Page 2 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

Mara wanted to reject the words, to cast them away, but she could not. “That is the problem,” she said at last. “How can I live? We did not even—” Regret clawed at her gut. If only. If only. If only.

“Yes,” Ofelia said simply.

Mara turned away again, sharply this time, stepping out of range of her friend’s arms. “I wish to be alone,” she repeated, wrapping her arms about herself like a shield.

Ofelia let out a gust of a sigh. “Then I will leave you to your hermitage.” Her hand ghosted over Mara’s shoulder. “But you are not alone. Not entirely. We will await you.”

There was a rustle of sand, and Ofelia was gone.

Mara straightened her back, cast her gaze down the hillside. The cacti were all in bloom, from saguaro to prickly pear, as well as the mesquite and the ironwood. All were sending forth their hopeful pollen into the world, begging for their line to continue, to be eternal. To persist, as all should.

Such a fool I was.

Mara sat again, stretching her energies forth to a barrel cactus, coaxing its fruit to ripen, fall off, bringing forth blooms again, a crown of gold above row after row of needles. There would be bats and birds and butterflies who would rejoice, drinking the nectar of her grief. Mara closed her eyes, melting into it, feeling her place in the world. Letting it wrap about her like a warm blanket.

It was wrong, of course. She was forcing the plants around her to meld with her, to match their cycles to her needs. But she did not care. There would be no harm, in the end; fruit was fruit and flowers were flowers, and that was how they lived and propagated and eventually perished.

She would live. And she would perish, someday, as Tristan had, if not as soon. But there was a wound inside her, one she could not fill. She had thought they had all the time in the world, leisure to live and love, and now she wished they had hurried.

Ofelia was right, of course. Tristan was gone, and he would never come back.

She could not bring him back.

But she could set the desert ablaze. She could cast her desperate, ill-fated love across the hillsides, make them flare in a memorial for the losses of cruel fate.

She had promised Ofelia that she would return, that she would rejoin fae society and live. And she would.

But she would never love again. Never offer her soul on a platter to be shattered like ice.

And for now, all she wished was to be alone, here in her remote corner of the Sonoran Desert. To be given her space to grieve what might have been. To enshrine her love to eternity, as she had promised.

Alone in the decadent floral halo of her memorial. Alone with the cacti and the sand and the immensity of her grief. Alone as long as she needed to be, until she was able to bear the presence of others. Until she was done being dramatic and could return to being pragmatic.

Until then, this corner of the desert was her solace and her solitude.

“You’re fucking crazy, going out to the middle of the desert alone like this. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Ethan muttered, digging in his drawer for his old SD cards. “But you know how it is. My department head let me know that my potential tenure is riding on me delivering something concrete they can use to finagle more funding. Publish or perish.” He dropped them into his worn gym bag; they clattered against his sample jars and equipment. He’d have to sort it all out eventually, but for now he didn’t much care for order. He needed to leave.

“That’s a metaphor.” Javi slammed his hand on the desktop. “It’s not supposed to be taken literally.”

“Isn’t it?” Ethan unearthed a flash drive at the back of the drawer, glaring at it for a long moment before stuffing it in his bag. Another thing to sort out.

“Not at all.” Javi leaned his hip against the far edge of the desk. “What exactly has you all fired up, bro?”

“Satellite photos,” Ethan said absently as he rifled through his drawer of file folders. He had one for every plant native to the Sonoran Desert, and every invasive species besides. He pulled them out and stuffed them into his file crate, the one with wheels and a handle. Neither of which were going to do him much good once he got off the beaten path, but he would manage. “They’re not right.”

“How can a photo be wrong?”

“They just are.” Ethan locked his gaze on Javi’s. “I have to go.”

Javi crossed his arms, annoyance obvious on his face. “This isn’t about Sarah, is it?”

“Of course not,” Ethan lied.

“It is.” Javi pushed off the desk into a belligerent pose. “You’re running away.”

“I’m not.” Ethan sighed, plopping down into his desk chair. “Okay, I am.”