Aster Alloway's Arc

Chapter 26 of 26

The storm still shook the shed, but the cold worried Aster more than the wind now. She knelt by the pot and touched the shoot's stem. It felt stiff. Her breath fogged in the sealed room. The mirrored ball hummed its song, keeping the spores lit, but a living plant needs warmth, not just sound. She had trapped the cold inside when she sealed the doors. Frost crept up the window quilt. By morning, the shoot would freeze and die. She searched the shed for anything that made heat. No stove. No lamp but the eternal light, and that gave off no warmth. Her puffy coat kept her own chill off, but the shoot had no coat. She rubbed her four hands together and thought hard. She could not open the door without draining the song. She could not stay warm without breaking her seal. A sharp knock hit the sealed door. Aster froze. "Who's there?" "Delivery." The voice was flat and young. "Package for the florist." Aster remembered the boy in the orange vest from the groves, the one who told her how to pass the carnivorous shrub. But this was a different messenger, older, city-worn. She cracked the door only a hand's width. Rain blew in. A scruffy teenager stood there in a bright orange vest, his cracked helmet plastered with stickers, a wet box under his arm. "Avery Blaine," he said. "Bella sent this. Said you'd need it tonight." He shoved the box through the gap. "Sign here." Aster pulled the box in and shut the door fast. Inside sat a small metal cat, shaped round and grinning, a glowing fire flickering behind a window in its belly. Warmth poured off it at once. A soft purr rumbled from inside, steady as a heartbeat. She held her hands to its glow and felt the heat sink into her fingers. The door still hung open a crack. Avery watched her through the gap, rain dripping off his helmet. "That thing purrs all night," he said. "Won't quit. Bella figured your plant was cold." He glanced at the glowing bud. "You're the one everybody's counting on. Must be nice." His tone said it wasn't. "Thank you," Aster said. "Truly." He shrugged and climbed back on his bike. "Don't thank me. Thank her." He rode off into the dark before she could answer. Aster set the purring cat beside the pot, close but not touching. Its fire threw warm light across the soil. She sealed the door tight again and knelt to wait. Slowly the room lost its bite. The frost on the window quilt shrank back. The shoot's stem softened under her touch. The spores stayed lit, the song stayed in, and now the warmth stayed too. By the time the storm faded, the shed was warm and glowing. The shoot lived. Aster leaned against the wall and let herself rest. She had beaten the freeze. Years of nurturing still lay ahead before the bloom would open.