Page 2 of Avalon Tower
I breathe in the scent of the ocean, a fragrance tinged with cypress, and sip my coffee. It’s hot for early spring, and it almost looks like steam is rising from the sea. From my spot at Café de la Fôret Enchantée, I see the cloud of shimmering mist shearing across the landscape.
My vacation has been heaven so far. The breeze rushes off the water and leaves a faint taste of salt on my lips. This place is good for my asthma, I think.
The atmosphere in the south of France feels different than California. Here, the light is soft, honeyed, not the glaring, overwhelming harshness of the LA sun.
Nearby, the magical veil rises to the sky like a wall of fog. It’s eerie and undeniably beautiful. It moves sometimes, but I’m at a safe distance here. Just beyond the tables of the outdoor café, waves crash over the white rocks.This might just be my favorite place in the world.
I manifested this trip with positive thoughts and vision boards. Also, many hours of minimum-wage labor and eating cereal for dinner instead of going out to bars. This two-week vacation is my destiny.
Sure, I feel a twinge of guilt at leaving Mom behind, but there’s no way I could pay for us both. And it would be better to have my friend Leila with me, but she’s scared of going anywhere near the Fey border. She thinks they might still leap out of the veil and murder you at any moment, even if the guidebooks from our bookshop and the U.S. State Department clearly say it’s safe.
I pick up a sprig of lavender from the vase on the table and inhale.
I’m still enjoying the lovely scent when a dark-haired waiter slides a slice of a blackberry cake onto the lace tablecloth before me. “Bon appétit.”
I definitely ordered the lavender cake, but cake is cake. “Thank you.”
As I take a bite, the fruity flavor bursts on my tongue. This slice costs the equivalent of three hours of work at the bookshop, but I try not to think about it. Fifteen years ago, the war made prices soar, and they never went down again. Luxuries like cake are stupidly expensive. Vacation, I remind myself.
Another bite. The sugary, tart flavors coat my tongue. Mom would be horrified. So many carbs, darling.She lives on vodka and boiled eggs.
The waiter watches me take a bite and smiles. With his bright blue eyes and square jaw, he reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Is delicious, yes?” he asks. He must have pegged me as a tourist because he’s speaking in heavily accented English.
I nod. “C’est délicieux.”
His shoulders relax as he shifts to French himself. “I’m glad. Are you here on holiday?” He wears a flat cap over wavy brown hair.
“I arrived a week ago. Only one week left.” My chest clenches at the realization that my trip is already half over. For five years, I’ve looked forward to this, but I can’t spend the other half of my vacation mourning the end of it, can I? “I wish I could stay.”
Sure, it’s a teensy bit lonely having my birthday cake at a table for one, but it’s probably better than what I’d be doing at home.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“The U.S. west coast. LA.”
“LA, as in Hollywood? Are you an actress? A model?” He lowers his eyelashes, then looks up again. “Your hair is very striking. So unusually dark.”
Is he flirting with me? “Thank you. No, I’m not an actress.”
I glance at the veil again. I can’t seem to keep my gaze off it. What’s happening on the other side?
“Have you seen any?” I turn to him and whisper, “Fey.”
He blanches. It’s almost like saying the word out loud sends a ripple of terror across the café, and for a moment, I regret it.
I catch the brief tightening of the muscles around his mouth until he softens them into a smile. He shrugs. “Sometimes, they patrol the border on our side. But most of the south of France remains independent. We’re safe here, and there’s nothing to worry about. King Auberon has no interest in claiming more of France than he already has.”
That’s what I told Leila. Except I’d sounded convincing, and when he says it, it sounds distinctly rehearsed. What is he not saying?
What I do know is this: fifteen years ago, the Fey invaded France. When it first happened, the world was stunned. Until that point, no one even knew they existed. And then, suddenly, they were marching through Paris, commanding the boulevards. Their dragons circled above the Eiffel Tower. The Fey were beautiful, otherworldly, seductive…
Lethally violent and hell-bent on conquest.
The French military fought back and managed to keep some of the south free and under human control. Unoccupied. It’s supposed to be safe.
But as the clouds slide over the sun, I feel the atmosphere suddenly grow tense around me. It’s hard to put my finger on it, but there’s something sharp and grim in the air now, replacing the soft ambience.