7. Invasive Species
SEVEN
INVASIVE SPECIES
Invasive species are those non-native organisms that disrupt the natural equilibrium.
They often come bearing irresistible gifts.
Take, for instance, the Black Swallow-wort, also known as Dog Strangling Vine.
If not for its bewitching purple flowers, millions of acres of ancient woodlands might still be standing.
One must be sensitive to ferret out invaders.
Carefully observe and record any changes in the energy that flows through your environment.
You may perceive these changes with any or all of your senses.
You may recognize them as a diminished aura or a strange, unpleasant smell.
Some say that they can even hear the dissonance caused by invasive species.
–EXCERPT FROM THE MUDPUDDLE MANUAL OF NATURAL MAGIC
It wasn’t a long walk home from the coffee shop. Maida’s apartment complex was a short ways down the beach. The sunshine had already melted away the marine layer, making the sand along the water’s edge sparkle.
Naturally, all the clever flirtatious things that Maida might have said to Cormac Vorador came to her now, when it was too late. Not that she would have said them, even if they had occurred to her. She wasn’t looking for that kind of relationship.
She reviewed the encounter in her mind, anyway. She wondered what Addy might say if she called him. When she called him. Maida suspected the younger woman possessed enough confidence for the both of them.
It still didn’t add up. The knowledge of his wealth and success only eased some of Maida’s concerns.
It implied that he wasn’t interested in her family’s fortune.
But it did nothing to quell her impression that he was after something, and whatever it was, he didn’t seem the type to accept no for an answer.
She shivered and pulled her wrap closed as the breeze picked up again. It sent a chill through her.
Maida’s thoughts circled back to her father.
She’d put him off for far too long. She could phone him back now, from the payphone by the beach, but of course she wouldn’t.
There were too many other people around.
She couldn’t call home from a public phone.
Someone might overhear something and figure out who she really was.
Maida wasn’t willing to take a risk like that.
She’d finally gotten exactly what she wanted: a simple life in the real world.
She’d fought hard to escape the airtight bubble her father had constructed for her.
Granted, her world was lonely?. But so was the alternative.
Her childhood had not been terrible. It had just been strict, solitary, and devoid of freedom. Breaking the rules was never an option.
From the time Maida was very small, her father had left her in the care of a diminutive Irish nanny, whom she’d affectionately called “Granny” Luna.
Although Granny Luna wasn’t truly Maida’s grandmother, it often felt like she was.
Instead of smuggling treats for Maida, she’d smuggled stories.
Granny Luna had been full of ghost stories, enchanting folktales, and bewitching fables.
These types of tales were forbidden, of course, but that didn’t stop Granny from sneaking them.
Most of the tales were of a cautionary nature.
For example, if Maida expressed a desire to explore the quaint old neighborhoods of Boston, Granny Luna might caution, “Careful. You never know what you moight be findin’ when you go knocking about those old walls, child…Have I ever told you about the Boggarts?”
She had to wonder now if these frightening stories were part of her overall plan to shelter and protect the eager, inquisitive child Maida had been.
But as fanciful and fabulous as the tales Granny told were, she’d insisted that they were all just “made up malarky.” Granny Luna drew a wide line between fact and fiction in Maida’s daily life.
She always had a logical explanation ready for the curious coincidences and strange events that seemed to rain down in Maida’s wake.
Once, when Maida was seven, she’d randomly plucked thirteen four-leaf clovers in a row.
Granny Luna attributed this to a genetic mutation in that clover patch.
When thousands of crows followed her home from school on her twelfth birthday, Granny pointed out she’d put freshly roasted peanuts into Maida’s backpack.
And when Maida mentioned that she sometimes felt she was reading people’s minds, Granny told her to stop being silly. She was just imagining things. Her father would never abide such nonsense.
Some might have described Buffalo Westabrook’s aversion to magic as puritanical. But there was no religious basis for his intolerance, unless you counted science as a religion. Buffalo insisted on sticking to the facts.
“The truth! Nothing but the truth!”
Just not the whole truth, she’d often thought to herself. Maida felt sure that there was more mystery, magic and wonder in the world. Science was constantly playing catch up and falling short. There were no logical explanations for things like the origin of DNA or human consciousness.
She pictured her father’s fist slamming on the table, determination in his deep-set eyes as he shut down any such musings.
There was no arguing with him. The more Maida tried to discuss these sorts of things with her father, the more intransigent he became.
He’d even suggested that her free spirited mother’s predilection for such esotericism had led to her death.
By this, Maida assumed he meant drugs. They almost never spoke of Larkspur Lathrop, and when they did, it was always in hushed tones.
“I almost lost you too, Maida…I cannot accept that kind of risk in my life ever again. That’s the end of this discussion.” After this, her father would pour himself a whiskey and retreat to his study.
Even as an adult, living on the opposite coast, Maida still felt the weight of her father’s disapproval.
She was sure Buffalo would have been happier with a more practical daughter.
One who was down to earth like him. He should have had a daughter with a PhD in engineering or statistics.
He deserved a daughter who was more outgoing, interested in the environment, and willing to help with his business.
Instead, he was stuck with her—a whimsical, artistic, magical-reality loving loner who didn’t share his passion for saving the planet.
She’d had no choice other than to distance herself from his disappointment.
It was too heartbreaking for both of them to experience it on a near daily basis.
He would never approve of her and her offensively woo-woo “lifestyle choices.”
This didn’t mean she didn’t love her father.
She desperately wished there was a way to mend their relationship, that didn’t require her to hide her essential nature.
After all, they only had each other. Maida recalled Buffalo’s last two messages as she climbed the weathered wooden stairs from the beach, back up to street level.
“Blasted boulders! Why aren’t you picking up, Maida? I’m going to be out of pocket for a couple of days and I really wanted to speak with you.”
This was followed by another message.
“Fine. If you won’t pick up my calls, I guess I’ll have to send Will to pound down your door.”
And then there was that last message from Will.
“Your dad’s on his way to Kenya. There’s something he’s asked me to discuss with you. I’ll be in Laguna tomorrow. Call me.”
Was Will really coming all the way to Laguna Beach?
Guilt settled around her neck like a yoke.
What if her father was sick? She swiftly dismissed that idea.
Buffalo would never send his personal assistant to deliver serious news like that.
Yet, his voice carried a subtle sharpness.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t trivial. What was so dire that he had to foist his PA on her?
If Maida was whimsical, Will Porter was wacky.
She didn’t have any problems with Will, per se.
She simply couldn’t reconcile the fact that her father had no problem working intimately with someone who openly celebrated solstices and equinoxes.
Not to mention the way her father pandered to Will’s many superstitions.
Will had insisted they renovate the elevators in the corporate HQ to make sure there were no mirrors facing each other.
Will Porter enjoyed his own special set of rules and exceptions, ones that applied to him, and him alone.
“Will Porter can light sage in your office, yet I can’t even cross my fingers behind my back?” a teenaged Maida had once objected.
“Will is an employee. He’s not my daughter.” Buffalo had been unapologetic about the double standard. “But for the record, that poor kid has no family to speak of, Maida. He has a real knack for getting doors to open. Everyone loves him. It seemed like a harmless gesture to indulge him.”
Her father had been right. Once Will wormed his way into your heart, there was no turning back. It was impossible to dislike him. He was like the older brother she never had, the one who got away with everything. As infuriating as that was, somehow, she didn’t hold it against him.
It could be something simple. Perhaps her father wanted her to attend some party on his behalf? It wouldn’t be the first time someone requested her presence at a West Coast gala event. That was out of the question, though. She’d sooner pose naked for a figure drawing class.
A block later, she was standing in front of her apartment building. Maida hitched her bag up to her shoulder and began climbing the spiral metal staircase snaking up the side. She lived on the fourth story but rarely used the ancient, slow elevator.