Black Mist: Budding [on hiatus]

8. Someplace to Call Home

The next couple of days carried on in a pattern for Rose: sleep, read, pet the cats, reapply cream, eat, sleep, read, pet the cats, Calendula, sleep, eat, read. Rose didn't enjoy any of these tasks, but usually just felt a blank sort of numbness. For the most part, her defenses were effective, and she was able to keep her feelings pushed way down deep. She didn't feel at all, until she did. Often when Alastair was in the other room, Rose would find hot tears sliding down her cheeks. Sometimes she didn't even realize she was crying until they splashed on the pages of one of his books.

Alastair's mother worked a lot, Rose noticed. She would be gone for long spans two or three times a day. She would bustle into the room wearing nurse scrubs and apply the Calendula to Rose's back or Swelling Salve to her eye and cheek, fix food, and then leave again. But, on Rose's fourth day there, she didn't leave at all.

Alastair was sketching on the couch when his mom sat down across from him at the kitchen table two days before Christmas. She spoke in a low tone, and he thought it was so Rose wouldn't hear.

"I'm meeting with Rose's law guardian today--" she held her hand up at his shocked and angry face. "Her lawyer. We are going to transfer her care over here, so she will never have to live with Avery again. While we're there, I want you to go to his house and collect her belongings."

"We?"

"She's coming with me."

"Mom, I don't think she's going to want to do that."

She sighed, "Probably not, but it's what has to be done. Go let her know she's coming with me to see her lawyer, and we'll make it so she will be safe from now on."

Alastair trusted his mother completely, but this seemed like a bad idea. He went tentatively into his room to find Rose again reading from his old textbooks. She held her hand out to her side and bloomed a lovely dark purple shade, swirling it into a ball of glowing petals.

"Chlorogenesis, huh?" Alastair said, sitting down next to her. He reached his hands toward hers. "You have to place your fingers just so." He moved her thin fingers until they formed the correct position, like Grant had, but nicer, and a tangible aubergine rose burst forth. She recoiled, holding the stem gingerly to avoid the thorns.

Alastair laughed at the expression on Rose's face, a mixture of shock, excitement, and pride. "Well done."

She shook her head, flushing red, and setting the flower down on the bed. His eyes shined such a bright shade of blue.

"So, listen. My mom has an appointment with your lawyer today," he paused as Rose sat up straight. "She wants you to get ready now."

Rose stared at him, unbelieving. She nodded slowly, then shook her head no.

"I know, but Rose, it will be for the better."

No, she shook her head again. She pointed at the cut up punk band T-shirt she was wearing. She could not go out like this.

"Hold on."

Alastair left the room and returned moments later, handing her a flowery dress, which she pulled on over her other clothes. Rose walked stiffly into the living room, full of anxiety that gnawed at her insides like rats. She hadn't left this apartment since arriving, and she really didn't want to now. She prayed it wasn't the worst, that they were going to send her back to his house. She couldn't imagine that Alastair would do that, but she didn't know his mom. Maybe they were going to put her back in foster care. That was not likely to be worse than Avery's, but you just never knew what you were getting in the foster system. Sometimes a nice family, sometimes an abusive one. Sometimes a group home, sometimes a psychiatric lockdown.