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Chapter 12~ The Best-Looking Houseplants in the Northeast
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After the subway ride to Upper West Manhattan, Kit felt a little more settled into herself. Every step she took was a step closer to Brooklyn and closer to home. What she knew about the Bronx was limited to horror stories and news reports. But, at least in Manhattan, they didn’t look so out of place. And at least now she didn’t have to listen to Bernard’s complaining as the glitter and lights of the tall West End buildings had caught his eye. West End was decked out in the finest Christmas decor New York could offer. The sidewalks were blanketed in a fresh coat of snow and ice. And the people walked by without a single look at one another. Although West Side wasn’t much besides condo and apartment buildings, it still held a cozy warmth that Kit had dearly missed.
“Wow,” Scott remarked, eyes to the sky, “We should’ve landed on one of these buildings.”
“Don’t get excited,” Charlie said, “All the action is several blocks down. Now, are we even sure what to say to this Flora Mae once we see her? She may want nothing to do with us.”
Grandpa Scott chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry, Charlie my boy. With the exception of Jack, Legendary Figures are good at heart and really do want what’s best for the world. I wouldn’t be surprised if Flora Mae took after her own sister.”
Kit huffed out a breath that froze in the wind and drifted far away from her. She shoved her hands back in her coat pockets and balled them up tight. She had the address memorized and stuck behind her eyes. Despite her grandfather’s hopefulness, she knew the truth. New York didn’t mess around, especially during the holidays. This city tended to harden people and Manhattan was no exception. She tried to picture what this Flora Mae might look like. If she was indeed anything like her sister, she was probably some flower-covered goddess with silver-golden curls that tumbled behind her shoulders, skin kissed with snow and sunlight. Eyes like melting ice and a gown crafted of silks, satins, and some undiscovered magical fabric that glittered like diamonds.
Maybe she was exaggerating a bit.
“There!” Charlie pointed out, drawing the attention to a red-bricked townhouse just a little bit further down. The group picked up the pace until they stood by the steps leading up to the black-iron door. It was a quaint-looking thing and reminded her of the places grandparents rented out for themselves when they decided it was too much work trying to get out of New York.
Kit swapped a look with Bernard then back at her father.
“I want you all to let me do the talking. I know Father Time and Mother Nature well. Maybe this Flora Mae knows about me…well, you know….me,” Grandpa Scott said, puffing out his chest a bit.
The rest of them fell silent as Grandpa Scott ascended the steps and rang the buzzer. Nothing happened for a while. And it even crossed Kit’s mind that Flora Mae might not even be home.
But, the door did open, just slightly at first. Half a face could be seen hidden behind the door, staring back at them. And a hand, a rather wrinkly hand, curled itself around the door.
“I told you before—stop pestering me for donations. Carrie Glennsdale two doors down would love your annoying sap stories. Goodbye.” The door swiftly began to close.
“Wait!” Grandpa Scott exclaimed, stepping forward. But, the door slammed closed.
The group stood silent for a few moments.
“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Kit asked, glancing at the house numbers on the other buildings around them.
“Of course we are.” Grandpa Scott rang the buzzer again. Silence. More silence.
The door cracked open again.
“I’ll call the police if you don’t get off my property now. I mean it!” the little voice behind the door crowed.
“Are you Flora Mae?”
The closing door stopped in its tracks and creaked open a little more, revealing half of the face again.
“How do you know my name?”
“My name’s Scott. You, well, you know me as Santa Claus. This is my son Charlie and his daughter Kit. And this is my head elf, Bernard. Your sister sent us to see you.”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“Mother Nature sent us.”
The face fell silent and suddenly the door opened all the way, revealing a short, thin elderly woman. She wasn’t at all what Kit expected. Her skin was shriveled and looked like the color of walnuts. Her hair was a frizzy, charcoal black and was combed back from her face, revealing eyes the color of spring leaves. Her thin lips were turned down but pink as cherry blossoms. And she wasn’t dressed in mysterious fabrics but instead in a cream and gray sweater and a dark gray tweed skirt. Some remnants of youth still hung upon the woman, but they were buried behind something that Kit didn’t quite understand.
The woman eyed them up and down, still deciding whether or not the group was a threat before muttering, “Well, I suppose you should come in.”
**********
Walking into the home of one Miss Flora Mae, legendary deity nearly as old as time itself, was almost exactly as Kit had imagined (now that her expectations had gotten their latest update). The real hardwood floors were worn and dusty as if they’d once been put well into work but now were hardly touched. That was the first thing she noticed. And, truthfully, that should’ve given her clue enough to how Flora Mae lived. The walls hadn’t been updated since the 70s and still had that awful fake cherry wood paneling that Kit detested. But, she didn’t mind so much since every inch was covered in picture frames filled with photographs of people Kit didn’t recognize. In fact, she hardly ever saw the same people in a picture twice. The group was led slowly into a kitchen that opened up into the living room and the rest of the home. The furniture matched the ambiance with its worn-to-threads look and general mustiness. She had a loveseat. Kit couldn’t remember seeing a loveseat since she was five. But, what caught her eye in the blank, unattractive room was the few pots of lavender and parsley that sat in the kitchen window. They looked beautiful. In fact, every living thing in the room looked in the best shape possible.
Kit tried not to stare too hard but kept her eyes low and on Flora Mae herself.
“Hey,” Bernard whispered beside her. He led her gaze to a simple antique alarm clock on her many cluttered shelves. But, this one stood out and was spaced apart from the rest of the junk. The face of the clock had been messily tapped up in dusty black plastic so you could no longer read it.
Kit eyed the thing down and found Bernard sharing her discomfort for once.
“Maybe she’s a lunatic,” Kit mumbled under her breath.
“She’s a legendary figure. They all have their own type of insanity.”
They were led past the kitchen and into the living room where Flora Mae lowered herself onto the loveseat. She kept a death glare on each of them.
“Mr. Scott, I’d like to know why you know my name and why you’ve been sent here.”
Kit suddenly made a face, shocked at this. “You’re kidding, right?” she blurted. Charlie and Scott glared at her. Bernard dropped his head in his hands.
“Kit—”
“December 22nd has been repeating itself for days now. Have you not noticed that Christmas hasn’t come?”
Flora tightened her gaze and crossed her hands over her knee, chin tilted slightly higher than usual.
“I don’t celebrate Christmas.” She spat the word out a little too harshly for Scott’s liking. But, the group had fallen silent. “And you’ve got an awful quick mouth on you. A very disrespectful one indeed. What is your name?”
“Kit Calvin. I’m here with…” she turned to Grandpa Scott for support, but he had looked away, “…with my grandpa.”
“Well, Ms. Kit Calvin,” she said, spitting out the consonants as if they didn’t belong in her mouth, “next time you open your mouth, consider whose house you’re currently in and who amongst you has the power to call the police for your criminal trespassing.”
Something tight in Kit was suddenly wrangled loose and she sat there flustered, embarrassed, and defeated. She hated it and the house.
Grandpa Scott moved forward as Kit and Bernard seemed to drift into the background.
“Ms. Mae, you see, for several days now, each day has started off as December 23rd and the earth is being terrorized with weather extremes from tornadoes in the west to blizzards like those we see here in New York. And it’ll only get worse.”
Flora tipped her chin up at him. “I don’t see how that concerns me.”
“Well, we believe this all has something to do with the disappearance of one of the members of the Council—Father Time. If our sources are correct, you may know him fairly well.”
At the very mention of the name, Flora Mae’s muscles tightened and her skin crawled. Her eyes darkened and her typical scowl grew even heavier. She stood slowly, eyeing down Grandpa Scott with sudden resentment.
“Your sources are wrong, Mr. Scott. I’ll have nothing to do with that man nor have I ever had anything to do with him.”
“But, surely you must have known him somehow.”
“Yes,” Flora sneered, “I knew him once as a scoundrel and a dreamer and nothing more. I’ll not have his presence spoken of in this household. That is final.”
The room fell silent. Only the street noise and steaming of a nearby teapot filled the void. Kit suddenly couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. She felt the most unwelcome that she’d ever felt in her whole life. She nearly felt in danger. In the search for a comfortable place, she latched a hand into Bernard’s. He looked at her at first and knew it too. Flora Mae was to be of no help after all.
“Alright,” Grandpa Scott hesitantly continued, “but we could still use any help we could get. Your magic is something of a legend, Ms. Mae. If we could use your services to create a tracking charm or to slow the intensity of the storms—”
“No.”
“What?” Scott leaned forward as if to hear her better.363Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYGfDmxcYm2
“I said no. I do not practice magic anymore. I have not cast a spell or conjured an object in well over 400 years and I plan to keep it that way.”
Bernard suddenly chuckled and shook his head. “You’re joking. An immortal who doesn’t use magic? It’s unheard of. Even those with the simplest amounts of power still use magic any chance they get.”
Flora furrowed her brows and looked away. “I no longer believe in the good nature of magic. I find it to be destructive, manipulative, and—” she paused, glancing over to the cluttered shelf on the wall and to the mauled alarm clock, “…tasteless.”
She stood suddenly and moved behind the group, nearing the door.
“Well, I hope my unfortunate lack of information has discouraged your band of criminals enough to abandon your quest. There is nothing I can do to help and chasing after that man will only bring you to ruin. Good day.”
She reached for the door and swung it wide open.
The group stood still, their hearts and minds sinking into the reality of their situation. Their last lead. And she was holding the door just itching for their absence. But, Kit could only think of her mother. What kind of future was left for her? At least she would be able to see her eyes each morning before she’d head off to work—that is until the storms destroyed New York itself.
One by one, they left for the door. Charlie took the first steps, not even bothering to look at Flora Mae. Next was Grandpa Scott who looked as if his whole world had been ripped from him in just moments. Just as it had. And soon, Bernard’s hand had also fallen from Kit’s. But, she stayed, not knowing what difference it would make.
“Kit,” Charlie called after her.
The houseplants were pristine. The vibrancy and youthfulness of the leaves contrasted just about everything else in the house. There was life there; you only needed to look for it.
Kit turned to admire the lavender once more. It wasn’t even springtime, and they were already beginning to bud as if they just couldn’t wait to see the sun.
“Your lavender is beautiful,” Kit said softly, “Like the color of clouds in a spring sunset.”
She smiled, already feeling the warmth of spring tickle the very hairs on her arms. “I can’t wait to see the spring.”
She looked back over to Miss Flora Mae who still held the door but looked fazed. No, more than fazed. The darkness had drained from her eyes. Her shoulders had fallen back and she looked taller. And she no longer looked like a shriveled walnut but stood firm and unmovable like the oldest oak in the forest. Her lip trembled just slightly, but her gaze into Kit’s was impenetrable.
“Thank you,” she said. “I like the spring, too.”
Kit took a second longer before dropping her eyes back to the deadened hardwood floors and leaving the same way she came.
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