Page 20 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

He frowned, scanning the hillside. “Hello?” he ventured.

Silence. But he could still feel her eyes on him.

With a dismissive shrug, he turned to walk away. “I didn’t expect you to be a coward,” he tossed over his shoulder.

There was a hissing of sand. “And I didn’t expect you to be a fool.”

He turned slowly toward her voice. There she was, just past the thick cactus barrier, leaning casually against a boulder. She wasn’t even looking at him, instead gazing off to the north, as the fitful wind tugged at her filmy skirts.

There you are. But she wasn’t the only one who could pretend nonchalance. He shrugged again, turned away, and continued on the path back to his campsite.

After only a few steps, the sand rustled behind him again, and he stopped walking but did not turn around.

“If you bury my supplies,” he said lightly, “I’ll just go buy more. I’ve got an American Express card and plenty of savings. Hell, I’m just petty enough to cash out my 401k.” He tugged at the cuff of his overshirt, listening.

The rustling stopped, and for a long moment there was silence—or as silent as the desert got, whispers of wind and sand, the buzz and chitter of insects, furtive hints of animal movements just out of sight.

“Am I to be honored?” Her voice came from in front of him, and a moment later she stepped out into his path, her luminous green eyes steady on his face. “You have endless money, and you will spend it all to disturb my peace.”

Ethan inhaled, willing himself not to tremble at her nearness. It almost worked; when he replied, his voice was close to nonchalant, though the tension beneath it had to be palpable. “I’d rather not. I’m already in the hole a few thousand dollars because of you.” The cacti were thin enough here that he could get past her, and so he did, striding out into the sandy wash.

She fell in beside him, matching his pace. “Then don’t spend it. I have asked you to leave. You can leave now. I will not pursue you. I may even return your drone, if you promise not to come back.”

Ethan didn’t turn his head, though the waft of her hair in his periphery was maddening. “So you know what a drone is.” The word had sounded strange in her voice, though she’d said it easily enough. “And here I thought you were a mystical desert goddess, all nature and…and magic.” He turned to look at her then, needing to see her response to the m-word.

Her expression gave him nothing. She shrugged. “I live in the same world as you, the same century. And I am no goddess.”

“Aren’t you?” Now that he was looking at her, he couldn’t look away. Up close, her brown skin was dappled with green, delicate freckles on her cheeks and larger spots scattered over her shoulders, like sunlight was shining on her through spring leaves. “What’s your name?”

She scoffed. “Why should I tell you?”

“You’ve declared war on me,” he said, resisting the urge to catch a lock of her hair, see if it was as soft as it looked. “I should at least know my enemy.”

A frown lined her brow, but she did not answer.

“It makes for better lamentations,” he coaxed. “You know, when I lose and I have to rue the day I dared to challenge the random-gorgeous-desert-woman-who-says-she’s-not-a-goddess-but-yet-remains-nameless. That’s a lot of syllables to cry out to the uncaring skies.”

A smile curved her freckled cheeks. “When you have been defeated,” she said in a soft voice, “you may curse the day you met Mara.”

“Mara.” His foot caught on a half-buried rock, and he turned to watch his path. “Two syllables is good. And that final ah makes for a good dramatic hold. Like, um…” He stepped out into a wide stance and raised his hands high in dramatic agony. “Maraaa!” he cried out, doing his best Marlon Brando. “Maraaa!”

“Yes, very good.” She kept walking. “You may howl like that as you leave. Perhaps with more anguish.”

He caught up with her swiftly. “I’m not leaving, Mara.”

“I did not say you could use my name now.” She slanted him an annoyed glance. “Unless you are admitting defeat?”

“Nope. Sorry, Mara.”

“You will be sorry, Ethan.” She mimicked his emphasis. “Your fool’s armor will do you little good this day.”

Ethan sighed. “You could just ignore me and let me do my work.”

“I cannot.” Her voice was like stone.

But stone could be worn away, with time and friction. “My career depends on this research.”

“And what do I care for your career?” She was suddenly in front of him, hair and dress flowing from movement so fast he hadn’t seen it. “You have a job,” she said with scornful emphasis. “My garden is my…my life. My life, and my soul, and… You must go.” Was that heartbreak on her face? Something was broken, even if it wasn’t her heart.