Page 64 of Among the Screaming Trees

His hands rake though his unruly hair. He looks primitive and powerful, yet vulnerable and unsure whether my questions will answer his. How do we do this and not take five gigantic steps backward? We were a one-night stand, an anonymous tryst with no identifying information and no regrets. Until we were student and lecturing doctor the following week.

“Yes, Aspen.”

“I’m down to a lily and an orchid…”

“I’m not supposed to…”

“Not supposed to what? Be honest with me?”

“It’s not that simple, Asp⁠—”

“But it can be. Dr. Bonner. I’m going with ghost orchid: Dendrophylax lindenii. Are you my Larcher?”

He’s been quiet for so long, I almost think he’s forgotten the question directed at him. He finishes his coffee, tipping the last few drops into the sink and washing out the mug.

“Forget it. I just thought… but you’re a teacher. I’m so fucking stupid.”

Bonner whirls around, his damp hands spreading droplets all over the floor I had dried this morning with towels from a cupboard next to the camp shower. In two long strides he’s upon me, the same hands cradling my cheeks. The shock of his actions surprises a squeak out of me, and Fox answers with a rumbling growl. These three alpha males are all territorial in their own way.

“Yes. I’m your ghost, Ms. Aldereyne.”

I sink to my knees, with Jackson following me down. My ghost? How? Then it hit me. The bar and his studio. We were only supposed to be a memory, not a continuum. At the end of his first class, he told me he didn’t want to stop, both of us knowing the implications of any student-teacher relationship. That’s why he was a Larcher. He could hunt anonymously with no fear of reprisal. An Ash is supposed to identify her Larch gift by herself, only asking for further assistance if the year is drawing to a close and she still hasn’t identified the specimen, or the suitor. Bonner knew I couldn’t speak about it to anyone until I’d exhausted all other avenues. Neat, clean, tidy, and secret. Just the way he’d planned. I can’t meet his eyes when I whisper, “Thank you for your⁠—”

“Don’t you dare do that, Aspen. Don’t cheapen us to the Larch and the bar. We are more. You know that; I know that. Six hours ago, my cock was buried in your ass. Does that sound like past, or trivial to you?”

No, it does not. Every time I clench, I can still feel him there. I can feel all of them on and in various parts of me still. And Elijah occupying my conscious thoughts. He knows Malchoydian Pepperberry grows somewhere near us. And Jackson knew the cabin’s location.

“Tell me more about the Pepperberry growing near here. Where it is and how it got here. Are you aware it also grows in Colorado, Doctor?”

“Yes. The Colorado plot was planted by your father.”

“The screaming trees…”

“Yes. He taught me in one of his classes. Me and another student took a keen interest in the tree and the medicinal possibilities. When I said I believed in your father’s research and his good name, I meant every word, Aspen. Dean Grundy and I supported your father. The disintegration into drink must have come later, because his research, following on from your mother’s, was exceptional.”

“Losing your love might be a driving force to disintegration, Doctor. I’m sure you’d agree.”

He slams a palm down hard on the floor.

“No way. I’ve lost love, too. Drowning isn’t the answer for everyone.Some of us continue to push on every day, drowning in other pursuits.”

“Like pussy?” Luk asks.

“No, Lukaz. Work. Doctorates, research, published articles.”

“Oh, sorry, man. I just figured otherwise.”

“Jackson, if you were so focused on work, did you and Dad continue to work together, or did it all fall apart when he did?”

He pushes up to a sitting position, staring at the fire still crackling away on logs so old and brittle, we should add another one. But if the chopper arrives, we will need to extinguish it, clean the hearth and reset the paper and logs for the next inhabitants. I’m not sure how we replace the food we consumed though? Someone has to maintain this cabin. Washing the basic linens and replenishing the toilet paper and packaged food.

“When you started teaching, was that here in Alaska, Doctor? Why teach instead of continuing research or working in the private sector?” With his degrees, Bonner would have his pick of a host of jobs. The same for Elijah. So why teach, unless they are combining their university obligations with private sector work as well? And why are the Pepperberry trees here? To my knowledge, and it’s patchy at best with this kind of thing, my father only ever came to Anchorage, and that visit was brief. He despised the cold, only suffering through Colorado winters because his sister lived nearby and that’s where he met Aster.

“My dad never came to Wyldan,” I tell him, studying his face for any clues.

“I wouldn’t know, Aspen. We lost touch after… after your mother passed. I read the articles and saw the comments. I was at a conference in Boston where the mention of his name was like the spread of leprosy. That was… difficult.”

“Why?” I demand. “If you lost touch, and he was just another one of your old lecturers, why was his sullied reputation such a burden to you. Your concern and historical empathy are touching, but questionable.”