the picture in his hand. “But she doesn’t. She looks just like a girl, only …” He trailed off, seeming at a loss for words.
Rory peeked at the photo Elliott was holding: Daye sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, her hair a honeyed curtain behind her as she leafed through pictures.
“She is just a girl,” he said, smiling. “Just like I always told you.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Only in all the times you talked about Daye, you failed to mention that she looks like a goddess.”
“Have the two of you ever …?” Elliott asked.
“What? No!” Rory protested, warmth stealing across his cheeks. “I don’t think about her like that. We grew up together. She’s my best friend.” Did his voice sound too loud?
“After growing up with that,” Hanna said quietly, “I wonder what other girls look like to you.” She placed the photo she was holding face down on the table.
“After seeing that,” Noah interjected before Rory could answer, “I kind of wonder how Blodeuwedds are not more … widespread.” Only Noah said it like he had a bad taste in his mouth.
“Are you kidding?” Elliott made an incredulous sound, leaning toward Noah.
“Do you know the crazy amount of work that needs to go into making that?” He tapped the photo of Daye.
“And they have to be made by hand. From fresh, local flora. It’s …
I’ve been reading up on it, and the more I learn, the more mind-boggling it is that she exists, and that they’ve managed to keep her existing for what … six years?” he asked Rory.
“Eight,” Rory supplied, uncomfortable.
Elliott shook his head in awe, then looked back to Noah. “Even if someone wanted to …”
“Don’t say it,” Maggie warned.
“Monetize Blodeuwedds?” Noah offered before Elliott could say something worse.
“That.” Elliott pointed at Noah. “Even if they wanted to, it’s not like normal constructs. The level of super-specialized expertise, and the upkeep needed, not to mention the amount of available fresh flora … No wonder you only ever hear about it in villages and such.”
Yeah, because people in the village just love the idea of Blodeuwedds, Rory thought bitterly, picturing the way Mrs. Matthews’s lips tightened every time she saw Daye, even after all these years.
Personally, he thought that the fact that people in the country considered Blodeuwedds as “city nonsense” while city people thought of Blodeuwedds as “hedge stuff” was at least half the reason Blodeuwedds were so scarce.
But even thinking about it made him feel …
wrong. Like there was a fine layer of mud clinging to his skin.
“I still think it’s ridiculous that there are no laws about it,” Noah grumbled. “Even if Blodeuwedds are as hard to make as you say.”
But before Elliott could answer, Maggie held up a photo in front of Rory’s face and asked, “Is this your house?”
Rory burst out laughing. “No,” he said emphatically.
“I know you don’t go out of the city much, but we don’t actually live in the trees in the country.
” He took the photo from Maggie and placed it between them.
“That’s the treehouse Daye and I built when we were kids.
We call it the fortress. Daye usually sleeps there in winter, when it’s too hard for her to stay indoors.
This”—he rifled through the stack of photos—“is my house. Look, it’s even got actual walls and windows and plumbing,” he teased.
Maggie grumbled.
Hanna was still looking at her hands, a strange look in her eyes. “Hey,” Rory asked quietly, nudging her elbow. “Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, Hanna asked loudly, “Are you all ready to order? I’m starving.”
“Yeah,” Rory agreed cautiously.
Hanna still didn’t look his way.
“Maggie,” Hanna asked, leaning so far across the table that all Rory could see now was the curve of her back. “Want to share a mushroom and pepperoni?”
During the ensuing debate between pepperoni and ham, Rory quietly collected the photos and shoved them back into his bag. He could have sworn that the moment they were gone, some tension eased from Hanna’s shoulders, her rigidly straight posture sagging in something that might have been relief.