This Broken Wondrous World by Jon Skovron Page A

dryad.
    â€œOkay, then can I get an IPA?”
    â€œGot it. Those’ll be up in a minute.” She turned to go.
    â€œWait!” said Henri.
    She stopped and turned back, looking a little confused.
    â€œYou didn’t tell us your name.”
    â€œMy name?” she asked, and again she stared at him with an intensity I’d never seen in a dryad before.
    â€œYes, of course,” he said.
    â€œIris.” Then she turned abruptly and headed back to her post at the bar.
    â€œYou’re freaking out the dryads,” said Claire.
    â€œSorry, I can’t help it,” he said. “Beautiful ladies! Everywhere I look! How many are there altogether?”
    â€œTen, I think,” I said. “It’s weird that they’re openly serving alcohol now.”
    â€œIt’s great,” said Claire.
    â€œYeah, but Ruthven was never cool with underage drinking. It had to be all on the down low and only for the cool kids. And I was never one of those kids.”
    â€œHas it ever occurred to you that maybe Ruthven was a bit of a control freak?” asked Claire. “So he’s relaxing a little. That could be a good thing.”
    â€œMaybe,” I said. “He did let Henri in here. I’m not sure he would have done that a year ago, either.”
    â€œDrinks are served!” said a dryad with pigtails, taking glasses from a tray and placing them on our table.
    â€œAnd what is
your
name?” asked Henri.
    â€œMeadow,” she said, clearly not as thrown by the question as Iris. Or maybe since they shared a collective consciousness, she was just ready for the question this time. “And you must be Henri Frankenstein.”
    â€œYes, but how did you know?”
    â€œRuthven told us about you,” she said. “Although he did not tell us how strikingly handsome you were.”
    â€œStrikingly handsome?” he asked. “I like that . . .”
    â€œDo you? Perhaps you would like—”
    â€œMeadow!” Liel came over, clapping a hand on her back. “Sorry to interrupt, but can you put in an order for us?”
    They stood there staring at each other for a moment. Both of them were smiling, but I felt like there was something else going on there, too. Then Meadow nodded sharply.
    â€œYes, of course. What would you like?”
    â€œTwo vodka tonics, thanks.”
    Meadow nodded again. She glanced briefly at Henri, and then turned and left.
    â€œWell, here we all are,” said Liel, smiling down at us. Nextto her stood the new lead trowe dancer that we’d seen in The Show that night. She was a little shorter than Liel, and she had sapphire eyes instead of diamonds. The two of them sat down in the booth with us.
    â€œYes, we are,” said Claire.
    â€œClaire, I don’t think we’ve ever actually hung out before.” Liel frowned like she was trying to remember.
    â€œNo, we haven’t,” said Claire. “Can’t imagine why not.”
    Liel smiled at that. Either because she didn’t notice the hostile tone or because she didn’t care.
    â€œHave you guys met Bakru?” she asked. Then she put her arm possessively around Bakru’s waist and pulled her in close so that their hips touched. “My girlfriend.”
    â€œSorry,” said Claire. “When you say ’girlfriend,’ you mean . . .”
    â€œCan I just get the awkward part out of the way?” asked Bakru. “Yes, we’re dating.”
    Henri had been right in the middle of taking a sip of his wine and he started choking.
    â€œYeah.” Liel looked at me. “I told you earlier that I’m finally happy here. Bakru’s the reason why.”
    â€œWell, hopefully I’m not the
only
reason,” said Bakru. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
    â€œSure, okay,” said Liel, giving Bakru a quick kiss on the cheek. “But you’re my favorite reason.” Then she