by Renee George
Immediately, the guilt started. After all, it wasn’t the stupid plant’s fault that Lucien and Sol had both left her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, down on her knees scooping up the muddy mess and transferring it to an empty bowl. She meant it. Mathias had given her something special, a seed he’d called unique and rare, and like everything else in her life, she’d fucked it up.
She found the seed under the kitchen table—actually a seedpod. Black, smooth and warm.
An ash seed.
The realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. He’d given her a goddess-damned tree? The same tree she’d killed? Why would he do that? What was the little fucker thinking? Like she didn’t have enough pain in her life. Killing one tree wasn’t good enough; Mathias wanted her to massacre another before it even had time to sprout life?
The pod-ling pulsed, the edges turning a sickly brown in her presences. It was dying already!
She scooped up dirt in her hand and squeezed the pod inside the fertile soil. For this betrayal, she would wring the fairy dwarf’s neck.
“That dorkus-loving Puck bastard!”
* * * * *
She was still fisting the seed in the handful of dirt when she walked into the Bloomin’ Wild Flower Shop just after sunset. “You!” she shouted, pointing a finger at Mathias.
The red-haired dwarf didn’t even look up. “Romy, my girl. So nice to see you as well.”
In the evenings, Mathias transformed. Korrigans were craggy creatures during the day, but at night, they were breathtakingly beautiful. His skin, milky smooth, sparkled as if it contained the entire solar system just under the surface. While in the sunlight his eyes were blood red, in the moon’s light, they were a vibrant heliotrope—a brilliant shade of pinkish-purple. Seeing him like this, in all his grace and beauty, she found it hard to believe there was anything wrong or defective about him. Romy almost forgot her anger. Almost.
“You gave me a tree!” Her fingers were stiff from holding on so tightly, but she managed to open her palm, showing him the proof before letting it fall from her hand.
“Ah, but my dear, that’s not just any tree.”
She slammed her fist down on his counter. He winced.
“I know exactly what kind of tree it is.” An aching pain welled in her chest. Her tree. Her life.
Mathias picked up the shiny black pod. “Actually, it’s a fraxinus pod.”
Romy raised a brow. Did he think she was stupid? “I know an ash seedling when I see it, you brownie ass. I was born to an ash tree!”
“There’s no need to be disrespectful, girl.” Mathias placed the seed back on the counter. “I’ve done what I can for you, ungrateful nymph.”
A horrifying thought struck Romy. “The seed…” She pointed a finger at the dwarf. “It’s magic, isn’t it? You put the Puck curse on me.” She slumped against a nearby stool. “But why? Why would you do this to me?”
“I did no such thing.” He narrowed his rounded eyes at her. “And I don’t like what you’re accusing me of.”
“And poor Lucien.” Romy shook her head. “And Sol.” She snapped her gaze to his. “Did you even think what this curse would do to them?”
Mathias slapped his palms onto the counter. The stone quivered in place. “I didn’t curse you.” He shook his head. “It’s a seedling. A gift for you! What happened to Lucien and Sol?”
“You don’t know? How could you not know? They work for you.”
“Lucien put in his notice this morning and hasn’t been back, and it’s Sol’s day off.” Worry and concern caused the deep, hidden lines in Mathias’ face to crevice. “Are you saying something happened to them?”
“Yes—me. I happened to them, and now both their lives are ruined. Thanks to this curse. And now that I’ve had them, I don’t know how to go on without them!”
Mathias raised both brows.
“Oh shut up! Yes, I’m in love with both Lucien and Sol, thanks to you and that goddess-damned seed.”
“Is that what you think?” He tsked, his overlarge teeth eclipsing his bottom lip. “It’s a seedling, Romy. Its magic doesn’t work like that.”
“Hah!” she accused. “It is magic. I knew it!”
“Not like you think, Artemis take a care. It’s not a love spell. It’s the magic of nature. An ash, especially a black one, wants to live, Romy Shea. It wants to grow, and will go to great lengths to survive. But it won’t cause you to fall in love. That you did on your own.”
“Fat lot of good it did.” Romy sighed. “Even if they didn’t hate me, which I’m almost sure they do, I’d bring them nothing but heartache. I’m dying, Mathias. I don’t have long. Maybe a year, maybe months, maybe days.” She shook her head. “I know one thing for certain. Death is coming for me.”
“I know.” He lowered his gaze to the counter. “It’s the purpose of the gift.”
Romy stepped closer and placed her hands over Mathias’. A sober smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “To torture me?”
The dwarf reached up with his stubby fingers and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I’m not giving up on you, girl.”
Chapter Ten
Romy knew going back to the woods was a bad idea. She’d already subjected the trees and plants to her bad ju-ju, and going back might make things worse. Possibly irreparably. But if she had to come to terms with imminent death, nature could grant her this one boon, to spend time at the only place she’d ever felt truly content.
The lake.
She pulled the black ash seed from her pocket, packed in soil and bound in a small piece of cotton fabric, before transforming her clothing into butterflies once again.
This would be her last time surrounded by nature. Her last selfish act, but an act meant to save the seedling she’d been given. A nearby stick served as a tool to dig a narrow but deep hole, right next to the lake where Lucien had played her song.
Closing her eyes, she surrounded herself with the memory of both Lucien and Sol, gathered all the love she had for them, and directed that energy into the small bundle in her hands. She would give the pod everything—the last of her. She’d been alone for a long time, but she’d never been lonely. Without Lucien and Sol, that word held meaning, weight. What was the point of killing more plants if it merely prolonged a lonely existence bereft of love? She would let herself die, to go back to nature, to finally be a part of something less tragic and more peaceful.
She opened the cloth and carefully placed the seed into the hole, praying to the goddess to remove her poison from the black ash and allow it to flourish on its own.
The earth reminded her of Sol. He had been her grounding force in Fortunate. He’d given her a reason to keep going, even when she didn’t realize it…even when she’d wanted to give up. So many times she’d gone back to Mathias’ shop, and now she understood it had been for Sol, not the plants. She’d planted her roots with him, not the town.
She cupped a handful of water from the lake and poured it onto the planted seed.
Water, Lucien’s element—an element necessary for all life forms. He was new to her life, but just as important as Sol. He was the tie that bound them. Without Lucien, they would dry up and crumble.
Why had they come into her life? She’d known misery, but now, because of them, she’d become intimately familiar with despair.
Her tears fell on the freshly tamped soil. Her butterflies spread out over the nearby surface of the lake in a pulsating blanket of color. Without a second’s hesitation, she leapt through the fluttering of vibrant wings, diving into dark, moonlit water.
Romy swam, her head breaking the surface. The cool wash of water refreshed her skin. Her feet touched the bed of the lake and she stood, the water lapping at her neck. She splashed around, webbing the cool liquid through her fingers. Closing her eyes tightly, she floated, imagining Lucien sliding around her body. She rubbed her palms over her breasts and stomach, to the juncture of her thighs.
“Sol,” she whispered on the air as
her fingers slipped between the folds of her pussy. “Lucien.”
She ached with desire for both—but the only way she could have them was in her fantasies.
“Shit!” she shouted in frustration. She kicked her feet downward and they sank in a patch of muddy lake floor. “Son of a Ghilli Dhu!”
She tried to pull one foot then the other out of the goopy mess, but her struggles only managed to sink her deeper. The water had risen over her chin, threatening to cover her mouth if she didn’t stop jerking about. Leaning her head back, Romy shouted, “Fuck!”
She probably should have shouted “help!” but who in the world would hear her?
A sharp stab on her forehead answered the question.
“Horny foul-mouthed nymph!” The pixy beat his wings about her head. “I’ve got you where I want you now. Not so tough when you’re stuck, huh?”
Romy reached her arm up to swat him away. Big mistake. She descended farther into the muck, and now, even with her head back, the water tickled her lower lip. “Stupid pixy,” she mumbled, unable to keep the lake out of her mouth.
“Hah! From up here, I’m not looking so much like the stupid one, large-ass.”
It was obvious she wasn’t going to be able to threaten him into helping, but maybe she could make a pixy bargain. The flying rats loved a good bargain. “What do you want in return for getting help?”
“Your death will be payment enough.” He stabbed her again with his tiny sword.
“Ouch.” She rolled her eyes at the pesky creature, trying very hard not to move any other part of her body. “Please help me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’ve got nothing I want, nymph. And your very existence is like a goblin’s boil on my ass!”
Another small voice piped up. “Alodono Martin Delight! You help that young dryad, now!”
Romy tilted her face slightly toward the new arrival. Another pixy neared, this one female. She stood on a fallen maple leaf, rowing the makeshift vessel with a dried seedpod. Her wings were a crumpled, deformed mess along her back, and suddenly Romy understood the pixy’s presence in Fortunate.
He wasn’t the outcast—his wife was.
“Lina!” The pixy flitted around frantically with worry. “What are you doing out here? Go back to the log.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She balled her fists onto her hips. “I’m not leaving until you find this nymph some help.”
His wings stopped for a moment and he dropped ten inches before they started going again, lifting him high into the air. When he settled into a hover right above Romy’s head, he glared at her. “Fine. But for this help, you have to promise to never set foot in the woods again.”
What could Romy say? It was a fair bargain, more than she thought she’d get from the pixy. “Agreed.”
“And,” he added, “I want one of your butterflies to command.”
“Uh…” She hesitated. Giving away part of her magic would be like giving away a foot. She’d never get it back, and she’d always have a magical limp because of the loss. Although, weighing the options, it was still better than drowning, even with imminent death. “Fine. Agreed.”
“And—” the pixy started.
“For the love of Artemus!” Romy swore.
“Alodono!” the pixy’s wife scolded.
“Fine,” the pixy conceded. “Agreed. Bargain made. Who should I get for you?”
She really wanted Lucien and Sol, but after the mess she’d made, she decided Mathias would be a better choice.
He kept the shop open until midnight for the after-dark beings of Fortunate. It really chapped her ass that every Tom, Dick, vampire and ghoul grew healthy plants, but she couldn’t keep a damn cactus alive.
As the pixy flew away, Romy pushed the thought from her head to concentrate on the crisis at hand.
Chapter Eleven
Sol mopped the floor of the greenhouse, wringing dirty water into a bucket every few seconds. Usually a calming task, but it wasn’t working at the moment.
He loved Romy. It was a reluctant admission, especially since she’d never seen him the way he saw her. He’d always been just a friend. Watching her with Lucien had driven that point home.
What really pissed him off was Lucien’s ability to walk away from her, but really, was he any better? After all, he’d walked away as well.
His whole life had been one big concession, always deferring to those who were bigger, stronger and wiser, and perhaps less a freak of nature than he.
A growing revulsion, more at himself than anyone else, tightened every muscle in his body. He thrust the mop back into the bucket and the force knocked it over, spilling dirty water all over the newly cleaned floor.
“Son of a bitch!”
He heard the door from the shop open and looked up. Mathias stared at him, arms crossed, tsking as he shook his head. “What are you doing here, boy?”
Sol shook the end of the mop handle. “What does it fucking look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re making a bloody good mess, and watch your tone.”
“Sorry.” The werewolf leaned against a table of seedlings. “It’s all falling apart, Mathias.”
The dwarf walked over to Sol. “Did you talk to Romy then?”
“No.” Sol stared down at Mathias, his hands involuntarily flexing. “What do you know about Romy?”
“Watch it, cub. Your claws are showing.”
“You…?” Sol looked at his fingers. Sure enough, his claws had come out. “Shit!” He tucked his hands under his arms. “You knew?”
“Yes, boy. I knew.”
“For how long?”
“Soon after I hired you.” He climbed a stepstool and patted Sol’s shoulder. “Your aura is mixed. It didn’t take me long to figure out what the combination was.”
“Mathias, what are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?” A ripple of anxiety passed over Sol’s face.
“Oh poor, dear lad.” Mathias shook his head. “It’s part of the reason you’re here.”
“In Fortunate? Or in this shop?”
“Both, I suppose.” Mathias took Sol’s hand. “I would have thought you knew. Did your mother never tell you that you were mixed blood?”
“Oh, for the love of Judas. Quit beating around the bush and tell me what you think you know?”
“You’re part elf, you lumbering oaf!” The dwarf rolled his eyes. “Wood elf, judging by the scent of you.”
Sol rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s sandalwood and clary sage. I wanted you to think I was an elf.”
“You don’t think I can tell the difference between perfume and a wood elf?” Mathias blew a raspberry and touched the side of his nose. “The ol’ smeller never lets me down, boy. Definitely wood elf with a hint of wolf.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course. You think I’d let you handle my plants otherwise?”
“But—” A sharp crack on the window stopped Sol mid-thought. He turned to look. A blurring object whacked against the window again. “What the hell?”
“It’s a pixy.” Mathias walked toward the window and stepped up on yet another stool for a closer look. Sol followed.
The pixy’s face was red as he beat his wings and sword against the pane. Sol tapped on the glass. “Hey, I recognize this little guy.”
Mathias seemed mesmerized as he stroked the window. “Oh, where from?”
“Let’s just say we had a close encounter and leave it at that.” Sol wasn’t about to tell Mathias about the sweaty, naked sex with Romy that had led to the pixy incident. “Maybe we should pull out the pesticide.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Pixies are good luck, boy.”
“Hasn’t been my experience.” After all, the damn thing had interrupted him and Romy right when he’d been warming up.
“Nonsense.” Mathias reached up, turned the latch on the frame and tilted the window open. The pixy flew inside.
“It’s about freaking time, you backside of a banshee!”
Out of the side of his mouth, Mathias whispered, “Maybe I spoke too hastily about the pesticide.”
Before Sol could say, “I told you so,” the pixy was off on a rambling tirade. Sol caught about every third word—but he definitely heard Romy’s name.
“What?”
The pixy kept up his fast speech pattern until Sol clapped his hands in front of him. “Hey! Pay attention, pixy, and tell me what’s happened to Romy.”
The stunned pixy stopped beating his wings for a fraction of a second and dropped a foot before he swooped back up. “The stupid nymph is stuck in the mud. Water up to her big fat ears. Since she wasn’t born with gills, you’d better get your ass down to the lake, and fast. Who knows, she could be dead already.” The pixy shrugged. “A win, if you ask me.”
The pit of Sol’s stomach churned. A rush of adrenaline partially changed him before he’d even run out the back of the greenhouse. He had to get to Romy.
If there are gods, please don’t let me be too late.
* * * * *
Lucien left Fortunate the way he came in—with a broken heart, the clothes on his back and little else.
Siobhan had been a soft woman, docile and childlike. He’d made her fall in love with him. He ached at the memory of her blind devotion. He hadn’t given her a choice. While she hadn’t been the first he’d put under his spell, or the first to die because of the resulting overzealous need to be close to him, she’d been the first he’d loved back.
With Romy and Sol, everything was different. He hadn’t spelled them—they’d been drawn to his song. And they in turn had drawn him into their world, a place he desperately desired to live. He missed Sol already. The nights they’d spent huddled together to fight off their mutual loneliness had become a type of home. He’d never found such camaraderie and companionship with another living being.
Bonus—with Sol, he didn’t have to be in charge all the time.
Siobhan had needed constant supervision, the spell leaving her without free will. Lucien had never worried about that before. After all, humans lived and died in a breath of an immortal’s time. At least, that’s what his kind had raised him to believe.