Dana Bell - Blood of the Maple

“You don’t understand how important this is, Mr. Hollis.”

Apparently not. “I’ll do as much as I can when I get back.” It sucked having trouble moving around during the day, since it limited his job choices. But never before had the midnight shift at Taco Bell sounded like the better choice.

The job at The Greenhouse had seemed like such a wonderful opportunity when he’d first heard of it. A greenhouse designed to present endangered plant species as works of art, the place was part museum, part preserve, and the funds The Greenhouse brought in were used to help reintroduce endangered plant life back into the wild. During the day, The Greenhouse offered refreshments to visitors, taught classes on gardening and educated the local schoolchildren. Best of all it was in the town he’d just bought a house in. Parker had thought he’d love it.

Then he’d met his boss.

“You do that.” She hesitated, and he saw the hesitation in her eyes. It reminded him how young she was. Mollie Ferguson had to be in her early to mid-twenties, far too inexperienced for the responsibility of managing such a demanding place. “This means a great deal to us, Mr. Hollis. A great deal.”

“I’ll do my best.” And thanks to her, he’d have to check his books out and leave without finding the book he’d been looking for. His lunch break was over, damn it, and the research they’d planned on doing into hexes would have to wait another night. He’d have to hit the library again tomorrow night, see how extensive their witchcraft section was.

“Thank you.” She turned on her heel and marched away, every line of her body rigid. But at the end of the row she paused. “Thank you,” she repeated. This time it sounded genuine and so achingly uncertain that he wanted to help her despite her status as a certified pain in the ass.

Parker sighed. He was surrounded by crazy, and that crazy now included him. “You’re welcome.”

She regained her composure and took off, her heels clattering down the wooden stairs toward the front of the library.

“Is it my cologne? Is that what attracts them?”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean the crazy? I thought it was your sparkling wit.”

“Never mind. Let’s get out of here.” Parker went to the front desk to check out his book, thoughts of strange neighbors and witchy enemies subsumed by his boss’s panic.

“Hi, Parker.”

“Hey, Steve.” Parker grinned at the cheerful young man behind the counter, determined to get his books and get the hell back to work before Mollie Ferguson made his life hell.

Amara stepped out into the night air and stretched, more at peace than she had been in a long time. Her commune with her tree had gone a long way toward easing her concerns.

Now she needed to find out how things had gone in her absence. It had been roughly two weeks since she’d entered her tree, but it was hard to pin down an exact time. Time moved differently for the forest than for humans. It was slower, measured in seasons rather than hours, and it was easy to lose track of the days. If her tree hadn’t given her a gentle reminder she was needed in the human world, she would have happily stayed there till the first snows fell.

Amara yawned. Right after a bath she’d need to call her boss, Rock, to let him know she was back. She hoped whoever had covered her shift had been nice to the kids in the learning center. Some of the people who worked at the ranger station could be downright scary. After that, a trip to the secret garden was in order. She had to make sure none of the weeds had grown. Besides, it would be a way to help her mind return to the human world.

She entered the house and picked up the phone, dialing her number for work. She wasn’t certain why Glinda had insisted she get a human job or keep the human house, but she trusted Glinda’s instincts. The witch had never been wrong when she spoke in that magical tone. So Glinda had made sure that she got the degree she needed to join the Forest Service.

“Hello, Big Savage Mountain Ranger Station, Ranger Ian Rockford speaking.”

It always amazed her how deep his voice was. Any lower, and only werewolves would be able to hear him. “Hey, Rock. It’s Amara.”

“Done communing?”

“Yup.”

“Then I expect your sexy ass in gear tomorrow. We’ve got kindergarteners coming through, and you know how much they love you.”

Amara smiled. She loved dealing with the youngest members of Maggie’s Grove. It wasn’t until the older residents whispered in their ears that the children became afraid of her or acted belligerent toward her. It hurt like hell when it happened too. Those sweet faces would turn away, and she’d never see their happy expressions again. “Thanks, Rock.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Amara hung up and wandered upstairs. She started the water in the claw-foot bathtub, eager to wash away the last of her stress. Things had gotten odd recently, and she wasn’t quite certain how to deal with them. The pull to go next door and see what Parker was doing, stare into those beautiful eyes of his, was nearly overwhelming. Fighting it had taken a toll on her peace of mind, forcing her to commune with her tree and let the world fade away. But it hadn’t.

He hadn’t, and now she had to decide what to do about it. There was something about the vampire that drew her in a way no one else ever had, and it scared her almost as much as it fascinated her.

She peeked out the window toward Parker’s house while she waited for the tub to fill. She wondered if the community had welcomed him yet. He’d probably never lived anywhere quite like Maggie’s Grove. There wasn’t any place in the world that could match it.

She hoped he loved it the way she did. No matter what else had happened to her, how isolated she’d felt growing up, she’d had Rock and Glinda to get her through. It had been enough, and for them she loved this town and everyone in it. She turned off the water and peeked out one last time. She laughed out loud when a familiar car pulled up to Parker’s house.

Parker was about to meet the Maggie’s Grove equivalent of a welcome wagon.

The doorbell rang as Parker finished his dinner. The stale taste of the bagged blood mixed with his usual nighttime snack was nowhere near as nice as the blood Greg had provided, but he was getting used to it. Until he could find a human willing to sacrifice a few drops here and there, he was stuck with what Greg called BRE: blood ready to eat. At least he could cut the taste, unlike other vamps.

But there weren’t enough rose leaves in the world to disguise the flavor of a BRE.

He stashed the bag in the fridge and ran to the door, wondering where Greg had gone. The ghost had been awfully quiet this evening. The television was off and the radio was silent.

He opened the door to a young man standing there in jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt, his blond hair scraped back from his forehead in a low ponytail. He smiled, warm and inviting, reminding Parker of the time he’d gone with Greg to a gay bar. Half the men there had hit on him; the other half had hit on Greg. It had been a while since a man had hit on him, and if he did, hopefully he wouldn’t be offended when Parker turned him down. He looked like a nice person, but Parker’s interest didn’t swing that way. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. My name’s Brian Cunningham.” Brian shook Parker’s hand. “The city council sent me. Can I come in?”

Parker’s brows rose. What in blue blazes could the city council want with him? As far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Um. Sure. I’ve just finished unpacking, so things are a bit messy.” He shut the door behind the shorter man. Brian’s gaze swept the hallway, taking everything in. He finally lit on Greg’s urn. “I heard you’d lost someone recently. The town wanted you to know we’re sorry for your loss.”