Chapter 4 #2
Tinsel chuckled, a wide smile plumping her cheeks. “Just the committee coordinator. I need help with the town decorations and some prep work for some events. If you’re up for it, I can square your room and board with the Town Council.”
“I would be grateful to be of service.” Avelunne moved to the side table to retrieve her newly-acquired pink coat and the sturdy canvas cross-body bag Denise had provided earlier. With reverent care, she slid the drawing pad and the mechanical pencil into the bag.
As Tinsel began shooing the children back toward Chulu like she was herding geese, Denise caught Avelunne’s elbow, drawing her a few steps away from the chattering flock.
“I’m speaking as your healer for a moment,” she said quietly.
“Tinsel has no ‘off’ switch and forgets that not everyone runs on fairy magic. You shifters take pride in how fast you heal from catastrophic injuries, but you’re still recovering.
If your dragon tells you to, you rest. Don’t push yourself to prove a point. ”
Avelunne was touched by the genuine concern in the healer’s pale blue eyes. “I will heed your wise counsel. Thank you.”
Energized by the prospect of purpose, she zipped her coat and turned to follow the red-and-green whirlwind out into the snow.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That night, Avelunne welcomed the evening’s veil of darkness and the quiet of her room.
Denise had apologized earlier for the modest size of it, explaining that the Transition Center had once been a cheap motel, which seemed to mean a roadside inn.
But to Avelunne, the space felt like luxury.
It even had a built-in clothes closet and a private lavatory.
She had spent the last few minutes organizing her new toiletries just to admire them.
The colorful brush and comb, alongside equally colorful small bottles of hair wash and the like, made a pretty arrangement.
She wished it were as easy to organize her thoughts about the afternoon’s events.
Tinsel had been indefatigable, dragging Avelunne from the high school gymnasium — a vast, echoing training hall that smelled of floor wax and adolescent sweat — to the bustling hardware store to collect a donation of tiny lights on wires so thin they practically disappeared.
Avelunne found it a grand, amusing jest that Kotoyeesinay marketed itself to the outside world as a fantasy destination.
She had watched ordinary humans, bundled in puffy coats, buying plastic wands and “fairy dust” on Magister Way, completely oblivious to the actual fairies hovering three feet above their heads, adjusting a string of lights.
The sophisticated layering of illusion spells required to maintain such a masquerade was a masterpiece of magic, hiding the miraculous in plain sight by giving the humans exactly the pretend magic they expected to see.
Not every encounter had been as pleasant as the decorating committee or the shopkeepers, unfortunately.
Near the blacksmith’s shop, they had crossed paths with Sten Trolhorne.
The ice dragon had sneered something vile about “cursed blood” and “traitors” when he saw her, his hostility as pointed as a keeper’s cattle prod.
Avelunne had flinched, instinctively bracing for a blow, but Tinsel had stepped between them, her small stature and pleasant expression belying the sudden prickling of menacing fairy magic.
Tinsel had, with oversweet tones, reminded Trolhorne that she still owed him a wish from the last solstice and asked how hot he liked his forge to burn.
The big dragon had paled and retreated with surprising speed, proving that even brutes like him knew better than to irritate a fairy with a grudge.
Not even dark elves could top a fairy for malignly inventive maliciousness.
Her encounter with Sheriff Tanner kept returning to her thoughts.
Throughout the afternoon, she had spotted him hovering at the periphery of her vision.
She’d seen him reflected in a shop window, walking the opposite way on a sidewalk, and watching her from across the street.
He was clearly shadowing her, likely because he didn’t trust her.
Not that she could entirely blame him, but it still rankled.
While Tinsel was discussing something called a parade float with a half-ogre named Shepherd, she’d caught Tanner standing on a corner, ostensibly checking his phone.
Exasperated, she had marched up to him. “I am not worth the trouble to follow all afternoon, Sheriff. I haven’t removed the peace bonds.
I’m not a warrior or a spy, I’m an artist. And I am no killer, save perhaps of krakens, because they are delicious to my dragon half.
” Then, flustered by her own boldness and the intense, golden-brown gaze that seemed to see too much, she had turned and jogged back to Tinsel, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.
Dinner at the Blue Fairy Diner had soothed some of her agitation, the welcome warmth of the food and Tinsel’s tales of past holiday hijinks grounding her in this new reality.
Now, alone in the quiet of her room, Avelunne moved to the window.
The night was crisp, the sky a beckoning vastness with tiny gems for stars.
The dragon in her stirred with yearning to chase the moon until the horizon blurred.
But the peace bonds on her wrists and ankles reminded her that she was not yet truly free.
The magic in them was an unpleasant echo of the oppressive demesne.
Movement from the window caught her eye.
A great horned owl on the hunt, its flight soundless and deadly.
The sight made her wonder what Tanner’s thunderbird form looked like.
She knew they were much bigger and heavier than the largest of natural birds, with powerful beaks and oversized talons.
It soothed her that, despite his suspicion and authority position, she felt safe in his presence.
It disturbed her that neither she nor her dragon could explain why.
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she turned away from the window.
So many people counted on the strength of her frail wings.
She hoped that the bone-deep weariness in her limbs would grant her a night of dreamless slumber.
Or, if dreams did come, she hoped they would be of soaring through the clouds, not falling from them.