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BY Jen B. Green
Herbs, a Flask, and Spaghetti Water by Jen B. Green
When a mushroom starts causing havoc in a park, two Greens are called in by Enforcement. Powerful Greens can handle all things plant related. But Lucy and Lina are only pretending to be Greens, so how can they survive the mission?
Chapter One
“I’m not a mushroom expert, so why me?” I asked Lucy, dipping my head so my blonde bob obscured my lips, even though our observers were in the next room. You could never be careful enough when you had secrets to keep. I reached down to help her pack the backpack she dropped at my feet.
“They had my name down somehow, and I can’t actually do anything about it,” she murmured, angling her head toward mine. “But you can. Grove leadership sent Enforcement to our house and we’re the only ones here. There’s a problem at Mills Park and so I need your help.” I angled the backpack so she could slide her handful of herb and dried flower packets inside, though why anyone would bring burdock and cornflower petals to check out something mushroom-related was beyond me. And was that catnip?
With a cheeky grin, she wiggled a flask into the backpack, then a jar with a lid that told me it once held spaghetti sauce. Now the jar seemed to hold water.
I had learned to trust Lucy’s intuition, but spaghetti water?
“Yes, spaghetti water.”
“I didn’t say anything!” I protested.
“You didn’t have to. Your face said it for you. For the herbs, I can’t see what I need to bring, but the water will be important.”
We stood, and she raised her voice so the people in the kitchen could hear, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears. “Can you come along to assist me?”
Lucy was perky, petite, and strong enough to handle herself, but she was listed as a Green while she was here under our protection. Her Green skills weren’t up to this. They weren’t even real. Silently, I wrapped two glass beakers in a towel and grabbed a set of slides and stains, a scalpel, a magnifying glass, and some spore paper from the top shelf in our workroom. I tucked them into the bag beside her random collection of herbs and spaghetti water, pressing my lips together as she handed me the backpack and turned toward our audience.
Lucy taking the lead was probably best. I would monitor my reactions, but masking that hard always took a toll on me, whereas Lucy actually enjoyed the challenge of acting. It was better to let her be their focus. She would direct their attention where she wanted it, and my job would just be not to draw more attention to myself. Besides, they thought she was the mushroom expert here.
As it so often did when I was under stress, my brain went into computer mode. Despite their plant-like appearance, mushrooms are actually members of the Fungi kingdom, which is very different from plants. In fact, mushrooms are more closely related to animals than plants, biologically speaking. Used for centuries as medicines and for their hallucinatory properties, they also play a critical role in decomposition.
The mental recitation calmed me. We could do this. I picked up a familiar bit of rope from the supply cabinet, patting it and letting it settle in place on my wrist with a gentle squeeze. Then I grabbed my water bottle and smoothed my face into as neutral an expression as I could and followed Lucy’s light steps to the kitchen. Two people stood stiffly at the table, their untouched cups of herbal tea abandoned on the table and still steaming merrily. Of course, Lucy had given them herbal tea, and probably overheated it in frustration after the summons. Angling my head down and slightly away, I managed to keep my face still as I examined the intruders.
The woman was of average height and build, just like me. She had stick-straight hair and a permanently creased brow that made her look older and very serious, despite a funky black leather jacket with silver studs on the shoulders. The taller man next to her was thin and gawky, his body angled slightly toward her to show that hint of deference that told me she was in charge. Both were dressed in unrelieved Enforcement black from head to toe, which gave me little hint of their magical affinities. Both looked uncomfortable and like they were fighting not to show it.
Neutral, neutral, neutral.
Lucy took the lead. “All right. My assistant, Fistulina, will come along.”
The two in front of me stiffened at the name and I kept a straight face with nothing but a lot of practice. Trust Lucy to mess with us all—Fistulina Hepatica was another name for the Ox-Tongue Mushroom, also called the Poor Man’s Steak. But the name sounded like an oozing sore. At least she hadn’t chosen one of the poisonous varieties of mushrooms to mock us with. What if they had interpreted that as a threat?
“Call me Lina,” I said, my voice shockingly calm and even.
“Lucy and Lina,” the woman parroted in a flat voice, eyebrows raised and forehead crinkled.
After several moments of awkward silence, Lucy darted back into the workroom for another jar of water. Then she extended her hand to the Enforcement officers in invitation and they sidled out the door, never turning their backs on us while simultaneously not crashing into anything in front of them. Lucy smiled, and I felt the corners of my lips curl before I flattened them again. Yes, we were dangerous, but if we had to show that part of ourselves, it would be bad for all of us. They were Enforcement, so they were dangerous, too. We would all have to behave to get through this.
The man opened the door to their predictably black SUV and gestured us toward it, but Lucy and I both shook our heads. “We’ll follow you,” Lucy said, and a bit of the tension clenching my belly released. “We have things to do this morning after we help you with your issue, whatever it is.”
“We prefer you come with us,” the man said, raising his voice. His hand twitched and I took a couple of steps away, leaving myself more room in case he decided to do something about it.
“I know, but that doesn’t work for us,” Lucy said. She turned her back on them and headed toward our truck, shoulders relaxed and hands swinging at her side, seemingly uncaring of their reactions. I was ahead of her, so her eyes were glued on me for warning if she needed to react.
Lucy continued her languid walk as I watched our visitors. The silence stretched thin, but before it shattered, the woman said, “That’s fine, John. I’ll ride with them and brief them as we go. You lead the way.” Her lips stretched thin over her teeth as she waited to be led to our vehicle. Lucy glanced back at me and I shrugged, surprised they had acquiesced so quickly. But Lucy seemed happy, and this morning was all about The Lucy Show. The Enforcement woman and I lengthened our strides and caught up.
“Very well,” Lucy said as she made her way toward the old farm truck we used for chores around the Grove. Apparently, we weren’t being friendly enough to take her nicer car. The truck was not only old, it was loud and worn, and with just the one bench seat we’d be up close and personal for the trip. And the gear shifter in the middle just made everything even more awkward. But the officer had chosen to ride with us, so I didn’t mind making her uncomfortable. Lucy managed to keep her grin under wraps, too, but I knew her well enough to see it peeking out every now and then. “And what shall we call you?” she asked as she slipped into the driver’s seat.
The Enforcement officer had picked her way through the plants, rocks, and stumps in our yard without flinching. When she saw the truck, her eyes widened, but she quickly got them back under control. “Officer Smith is fine. Please, go ahead.” She gestured for me to get into the middle seat of the truck, where I would be stuck between Lucy and her. I cleared my throat.
“No, ma’am,” Lucy piped in. “The passenger seat is always Fistulina’s spot. Just because you showed up and decided we needed to come with you doesn’t mean she needs to give up her seat.”
