Free Wings Free with Bonus Material by Aprilynne Pike

it’s not great here,” she said quickly. “I’m glad we moved. But I kinda like the idea of being able to go back and visit.”
    “Have you been back since you moved?”
    “No. We’ve all been so busy getting the store going and moving in and, well, we just haven’t had time. So Mom wants to visit and make sure she’s really certain about selling and rake the leaves while we’re at it. And wash the windows.And Dad’ll probably want to trim the hedges.” She smiled with fake excitement. “It’s gonna be fun, fun, fun,” she said sarcastically.
    David nodded, then looked at her more seriously. “I wish I could go,” he said. “I really do.”
    Laurel looked down; his eyes were so intense. “Another time,” she said earnestly, trying not to sound too disappointed.
    “I hope so.”

EIGHT
    LAUREL’S HAIR WAS WILD AND TANGLED WHEN THEY arrived. It would take ages to brush out later, but it was worth the forty-five-minute drive in the old convertible with the wind whipping across her face. They pulled into the long driveway, and Laurel held her breath as it curved around a clump of trees and the cabin came into view.
    The appearance of her old house was accompanied by a wave of nostalgia Laurel hadn’t expected. The log cabin was small but quaint, nestled in a large circle of thick green grass surrounded by a rickety fence. Laurel had often missed her old home since moving but never as intensely as the moment it came into view for the first time in four months. For twelve years she’d lived in this house and on this land. She knew all the twisty paths through the vast forest behind the house and had spent hours wandering them. It wasn’t precisely that she wished she lived there again, but she didn’t want to let it go.
    Her parents began unloading rakes and buckets and cleaning supplies. Laurel pulled her guitar from the backseat, and her mom laughed. “I love that you play that old thing.”
    “Why?”
    “It just reminds me of when I used to play it back at Berkeley.” She grinned at Laurel’s dad. “When we first met. We were such hippies back then.”
    Laurel eyed her mom’s long braid and her dad’s Birkenstock sandals and gave a snort. “You’re hippies now .”
    “Nah, this is nothing. We were really hippies back then.” Her mom slipped one hand into her dad’s, entwining their fingers. “I used to take that guitar to sit-ins. I’d play ‘We Shall Not Be Moved’ terribly off-key and everyone would bellow along. Remember that?”
    Her dad smiled and shook his head. “The good ol’ days,” he said sarcastically.
    “Aw, it was fun.”
    “If you say so,” her dad relented, leaning in for a kiss.
    “Do you mind if I wander a bit?” Laurel asked, slipping the strap of the guitar over her shoulder. “I’ll come back in a while to help.”
    “Sure,” her mom said as she dug through the trunk.
    “See ya soon,” Laurel said, already walking toward the back of the house.
    The forest was filled with both broad-leaf and pine trees that shaded the soft green foliage carpeting the ground. Most of the tree trunks were covered with dark green moss that hid the rough bark. Everywhere you looked was green. It had rainedlightly that morning and the sun was out, turning the millions of droplets of water into sparkling orbs that made every surface twinkle like sheets of emeralds. Paths twisted into the darkness between the trees, and Laurel slowly headed down one.
    It was easy to imagine she was walking through hallowed ground—the ruins of some great cathedral from ages before memory. She smiled when she saw a moss-clad branch illuminated by a thin beam of sunshine and rubbed her hand across it so the glistening drops of water dripped from her fingers and caught the light as they fell to the ground.
    When she had been out of her parents’ sight for several minutes, Laurel slipped her guitar to the front and untied the scarf. With a sigh of relief, she lifted her shirt a bit to let the