Protector

The first time is happens, Alexander is twelve, left for the summer in Oregon with an uncle who has an unfortunate predilection for pretty young boys. His family either does not know or does not care - if the latter, it is because the uncle is close to a Senator, and has much influence. The Grants will forgive almost any deviance if the person committing it has power.

Alexander spends as much time as possible out of the house, deep in the forests that climb with stately splendour to the sea abutting his uncle's property. They are wild and dark and grand and beautiful, and Alexander would be willing to remain among the trees for days, were he given the choice.

It is the depth of the woods, while hiding from his uncle's greedy eyes, that Alexander happens upon the meadow.

It's beautiful. Surrounded on all sides by forest, it should feel strangled, threatened, but it does not. Instead, it's one of the loveliest things Alexander has ever seen, a rich swath of emerald green beneath a covering of vibrant foxglove. That in itself is off, because foxglove isn't common this far from the shore, and this area is too different from the plant's natural habitat for someone to have come out and planted them here.

Nevertheless, despite the meadow's mystery - or perhaps because of it - Alexander is drawn into it, stepping carefully through the graceful stalks, heavy with their flowers. A soft wind rustles the trees around and set the boughs to dancing, and Alexander smiles. He hasn't felt this peaceful since the last time his mother held him and told him she loved him - years ago, now, because by family custom (and a general unspoken rule of the rich and famous) he is a young man now, and cannot be coddled.

The sun is warm and soft on his shoulders, sweet like honey. He laughs, and there must be some strange echo in this place between the trees, because he is certain he hears someone laughing back.

He stays out that night until long after dark, and come back the next day as soon as the sun rises.

But something has changed.

Now, instead of being confined to the meadow, the foxglove is spreading - has spread, in a way that should not have been possible in the space of one night. They stretch out like a carpet beneath the trees, filling the air with their soft scent and turning the shadowy of the dimness of the forest to the dark pink seen at sunset. They're almost to the very edge of the forest, and Alexander knows there's nothing natural about this.

But he's a child still, for all that he's a Grant, and this is a thing of wonder. He won't question it, not until he must. Instead, he makes his escape into the fragrant lavender twilight of the forest, hearing sweet, chime-like laughter on the breeze.

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Nine days before his fourteenth birthday, his uncle comes into his bedroom in the middle of the night. He tries to touch Alexander, even as Alexander tries desperately to flee. He is terrified as he has never been before, careening through the dark house with the sound of heavy breathing on his bare back.

Help, he cries.

Help me.

Anyone.

His uncle rounds the corner after him, hands flying up to claw at his throat. He gasps and chokes on nothing, tumbling to the ground.

But it not nothing.

Alexander watches the dark pink petals tumble from his uncle's lips and thinks distantly, Foxglove. He's choking on foxglove.

They're lovely and perfect, the same ones that he wandered through all afternoon, and their sweetness fills the house until he cannot breath for the smell of flowers.