Blood of the Maple

by Dana Marie Bell

  “Parker,” Greg groaned.

  “What?”

  “First off, no respectable university offers witchcraft as a minor.”

  Parker sniffed. “I never said it was respectable.” In fact, the dean of admissions had promised to do things to him that a porn star would consider disreputable.

  “Second, what did I tell you about the crazy? Any place that hands out a degree in witchcraft is either a scam or up to the brim of their pointy hats in crazy.”

  “But her—I mean their—work/study plan was excellent.”

  Greg smacked him upside the head. “Tell Little Parker to shut the hell up for five minutes. He’s the one who got you into this situation, remember?”

  “Little? I am insulted, sirrah.” Parker whipped out the straw and brandished it, waving it around like a deranged musketeer. “En garde!”

  Greg lifted his spoon and assumed the position. “You are so on.”

  The two dueled until, in a frenzy of soy-sauce and maple-syrup splatters, Parker lay on the floor, defeated. He lifted the broken straw and glared at it. “You failed me. Damn you, corkscrew straw.”

  Laughing, Greg helped him to his feet. “Dude, I know you want to find a way to end the curse, but seriously? I don’t think that’s the way to go about it.”

  “And you would know?” Parker drank the last of his dinner and placed the glass in the sink.

  One raised eyebrow was all it took to remind Parker that, yes, his friend would know. “I warned you off her.”

  “Yes, mama.”

  “But no, you had to have a piece o’ that.”

  “Fuck off, Greg.” He stared at the blender.

  “So now you’re stuck with the freakiest curse on the planet and a degree in botany that you never wanted.”

  He inched closer to the counter where the blender rested.

  “You’re not taking it apart to lick the blades. That’s just wrong. I use that to make smoothies, and I don’t need that picture in my head while I do it.”

  “Aw, man.”

  “I mean, who curses a vampire to drink green, leafy blood anyway?” Greg grabbed a clean spoon and tried to salvage his dinner. From the burned smell he wasn’t going to have much luck with that.

  “Terri, that’s who.”

  Greg poked him in the chest, smearing soy sauce on his shirt. “She turned you into Bunnicula.”

  Parker growled. So did his stomach. “Look on the bright side. At least I’m not sprouting things like she is.”

  “Next time I tell you to stay away from the crazy, what are you gonna do?”

  “Run past Go, do not stop, do not collect two hundred dollars?”

  “Damn straight.” Greg blinked. “How did you get soy sauce on your shirt?”

  Parker rolled his eyes, snagged the blender and headed for his room.

  “That’s wrong, damn it!”

  Parker slammed the door shut with a grin. He could hear Greg grumbling long after he’d licked the glass clean.

  ***

  Maggie’s Grove, Maryland, Twenty-five Years Ago…

  “Oh. Would you look at that?”

  She stretched her arms out to the sun, young and eager to bud. Her sap began to flow under the caress of the spring sun.

  It was a good day to be alive.

  “Who are you?”

  She opened her eyes to find a stranger sitting next to her tree. She tilted her head up at the person—the woman—wondering what she might want.

  “Can you speak, dear?”

  She watched the woman’s mouth move, learning the shape and the grain of the words. “Hello.”

  The woman smiled. “You’re a young dryad, aren’t you?”

  She was?

  Yes, she was.

  “Which one is your tree?”

  Oh, that one she knew. She placed her hand on the trunk of her tree. The sap running through it was comforting. The roots dug deep into the earth.

  “Ah, the Schwedler Norway maple, eh? Very pretty. It’s my favorite tree in the whole garden.”

  She preened. The woman thought her tree was pretty.

  “Do you have a name?”

  Name?

  “Mine is Glinda Gershowitz. I’m the one who planted your tree, though I didn’t know I’d get you too.”

  She frowned. She didn’t understand.

  “Oh, you’re that new, are you? May I help you pick your name?”

  “What’s a name?”

  “A name is that which other people call you. When people see me, they know I’m Glinda.” Glinda placed her hand on the maple. “When they see your tree, they think Schwedler maple.”

  Oh. That made sense.

  “Would you like your very own name?”

  She nodded, pleased at the thought. Glinda was very nice. She had nice brown eyes and silver hair. She smelled of sunshine and warm earth. Glinda would help her, she knew.

  “Well, I would suggest, since you come from a Schwedler, that your last name be Schwedler.”

  Last name? How many names would she get? She hoped not too many. She might have trouble remembering them all.

  “Hmm. And since your tree is Norwegian, how about…Helga?”

  She wrinkled her nose. Helga? No, that didn’t sound right.

  “Olga?”

  She shook her head. That one wasn’t right either.

  “Wait, my niece just had a baby. Let me get my baby-name book, and we’ll pick one out, hmm? Maybe we can find a name together.”

  A book? What was a book?

  The woman disappeared into a strange glass cave covered in something that felt…dead. She reached out to touch the wrongness, but before she did, Glinda came back. “Here it is.”

  Glinda held something that was dead. Something strange pulsed in her veins, something that felt like fire.

  “This is a book. I know it’s made of paper, which comes from trees, but I promise it was only taken from trees that had already passed on into the Summerland.”

  The fire died. If the dead wood had been dead before Glinda mutilated it, then that was the cycle of life. She was all right with that.

  “Now, let me see… Aesa? No? How about Brigitte? No? Hmm. Let’s forget the Norwegian and go for something we both like, hmm?”

  They flipped through the book, Glinda reading off name after name until they came to one that made both of them stop. “How about Amara? In Greek it means eternal and unfading, and in Sanskrit it means tree.”

  She paused. Amara?

  She liked the way it sounded. Ah-MAH-rah. It was almost as pretty as her tree. She tested the name on her tongue. “Amara.” Joy bubbled through her; the name felt right.

  It was hers.

  Glinda closed the book with a snap. “Amara Schwedler it is.” She stood and held out her hand, bending until she was level with Amara. “Welcome to Maggie’s Grove, Amara.”

  Amara took the woman’s hand and allowed her to lead the way.

  ***

  Maggie’s Grove, Maryland, Sometime in the 1990s…

  “What are you doing?” Amara watched in horror as sweet Glinda ripped a living plant from the soil and tossed it into a pile.

  “Pulling weeds, Amy.”

  “Weeds?” A spurt of pleasure almost threatened to overwhelm her anger at Glinda’s actions. Only Glinda called her Amy. Everyone else in town called her Amara. When they spoke to her at all, that was. Most adults simply avoided her or talked around her as if she weren’t there. She wouldn’t begin to discuss how the people her age treated her. Every time she did, it seemed to make Glinda sad. For some reason, not even other dryads would play with her. She didn’t understand it. She’d done nothing to earn animosity from the people around her, other than be herself.

  It hurt more than she wanted Glinda to know. Other dryads avoided her like she had some sort of disease—and the rest of the kids?

  Best not to say what the rest of the kids liked to try to do. Amara had bloodied more than one nose in self-defense, and if Glinda fo
und out she’d been fighting, she’d be grounded for a week, regardless of who’d started it.

  Humans could be weird that way.

  “Yes. Weeds.” Glinda yanked on another plant, almost succeeding in pulling it out.

  Amara put her hand over Glinda’s. “Please stop.”

  Glinda sighed. “My dear, this is why I do this when you’re not here.” Not here. Their code for when Amara joined with her tree, communing with it in perfect serenity.

  “Why are you killing them?” She couldn’t understand it. Glinda loved plants. She was the one who’d picked Amara’s tree, who’d directed where it should be planted. She’d chosen all the beautiful flowers and trees in their garden.

  “Because if I don’t, it will kill all the other plants.”

  Amara blinked. That fiery something flickered to life inside her, the something that had reacted to the first book she’d ever seen. “It…will?”

  “Yes.” Glinda gestured around the wild, secret garden they’d planted at the base of the mountain. Not even Rock knew about it, and he was her best friend. She bit back her sad sigh, not wanting Glinda to hear it. He was her only friend. “Do you see that vine climbing that tree over there?”

  It was hard to miss. It was healthy, vibrant and glowing. The tree beneath it… Something was wrong with the tree.

  “That vine will strangle the tree, killing it in order to survive. It feeds off the tree and the rain and the nutrients the tree should be getting. In the end, the tree will fall and only the weed will be left.”

  The tree will fall.

  She wondered what that buzzing in her ears was. Why was her vision blurring around the edges?

  “Can my tree be eaten by a weed?”

  “Yes.”

  That fire was back in her belly, only stronger. “My tree could be eaten by a weed.”

  “Amy?”

  She didn’t understand why Glinda’s voice sounded so strange or why she suddenly moved away. All she knew was that the weed was going to kill the tree. “You pull the weeds so the trees can live?”

  Glinda nodded, her eyes wide and frightened.

  Well. She’d have to do something about that.

  By the time Amara was done, not a weed was left standing. The tree that had been attacked was free and clear of the vine, free to live. The fire in her belly died, leaving behind a sense of accomplishment.

  She’d done well.

  She’d done her job.

  Amara dusted her hands off and blew a red curl out of her face. “There.” Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been a while since she’d eaten. She picked a shredded leaf out of her pretty green skirt and gave Glinda her best doe eyes. “Can we have some ice cream now?”

  Glinda, pale and shaking, led the way.

  ***

  New York City, Sometime in the 2000s…

  “You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me.” Parker stood outside the jail cell and tried not to laugh his ass off. Greg? In a fight? In a bar?

  “Shut the hell up and bail me out.”

  “Not until you tell me what happened.” He could smell the blood on Greg’s skin but knew his friend wasn’t too injured, or the cops would have sent him to the hospital.

  “I had a fight. Didn’t like something the guy said. I kicked his ass. End of story.”

  “Greg.” Parker could tell Greg was holding back. Why, he didn’t know, but he was determined to find out. “C’mon, man.”

  Greg looked at him through the bars, and something in his expression sent shivers down Parker’s spine. Something was wrong with his best friend. Whatever it was, Parker would figure out a way to deal with it.

  Nothing was going to put that scared look on Greg’s face ever again.

  “Get me out and I’ll tell you. I swear.”

  Parker nodded and went to bail him out. When Greg joined him up front, he opened the door to the police station without a word. He waited until they’d arrived at the tiny apartment they shared in Soho before starting in on him again. “So?”

  “I’m gay.”

  “And?”

  Greg turned on him, his expression shocked. “What do you mean, and?”

  Parker shrugged. “I’ve known for years. Why haven’t you?”

  “I did… I mean, yeah, but I never mentioned it before. It…it doesn’t bother you?” And for the first time in years Greg looked unsure of himself, of Parker. Of everything.

  “No. It doesn’t. Why didn’t you think you could tell me?” Parker had known for years. He’d thought it was a private matter, that eventually Greg would find someone and introduce them. But Greg hadn’t, not yet.

  Or had he? “Did the fight have to do with a date?”

  “No,” Greg scoffed. “Just some asshole who thought it was okay to hassle the black gay man.”

  Parker grimaced and put his arm around his friend. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You’re not the one who tried to punch my lights out.”

  “Tell me who it was and I’ll put the fear of the fang in him.” Parker grinned and dropped his fangs. Thing was, he wasn’t kidding. He would put the fear in that man if it meant Greg would be all right.

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Man. You’re weird.”

  “Says the gay black witch.”

  “Homophobe.”

  “Perv.”

  “You’re just jealous because I never hit on you.”

  “Remind me to get you a nice pink Judy Garland T-shirt for your next birthday.”

  “Asshole.” Greg hugged him. Parker could feel the tension seep out of his friend. “Thanks.”

  Parker hugged him back. Finally there was something he could do for Greg for a change. “You’re welcome.”

  ***

  Maggie’s Grove, Maryland, The Senior Prom…

  Amara cried so hard she thought she’d never catch her breath again. The tattered remains of her dress floated around her, the words of her date echoing in her ears. Freak was the nicest thing he’d called her.

  “Amy?”

  She didn’t bother trying to dry her eyes. Glinda would know anyway.

  “Why aren’t you at the prom, child?”

  She couldn’t catch her breath to answer. She’d thought Jason Montanaro was different. He was a were, loyal to the bone, someone who would understand the needs of a young dryad.

  But she’d forgotten for one shining, happy moment that a dryad wasn’t all she was, and now she was paying the price.

  “Oh, dear.” Glinda’s arms went around her shoulders, but Amara couldn’t raise her head. Couldn’t look at the sympathy on Glinda’s face. Thank the Gods school was almost over. She’d commune with her tree for the entire summer, long enough for Jason and his friends to go away to college. Long enough for her to forget.

  “What did that boy do to you?” Glinda smoothed her hair away from her hot forehead. “My poor child.”

  She couldn’t breathe. It hurt too badly.

  “I swear this to you, my child. Someday a man will come, one who will love you for who you are and what you are. When he does, hold on tight to him, for he’ll need you like no other.”

  Her sobs quieted at the tinge of magic in Glinda’s voice. When Glinda spoke like that, things happened. Amara had learned to trust the promises spoken when Glinda used that voice.

  “Let’s get you home and cleaned up. I know you’ll want some time with your tree, but promise me you’ll come out before the end of the summer. I have a graduation present for you that I think you’ll like.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “A trip to Disney World.”

  “Disney?” Mickey Mouse and princesses and magical people who weren’t outcasts like her?

  “Mm-hmm. When we get inside, I can show you the hotel we’ll be staying at, hmm?”

  Well…maybe she could hold off on communing with her tree for a while. She followed Glinda home, knowing someday, somewhere, there’d be someone who accepted her the way Glinda did.

  After all, a gir
l could dream, right?

  Chapter One

  Maggie’s Grove, Maryland, Present Day

  Parker drove through the moonlight-drenched streets of his new hometown with a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced since Greg died. He hadn’t realized how stressed he’d gotten until he’d hit Tennessee and all the tension dissipated. Finding out Greg had cancer, helping him through the horrors of chemo and radiation, only to lose him in the end to an infection, had been devastating. Greg had been in his sixties, not old at all. At least not by Parker’s standards.

  And now here he was, following Greg’s final wish to the letter. “Go to Maggie’s Grove. Buy a house. Settle down and have little vamplings.”

  “Why?” Parker had asked, damn near tears. His friend’s vision had begun to fail, but it only made his inner vision sharper, clearer.

  “The place is in Transylvania County, for the Goddess’s sake. It’s perfect for you.”

  “Greg.” He hadn’t known whether to laugh or let those tears fall. What was he supposed to do without Greg?

  “Just do what I tell you for once in your damn unlife.”

  Parker had chuckled, but he’d known: Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Greg had a vision, and Parker would follow it without question. Even at the end of his life Greg had looked out for him. He only wished Greg hadn’t refused the Kiss when they’d first discovered the cancer. Turning him when he’d wasted away to nothing would have been cruel, not that Greg had asked, though Parker had offered more than once.

  Parker would have been insulted if he hadn’t known the real reason Greg hadn’t accepted the Kiss. Greg hadn’t wanted to spend eternity as one of the undead. He’d wanted to move on, be reborn. If he’d become a vampire, he would have lost the connection to the earth that gave him his powers. To Greg, losing his witchcraft to turn into a vampire was a horror not to be borne. But he’d promised that someday Parker would find him again. Before drifting off into a coma, he’d used the last of his magic to ensure it. He’d died as peacefully as any mortal could wish.

  Parker wished it hadn’t happened at all.