Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

by now. He felt terrible, thinking how worried she must be.
    But he couldn't go home. Even if he knew how— perhaps something he ought to have considered before stepping onto the path— this horrid little man had bound him somehow. If he didn't discover what it meant, how would be ever be free of the tormenting voice?
    Aeron sighed in frustration. The tree tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. It offered him some of its sweet leaves to chew. Aeron sucked at the stems and gave the tree a sullen thank you. It was too stupid to know he was being sullen, anyhow.
    Everything here was stupid. Perhaps it was the perfect place for him, after all.
    ****
    By the seventh day, Aeron was livid. The sheer nerve of this mortal creature, with his brusque, un-nuanced magic and his inexplicable fear. This must be some form of revenge. Maybe one of the fae had stolen away his sister and held her now at Court in thrall. Maybe he was one of those clerics like in the old days, the kind that used to hunt friends of the fae in the old stories.
    Maybe he was just a horrible, inhospitable, thoughtless little wretch.
    This time, when the man was on his way back from wherever it was he went all day, Aeron was surprised to feel him taking the path straight for his tree. The magic was still too thick; the man had his wards. He was talking, too. Aeron couldn't hear it, but he could feel , and it sent shivers up his spine and through his wings.
    There could be no mistake. This was the one who'd called him. Who'd been calling him for nearly twenty years.
    Please , he thought, anger faltering shamefully. Please tell me why I'm here. Tell me what this means. Please let me in .
    Another scent— magic like honey and smoke, with that same bluntness. Soon, a voice drifted to his ears to match it, low and musical. Aeron couldn't feel her like he felt the man; he knew only her smell, her sound.
    He waited, angry and hopeful and desperate by turns, until they came through the trees, right to the base of his perch, and looked up.
    Aeron pressed his lips into a thin line to convey his irritation.
    The woman bowed. "My lord, it's an honor."
    It wasn't until the evergreen man bowed too that Aeron realized she was speaking to him .
    "I am not a lord," Aeron said, voice tight. And no wonder; the moon had gone through a quarter of its cycle since he'd last used it.
    The woman— who had the same golden-brown complexion, but white hair beneath a scrap of fabric on her head— ooked up once more. "Will you come down so we can speak?"
    "I cannot," Aeron snapped.
    The humans exchanged a look. The man--the voice, it was certainly the voice— asked, "Why not?"
    "Your wards." Aeron wished he knew the mortal word for idiot . And then thought perhaps it was best that he did not.
    The man jumped, pulled a small bag out of his massive cover-all garb, and spoke some words. The evergreen-lemon scent intensified so that Aeron curled his feelers up to avoid it, and then it faded completely.
    Aeron fluttered to the ground. The woman bowed again. The man stared, mouth agape, at his wings.
    Aeron folded them tight against his back and stuck out his chin. "Why did you bring me here?"
    The man's mouth closed. Then opened. Then closed. His dusky skin acquired a pinkish undertone.
    "What may we call you?" the woman asked.
    "You know my name is Aeron." It was all very polite and proper not to ask him for it, but the man had called for him as such, after all. Aeron stared at him for a moment longer, narrowly avoiding tapping his foot. When it became obvious he wasn't getting a reply to his own question— the man was clearly as stupid as his trees, if not more so— he returned his attention to the woman. "What may I call you?"
    "Kamala. And this is Tammas."
    Tammas bowed his shaggy head. "I am so sorry."
    Aeron examined the creature more closely. What sort of response was that ?
    The woman, Kamala, spoke under her breath. "You ought to be, boy. Don't you have something else to say to him?"
    Tammas met Aeron's gaze. "Please will you come inside and share my fire?"
    The vibration of the wards around the house— background noise since the moment of his arrival, like the babbling of a brook— ceased.
    Aeron had decided three days ago precisely what he'd say in the mortal tongue if this moment ever came. "In my world, it is very rude to leave a guest outside."
    Though I'm clearly not here as guest. Well, whatever it is we're meant to do, let's get it over with .
    "In ours, too." Kamala