Of course the hedges were changing.
Gold, he could deal with. Green? Living, breathing green? And they thought he
was the evil one.
“Wanda, go to the meat market on First
Street
“No way. I hate to be cold.”
“So do plants. Henceforth, the suit.”
Whether Wanda said more or not, he would never know. A tendril of ivy
trailed across the chapel floor and yanked his phone from his hand. Or was it a
Hooligan vine? Damn his childhood penchant for The Great Green Turkey Creek Monster.
He rubbed his temples and tried to remember what had stopped the Turkey
Creek vine in his favourite picture book. Music. Like the mice in
that play. But louder. A trombone.
Maybe his trombone would tame the plant-things staring him down. If only he
played the trombone. Or any instrument, for that matter. Instead, he’d asked
for science kits for his birthdays. Kits he mixed, matched, and created with,
in the meadow where mom couldn’t see.
It took a long time to grow an evil genius.
“What do you want?” Jamie surprised himself with the strength of his voice.
No quivering to match the roiling in his guts. At least he had that part of supervillain down.
But they didn’t answer. Plants never do. Unless…
Jamie placed his hand on his sister’s back. Gold she may be, yet she still
breathed. She should be safe until he returned. If he returned. He
waved to the plant creatures. “Follow me.”
They did. A little too closely. The mom-thing dropped a branch across his
shoulders. To keep him from running? Likely. A leaf – supple and sensual –
caressed his neck.
Bile rose in his throat. “Knock it off, mom.”
The tree-things shook. Leaves tinkled to the ground. They were laughing. At
him. “So, you’re not mom?”
More rustling. The branch arm snaked around his waist. Holy crap. He’d
attracted a plant. Wanda he could deal with. A tree crush? No way.
It was a long walk back to the clearing where Jessica first found the
flowers. Made longer under the weight of his new tree-girl’s arm. The softly
stroking leaves against his body.
He didn’t think she’d contaminate him. Rather, didn’t think she could. Evil
or not, he was – on some level – responsible for the rapid growth of the living
gold spreading throughout the local plants. And, as the scientist who created
the plants, he was afforded a certain amount of safety.
As long as he didn’t tick them off. Testing his hold on her, he brushed a
finger across a leaf. It turned bright red before settling into a pinkish
green. Perfect.
Now to get her to talk.
They passed through the clearing to the little creek gurgling in the
background. In their younger days, Jessica and he had called it the Pactolus in honour of the King Midas myth. They would spend hours panning for gold along the muddy banks.
His first real scientific success had been squeezing one tiny nugget of
gold out of his chemicals for his sister to find. Did she still sleep with it
under her pillow each night, or had she tossed it away like she had him when he
went to college?
He shook his head. Didn’t matter now. He had a new girl-tree to talk to,
and her hulking bodyguard to manipulate.
On the banks of the Pactolus, the reeds whispered in the wind. Jamie
scratched at a stem. A layer of green slime collected under his manicured
fingernail. The real deal. No gold to lie to him.
His second success. The truth reeds. He’d made it impossible for Jessica to
get away with telling a fib. He also learned the trick to getting plants to
talk. The spot where the wind blew just right and rubbed the leaves the wrong
way. They couldn’t resist.
He sat. His tree-girl followed with a graceful whump to the ground. A small
landslide ensued, muddying the water. The truth reeds groaned into the breeze.
They had a bit of OCD if he remembered correctly.
“What’s your name…er, genus?”
“Abutilon theophrasti, Medik.” Her words swirled
around him on a puff of wind.
Keep her talking. He turned on the charm. Lounged back with his feet
crossed at the ankles. Let his knee gently nudge hers. A white flower bloomed
under his touch and the tree-girl quivered. Her leaves tinkling. “Sounds sweet,
but I’ve never been good with foreign languages.”
She trailed a leaf across his cheek and grinned. Can trees grin?
“You can call me Velvet.”
The truth weeds rustled in disagreement.
Velvetleaf. The plant that engulfed Gran’s vegetable garden each year. He
pushed Velvet’s branches away. “You’re a tree not a weed. Try again.”
Velvet stiffened indignantly. “I’m a weed.”
The reeds bowed to her truth. Which made sense. Invasive. Murdering. Weedy.
Sucking the life from the countryside around it. Again he cursed his love for
the Turkey Creek plant monster.
The bodyguard shifted heavily behind him. Its leg-branch pushed on Jamie’s
spine. Unlike Velvet’s more supple bulk, the bodyguard had leaves of steel.
Impenetrable. Like the bleeding heart he manipulated for Gran so the dog
wouldn’t break the fragile stalks.
What had he done with it – scratch that – to it? Crossed it with
Teflon. Created a bullet-proof plant.
Jamie groaned. What other childhood fancies would get in his way?
Beside him, Velvet shook gently. As if to pull him from his funk. Her
leaves blossomed red, then pink and back to green. Flirting. “I know.”
Holy
crap! She could read his mind.
