Black Mist: Budding [on hiatus]

1. Sinking into an Abyss

Each of the last few days, they went someplace new to Amp and cast, their magic running wild and out of Control. Jonathan always passed around the vial of Amplification to everyone. They each drank a good amount from it, far more than Alastair had before, and when he gulped it the first time, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He became immediately dizzy.

"Whoa, slow down there, Charlie Sheen," Keira had steadied him.

"Is it supposed to feel like I'm getting smushed?" he shouted.

"Do you want to get smushed?" Keira asked, stepping closer.

"I don't think so," he shouted again.

"Why are you shouting?" Cesar asked.

"I don't know," he yelled.

"Try casting, even just a bloom," Keira said, sitting him down on a bench.

He lifted his hand, and his usual charcoal mist swirled out and around, glowing darkly like it was lit from within by an obsidian bulb. It twisted into shapes without his bidding. Keira bloomed a dark fiery orange that encircled his.

"Whoa."

"I know, right," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Cesar waved his hand in Alastair's face now, pulling him from the memories. He chugged more Amp, adding to the many gulps he had already taken today. Alastair felt like he was sinking into a very pleasant abyss, and although part of his Consciousness told him to fight it, he let himself fall. The Amplification potion swept over his body until he felt nothing at all but power and magic.

««•»»

Today was the day. Rose was on a scavenger hunt to find anything she could about her family, her lawyer, and her trust. Rose laid low the first couple of weeks she was back in Avery's house, not wanting to stir up any trouble. She learned last year how short his temper was. And she had the scars to remind her in case she forgot. As if. She stared over her shoulder in the mirror at the three long fat scars that criss-crossed down her back. And that was just for saying something innocent. She hadn't meant to offend him, but alcohol and anger were a bad combination.

She had discovered last year that there was a trust in her name somewhere, money that belonged to her. She was going to find it. Rose made her way down to the empty kitchen to eat breakfast, Avery having gone off to work about an hour ago. She poured the healthy cereal that looked like dog food into a bowl and added sugar, drowning it all with rice milk--Avery didn't drink regular milk because it made him sick. The oat bran squares were actually pretty tasty.

Avery was her guardian and had been since her great aunt died last summer. Not that she had lived with Marie long either. A month and a half, maybe. After her parents died when she was little, she had bounced from placement to placement, institution to institution, landing finally at the Central Youth Recovery Section, or curse as the patients called it, of the California State Mental Hospital. A home for the disturbed. Just like her mother. The doctors diagnosed her with schizophrenia. People who couldn't see the magic thought she was crazy. And that's where Marie found her last year before bringing her out here to New York City.

But even though she had been rescued from the asylum, last school year had still been marked by some of her lowest lows. With Marie dying and Avery beating her with his belt, Rose was overwhelmed. She didn't speak. She couldn't speak. At all. Not to anyone. Well, almost. Rose had confided in one teacher, Bennett. But then he died. And Tommy. She had talked to Tommy. Rose put her hands over her purple face as she thought about Tommy Roarke and his hypnotic smile. And his muscular arms. She had started the year hating him, but by the end, they had a bond: neither one of them had a place to call home, except the school. She was probably going to see him Monday for summer school, which made her burning face twist into a tiny grin.