Blood of the Maple

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 found 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.”