Chapter Text
Thomas carefully cut a couple of thorny branches of his bush of blue roses. Painful as the thorns could be, they were important too. Thorns of blue rose bushes were a potent magic ingredient. Thomas himself wasn’t much of a potion maker, but there were plenty who could use these thorns. Not many people knew this, but blue roses didn’t exist without magic. Long ago botanists had made blue roses with magic, and from their efforts a magic plant had grown. It was one of Thomas’ favorites. Or well, it used to be. The rose had always meant romance to him, and Thomas had learnt by now he was no good at romance. Earlier this week he’d cut some of the most beautiful roses from his bushes and he’d given them to Lucie so she could use them in her bouquet and decorations. After being together ever since they’d all attended university, Cordelia and Lucie would be getting married today.
“Daddy!”
Thomas put the cut off branches away, into a bag and took off his gloves. He’d pricked his fingers more times than he could count on various plants and had taken to wearing them while he worked. He was a bit more resistant to plant based poisons than the average person, but he preferred not to take any unnecessary risks. He saw Rosa, running towards him. She was completely out of breath when she’d reached him, and her skin was a little ashy, but she looked better than she used to. She was wearing the bright pink wig she insisted on wearing, even if they had a professionally made wig in her natural dark brown hair color too.
“What are you doing out here, mija?”
“Grandma said to come inside,” Rosa said. “You’ll be late!”
Thomas checked his watch and realized he’d spent far longer out here in the gardens than he’d intended. He really had to go. He picked up his daughter, he thought the walk back to the house might be a bit much for her after she’d come running. She still tired easily, and recent blood tests had shown her hemoglobin was still low. None of that changed that she was already doing so much better. It wouldn’t be that long until she could stop her maintenance treatment too. Thomas hoped she would start growing faster when she went off chemo, she was so small for her age now.
Rosa pouted. “Are you sure I can’t come to the wedding?”
Lucie and Cordelia had suggested Rosa could be flower girl. Rosa loved flowers and pretty dresses, she would have loved to go. Thomas had agreed at first. Except a couple of weeks ago, Rosa had gotten another infection and had had to stay in the hospital for a couple of days. She’d probably picked it up at school, and at the wedding there would be so many people. Thomas had ultimately decided taking her wasn’t worth the risk. Her health was still fragile. He hadn’t told Rosa so she wouldn’t be disappointed if it turned out she couldn’t go, but she had overheard anyway.
“I don’t want you to get sick, mija,” Thomas said. “Remember when you had to stay in the hospital? It was only three weeks ago.”
“But I want to be flower girl,” Rosa said.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas said as he walked inside with Rosa in his arms. “We decided it’s still too dangerous for you. You know, you were flower girl at aunt Genie’s wedding.”
“But I don’t remember that! It doesn’t count.”
Eugenia and Kamala had gotten married when Rosa had just turned two, before she’d gotten sick. Before Thomas’ marriage had fallen apart. Oh how he missed those times, where he and Emilio had loved each other and had attended his sister’s wedding together. Rosa had loved it, even if she’d fallen asleep in his arms just after her “job” as flower girl had ended.
He and Emilio had even started talking about adopting another child back then. Rosa had loved the idea of getting a sibling. Then she’d gotten sick. Thomas still wasn’t sure where his marriage had gone wrong exactly, and if it had all been his fault. Perhaps Emilio was right and he’d made Rosa’s sickness all about him, but all he’d wanted was to be there for his daughter. She’d gotten better, it had been a devastating and intensive treatment, but the disease had gone into remission.
“I’m coming to pick you up from your abuelita again tomorrow morning,” Thomas said. “You like staying with your abuelita, right?”
Emilio was working today, Rosa usually stayed with him during the weekends, so she would be staying with Emilio’s mother instead. Rosa had a close relationship with her, even if she was still distant with Thomas.
“But I want to come with you,” Rosa said.
Inside, his parents were almost finished getting ready. Thomas still had to change into his suit. He was going to be so late, Lucie was going to kill him. It might seem odd, the way Thomas lived with his parents, but he’d only gone back to live at his parents’ estate a couple of months ago after he’d discovered Emilio had cheated on him. At that point, they’d already been sleeping in separate bedrooms, they’d already known they would be getting a divorce, but still… It had hurt, and Thomas had gone back to his parents. He worked here anyway, and the house was big enough that he and Rosa had their own part of the house. Rosa loved it here, at least. She claimed the estate was a castle, which made her a princess. Thomas worried about her sometimes, so many changes she would have to adjust too. She didn’t understand why he and Emilio didn’t live together anymore, not really.
“You still have to get dressed,” Sophie said. “I can take Rosa to Emilio’s mother if you want.”
Thomas had to agree that was the best course of action right now, and would save him a lot of time.
“Grandma is going to drive you, alright?” Thomas told his daughter. “Do you have everything packed?”
Rosa nodded. “I have Osito.”
Right. Making sure her favorite plushies were with her at all times could be a lot of work, and she didn’t sleep well without them. He’d searched every toy store for another Osito, but they didn’t carry them anymore.
“Okay. Have fun with abuelita. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rosa nodded begrudgingly as his mother carried her bags to the car. Thomas ran upstairs. Just enough time to get ready.
Alastair smiled warmly as he passed off the potion to the young woman before him, leaning comfortably into the feminine figure he'd adopted the night before. "This will ideally last your mother a week or two. Come back to me when it starts to run low."
The girl, Clara, nodded, nearly on the brink of tears. The potion wouldn’t save her mother, it wouldn’t even prolong her life, but it would relieve her from pain until she passed.
He found it frustrating that the potion hadn’t been approved for distribution yet. The formula was fairly simple, targeting physical pain while not affecting the emotional form, but the process of approving a new formula for legal distribution was long and expensive, and there were delays in trials due to its limits as a pain reliever. After all, much of physical pain was rooted in the psychological, and this potion would do nothing to ease the idea of pain in one’s mind. Alastair also found it convenient that many lawmakers had invested a lot of money in non-magical pharmaceuticals.
Nonetheless, people like Clara’s mother, past addicts, or relatives of addicts, or simply those who wished to remain clear of mind, rather than clouded by the side effects of opiates, sought out the potion through slightly more illicit means.
The pain relieving potion was hardly his most common stock. He’d always been skilled at potion making, and he wasn’t very picky over what he made as long as no one got hurt in the process. Sometimes, his clients came to him with a story: they had nowhere else to go, nothing else had worked, no one could help them, they lacked the proper documentation to acquire what they needed. Most of the time, however, they came and went without many words at all, and Alastair left his trust in them to use his services appropriately.
As Clara disappeared around the corner, Alastair began closing up his shop. It was morning now, the foot traffic in the Shadowmarket where he’d made his home these past years had died down much earlier in the night, with nearly everyone up and gone by the time sunrise came about two hours earlier. Alastair hadn’t intended to stay out this late, in fact he planned to leave early so that he could catch a few hours of sleep before the wedding, but then Clara arrived.
There was a fire in her eyes, a desperation, a hurt that Alastair felt so deeply in his own soul. He’d stood in her shoes before, willing to do anything it took to help his father, to save him.
Alastair hated how Elias’ death still stung, how his father still held this last inch of control over him, ten years later. In hindsight, Elias dying was the best possible outcome. Elias wasn’t like Clara’s mother, he never tried to get better, despite having every opportunity to, and in the end, he made his choice. It was better this way, better for Rostam, better for their mother, for Cordelia, and for Alastair, too.
Still, his heart ached for the young girl losing her mother to the consequences of the same terrible disease. She told him her part, and he looked at her. Does your mother know you’re here? , he’d asked. Does she want you here?
She shook her head. She told me to stop.
The magic it would take to save her would cost you more than she is willing to take.
Clara told him that she had money, but the cost he was referring to was never monetary. This potion, one that would keep her mother comfortable, was the best he could do. She’d agreed, and so he stayed. He stayed until the potion was finished and he sent her on her way, hoping that she would listen to him, and her mother, and stop searching.
After all, he’d fought the same losing battle, and it cost him everything.
As he packed away the rest of his stock, he slipped one vial into his pocket: the antidote to his face-changing potion.
On his way home, he looked for a safe place to change. It was easier at night or in the early morning, when there were less people and more shadows, but with a bit of scouting, he found an empty alleyway. He ducked in and took cover before taking the antidote. It was safest this way; wearing his mask of many faces at work and leaving it behind as he returned home. When he first began working the Shadow Market, he’d just started living at home again, and he never would have been able to forgive himself if he brought danger back with him to his mother and baby brother. Now, he had a flat to himself, but he’d already made a name for himself, the one of changing faces, and danger still rested in his identity being known. If he was honest, though, he enjoyed changing faces.
Over the years, he’d become comfortable with this identity he’d made for himself, and he liked being able to leave Alastair behind each evening to become someone else, anyone else. He’d acquired several forms that he would cycle through, men and women of different shapes and sizes. Now, it was bittersweet, leaving behind the person, the people he’d created, and returning to… Alastair.
Alastair was simple. A bit boring. His family thought he worked an office job, and that’s how he could afford his flat. They didn’t know that when they thought he was at work, he was sleeping, and when they thought he was sleeping, he was at work. Alastair was ordinary, but it was by design. He never again wanted to attract the attention of a man who would abuse him.
As he opened the door to his flat, he heard a cry from inside. Bob trotted quickly to the door. Alastair crouched down and ran his fingers through Bob’s thick white fur. “I’m late, I know. I’ll get you your breakfast, don’t worry.”
Alastair’s work and sleep schedule was irregular enough that he’d simply invested in a timed food dispenser, but he still tried to give Bob some wet food each morning as a treat.
Bob was a Persian cat with long, thick fur that had been thoroughly matted by the time Alastair found him on the streets. He’d tried to find his owner with no luck, but the kids in the neighborhood called him Bob, and so that was his name.
As he opened up the can of cat food, he checked the clock. It was already 8:30, which meant he would have an hour before he needed to leave to meet Cordelia for morning wedding preparations. Normally, he could spend an hour just fixing his hair, but he still needed to brush Bob and try to make it look like he’d slept in the past two days. He scrolled through his phone and saw several messages from his sister telling him not to be late. If only he’d been able to finish creating that potion for perfect hair, but, alas, he could never get it to move naturally enough. I’ll try , he sent before starting his morning.