by ReGi McClain
“Labrador tea. Dena’ina Athabaskans—that’s one of the Alaska Native tribal groups—use it for heartburn, but it contains a toxin that can cause heart problems if you use too much.”
Harsha went hiking with Seraph, going further and carrying more weight each day. At first, she and Seraph constrained themselves to discussing general topics, but spending every waking and sleeping hour together led, by degrees, to greater openness, until Harsha felt as though she had known Seraph for many years. It happened like the opening of a morning glory, a subtle process easily overlooked, but sure and steady, in full bloom before anyone noticed. A measure of professional distance remained between them in the form of sidestepped disagreements, which lent peace to their conversations. Either could say what she wished without worrying about being criticized or made to feel inferior.
To Harsha’s great delight, when she explained her methods of investment, she found Seraph an eager listener, a disciple almost. The exuberant redhead loved numbers as much as Harsha but lacked the knowledge to play the stock market or real estate.
“So, land is a better investment than a building?”
“It can be.” Harsha ducked around a cow parsnip bush, which grew in abundance throughout the vast woods they explored. A patch of blisters her third day of hiking convinced her to remember why she wanted to avoid them. “If the land is in an area intended for development someday and you can afford to wait a long time.”
“So, let’s say I want to buy a piece of land in Anchorage, the interest rate is five percent, and I want to sell it for a fifty-percent profit. How do I figure out how much to invest?”
Harsha answered all of Seraph’s questions as well as she could while they hiked. When they returned to camp in the evenings, she drew up graphs and tables to illustrate and often explained it all again.
In the meantime, Zeeb scouted . Seraph assured Harsha he spent the days looking for evidence of faeries nearby, but as far as Harsha saw, he just fished. He seemed to be avoiding her. He left camp before she awoke, emerged from the woods to eat, and disappeared back into them when he finished his meals. Not that she blamed him, given the first impression she’d made. She knew he and Seraph talked in the evenings after she tumbled into her sleeping bag, but he kept quiet around her, except to throw the occasional comment into whatever dinner topic she and Seraph picked for the evening.
The situation made her uncomfortable. She kept meaning to talk to him, to smooth things over, but whenever the opportunity presented itself, she chickened out, until the time for apologies had passed. She knew she needed to mention the faerie, too, if only to keep up the pretense. She had paid him a big chunk of money, after all. He should at least feign interest in gratifying her. On the few occasions she tried to talk to him about it, he met her eyes with an intensity she found difficult to interpret. It made her quail every time, and she changed the subject to matters of no importance.
The second Sunday of the trip, Harsha shuffled out of her tent to find Zeeb squatting next to their tiny fire, stirring the oatmeal. She looked around for her favored guide but saw no sign of Seraph. Left alone with Zeeb and feeling shy, she hesitated before approaching. He looked up at her, flashed one of his no-teeth smiles, and held out a cup of coffee.
Harsha accepted the coffee and took a seat on a patch of some kind of low-growing vegetation, the name for which she couldn’t remember. “Thank you.” She looked around once more. “Where’s Seraph?”
“Whether she’s anywhere near a church or not, Seraph tries to set aside Sundays for extended worship time. She skipped it last week because she was afraid I’d be too hard on you.”
Harsha’s limited experience with religious people tended to indicate they had a general antipathy toward fringe trends, such as piercing one’s ears nine times, so this new knowledge surprised her. It explained some of Seraph’s statements during their daily talks, though.
“I guess that’s why she wears skirts all the time?”
“No. My mom goes to church in jeans. Seraph’s just old school. Anyway, you’re stuck with me for today.”
Harsha’s mind fled to her insecure adolescent years in panic. A whole day with him? What are we supposed to say to each other? I’ll say the wrong thing and his impression of me will be even worse. And one of us will need to stop to use a tree at some point. I’m not even sure I can do that with him around.
Making an excuse to a tour guide she’d paid to do exactly what he was proposing was ludicrous, but she scrambled for one anyway. “We could join Seraph in her, er, meditation.”
“Are you a Christian?”
“I, well, um…” The question made Harsha uncomfortable. She considered religion fine for some people but unnecessary for herself. However, explaining that to some religious people took more time and energy than she wanted to expend before finishing her first cup of coffee.
He handed her a bowl of oatmeal. “Then we should let her meditate alone for now. Ask her about it later.”
She watched him clean up while she ate. If she wanted to put their relationship on a positive track, today gave her the best opportunity. She debated whether to follow him in shamefaced silence or try to smile away the lousy impression of the first days. Neither seemed fair to either of them and both felt like surrendering to her self-consciousness.
Oatmeal eaten, she washed her dishes, put them away, and added a few items to her pack to give the extra weight needed to keep up with her training schedule.
Zeeb shook his head, ducked into her tent, and emerged with the rest of her gear. To Harsha’s dismay, he started stuffing her bag.
“Wait!” Harsha watched in horror as he filled the pack to the top. “Seraph only adds about five pounds a day.”
He waved the complaint away. “Seraph considers most women delicate and weak compared to herself. It’s true, but she tends to coddle. You’ll be fine. You did a full day’s hike yesterday.”
“Really?” Well, well. Who’d ’uv thunk it? Harsha Mooreland: Wilderness Explorer. She grinned. This trip isn’t going to be a complete bust after all. I’m stronger, at least.
He closed her backpack and held it out to her with one hand, muscles not straining. “Yup.”
Her smugness whooshed out of her mouth in a groan as she hoisted the torture device onto her shoulders. He watched her without sympathy until she settled the myriad straps into semi-comfortable positions before he led the way into the woods.
Unlike Seraph, Zeeb didn’t talk to warn off wildlife. No. He shouted, “NO BEAR!” at irregular intervals, startling her every time.
After a while, she decided to employ Seraph’s less irritating method of keeping animals away. “Dr. Brown called you a crypto-something. What is that, exactly?”
“Cryptozoologist,” he answered without looking back at her. “Cryptozoology is the study of creatures whose existence is not proven. Cryptic creatures.”
Of course. That explains so much. She felt like making a snide remark, but settled for, “And you specialize in sasquatches?” She came close to adding a sarcastic, “ever find a real one?” but caught herself.
“No.”
Okay… “But you usually do sasquatch hunts, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t study them. I just find them for tourists. In the off-season I study other species.”
“Like what?”
“No bear!”
She jumped.
He stepped over a large fallen log, turned, and held out a hand to help her over. “Not faeries.”
This time, Harsha decided an eyeroll wasn’t amiss. A glint in Zeeb’s eye told her he not only caught the gesture, he found it amusing to tease her.
Fine. Let him be cryptic, like his sasquatches or whatever . Her shoulders ached, her stomach grumbled, and she was tired of his no-bears and teasing. “Can we stop for lunch?”
He checked his watch. “Yeah. We can take a break.”
She thumped the log to check for stability before sitting on it. Irked to find Zeeb had buried
her snacks under the items he added, she fished two granola bars and a large bag of trail mix from her pack. She offered a bar to Zeeb.
“No, thanks.” He pulled a bag of jerky from his pocket and sat next to her.
They munched without talking, except for the sporadic no-bears . Zeeb alternated between slipping glances in her direction and staring into the woods as if he saw fascinating shapes among the green-and-brown patchwork of the flora. Harsha let her eyes wander around the area while she ate, but kept them away from him while her irritability lasted.
She felt better by the time she finished her bar and started in on the trail mix. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“So, you hunt sasquatches for tourists, and you’re not into faeries. What is it you do study?”
“Mostly Homo lycans .”
She had no idea what Homo lycans might be, but she didn’t want to ask and start him on another circular explanation that clarified nothing. She decided to press on as if she knew what he was talking about and ask Seraph about it later. “Do you find many up here?”
Zeeb’s eyes met hers, hesitant, for a change, and speculative. “Why are you here?”
“To find a faerie.” Like I told you. Several times.
“Do you believe in them?”
She pretended to look for a particular nut in her bag of trail mix while she wrestled with the clash of impossible hopes and crippling doubts jostling her belly. She could point out she paid him thirty thousand dollars up front, with a promise of another thirty thousand, to find her one.
That’s proof enough of belief, right? “If I say no , will one of them drop dead?”
“Not if you clap.”
She put away her trail mix and clapped.
“So, why are you here?”
She wanted to change the subject. Better yet, she wanted to go back to camp to chat with Seraph. At least Seraph accepted the faerie godmother spiel, whether she believed it or not, as explanation. The intensity in Zeeb’s expression made it difficult to lie.
“I need to find a faerie.”
“But you just said ”
“I need to find one. It doesn’t matter whether I believe they’re real or not. I have to believe in them, and I have to find one.” Appalled with herself for blurting so much, she added, “Please don’t ask me to explain.”
His gaze locked with hers, searching. She wanted to squirm out from under it, but it challenged her to hold her ground. After a minute, he nodded and stood. To her surprise, instead of leading her further into the woods, he started back toward camp. “There’s a small family of sasquatch about forty miles northwest of here.”
“Really?” She stopped in her tracks, not sure whether to scoff at his words as an obvious joke or take them at face value. “You’re not putting me on?”
“You can talk to them.” He offered a hand.
Stunned at his calm offer to arrange a conversation with an imaginary creature—particularly one she’d been under the impression was supposed to be a large ape, not a creature that could speak—but realizing he thought she stopped because she found some obstacle, she walked on. “My brother thought you got a buddy to put on a Wookiee suit.”
He chuckled and let his hand drop back down. “That’s a good idea. I’ve had some real pain-in-the-neck clients who deserved to be fleeced. I’m not sure I could live with myself, though.”
“You could claim to be a were-Wookiee.”
“You mean, ‘change in the light of a full Death Star?’” His eyes glinted with mischief. “Nah. I’ll stick to honest business. I like to give my clients their money’s worth.”
“Think you can get me my money’s worth?” If he knew a sasquatch, maybe he knew a faerie. She felt giddy, her hope bubbling up even as her logical mind tried to argue it down.
“I’ll try.”
“Fair enough.”
“No bear!”
Chapter 9
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Seraph jiggled Harsha’s shoulder, her warm hand transferring welcome heat. “Zeeb says we need to get a move on, now that you can handle a full pack.”
Harsha scrunched further into her sleeping bag. “Must we start this early? I’m on vacation.”
“It’s after eight. Come on.” Seraph pulled the sleeping bag down far enough to uncover Harsha’s face. “We need to cover some ground before the sun sets.”
The joke failed to amuse. Harsha wrinkled her nose in a mock glower, not stern enough to express anger, but not so soft as to condone any joviality before her first cup of coffee. “It doesn’t set until eleven-something at night.”
Seraph’s smile broadened. “Exactly.” She unzipped Harsha’s sleeping bag the rest of the way and flung the upper layer off. “I made breakfast. It’ll get cold if you don’t hurry.”
Harsha grumbled, but got up. Seraph went to work rolling sleeping bags. Harsha changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and took her folded night clothes to her pack.
Outside, Zeeb finished rolling up his tent and strapped it to his backpack. “Good morning. Ready to start the real faerie hunt?”
“I thought you were scouting all this time.” Harsha grimaced at her own tone. She hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic.
“I checked the surrounding area. I don’t think there’s a faerie nearby. We need to move on if we’re going to find one.”
The clothes packed, Harsha retrieved the bowl of oatmeal Seraph had left for her in the warm coals of the dying fire, poured herself some coffee, and found a dryish place to sit. Her spirits improved with the promise of caffeine and warmth brought to her by the rich fragrance steaming out of her mug, but not enough for her to let Zeeb off the hook, yet. While she preferred to be in a pleasant, or at least neutral, mood when she dealt with business matters, her grumpiness lent her enough steel to face his ever-smiling, ever-penetrating gaze with firmness.
Doubtful she would feel so confident around him again, she took advantage of her bad temper. “I know I’m the one who came to you, and I don’t mean to tell you your business, but how do you know?”
“There are subtle signs.” Zeeb poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her. “Certain flowers and toadstools, for example, and unusual groupings of animal tracks. Seraph and I can teach you what to look for.”
Harsha imagined herself kneeling down to caress a beautiful flower, the soft loam of the forest ground cushioning her knee, the petals of the blossom softer than silk to her fingertips, the rich smell of earth mingling with the delicate fragrance of the elusive bloom. Here it is , she would say. We found it at last.
Then she remembered biology class and her lovely daydream bubble popped. “I prefer to leave the botany to you two. Plants aren’t exactly my forte.”
One corner of Zeeb’s lips twitched. “Not into nature?”
“Oh, I like nature a lot, but as far as distinguishing one plant from another….” She shrugged. “I can tell a tree from a shrub, but that’s about it. Oh, and cow parsnip. I know what cow parsnip looks like.”
Her statement elicited a chuckle. The hint of mirth dispersed enough of Harsha’s morning grouchies to bring a slight quirk to her lips. She opened her mouth to ask another question about finding a faerie, but Zeeb leaned forward to reach for something beside her, and the feelings of shyness that plagued her around him returned.
When he leaned back, he held a sprig of flowers between his thumb and forefinger. “You should learn this one, at least.”
Harsha dropped her gaze to the flowers when he held them out to her. Petite blue petals, five to each blossom, surrounded tiny stars of yellow and white. His hand, thick and powerful, embraced the delicate stem with amazing gentleness. She held her breath when her fingers brushed his rough, craggy skin as she accepted the small offering, afraid of betraying her nervousness and losing all authority.
“They’re called forget-me-nots.” Zeeb stood and walked away.
Harsha studied the flowers until he moved out of her peripheral vision. Twirling
them, she let out her breath. While he and Seraph packed the rest of the gear, Harsha watched Zeeb from under her lashes and tried to figure him out. Their dynamic had shifted after their conversation the day before. She felt it when he looked at her. He seemed to breathe more freely, while she found herself trying not to breathe at all.
“You ready?” Seraph hoisted her pack onto her back.
“Coming.” Harsha tucked the sprig of flowers behind an ear and shoveled the last spoonfuls of oatmeal into her mouth. As soon as she wiped off her dishes and packed them away, she fell into step next to Seraph, to engage her in conversation and avoid Zeeb.
“Not that I’ll remember, but what kinds of plants should I be looking for? Zeeb told me what these ones are, but I’ve forgotten.”
Seraph glanced at the flowers and smiled, her eyes twinkling with humor. “Forget-me-nots.”
The irony of the name drew a short laugh from Harsha. “Well, I warned him. What else do I need to know about faerie hunting?”
“It’s difficult. Far harder than all those new books like to pretend.”
Harsha snerked. “I’ve no illusions on that point.”
“No. I know.” Seraph winked and stepped closer to whisper, “Someone who did would have a better story than a faerie godmother. You didn’t tell it to Zeeb, did you?”
Harsha rolled her eyes. “No,” she whispered back. “He’s difficult to lie to.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Be honest with me, Seraph. Was he really scouting these last two weeks?”
“Could you believe me if I said yes ? He’s my best friend and business partner. When it comes down to it, there’s no reason for you to take my word over his.”
“True, but…”
Three people, two of whom stood to gain financially, wanted to assure her of the existence of faeries while the rest of the world, and all she knew about it, denied them. Yet, here she was, slogging through a damp forest looking for the blasted creatures. Harsha felt sure Zeeb believed what he said, but belief and truth did not always follow the same path. Often, they veered away from each other, the one marching steadily forward while the other wandered after pretty ideals and self-justification. Harsha wondered how much of her search for a cure fell into which category.
