Earth and Ash

His house was immaculate, all grandeur and gold. Gilded frames of priceless art that reflected off the perfectly polished marble floors and columns that accentuated the unnecessarily tall ceilings. Everywhere you look there is proof of wealth; on one side there is a wall of water cascading into a pool of precious stones, on the other, a wall is draped with a tapestry that must have taken an age to hand weave- the story of some civilisation long since lost to time.

The table in the entryway alone would have cost a small fortune, carved from a single piece of rose-quartz and polished to perfection; little flecks and veins of gold could be seen floating just beneath its gleaming surface. The table's sole purpose, besides being another hint at the depths of the pockets behind its purchase, was to hold a bowl- mother of pearl inlaid of course, for guests to place their keys in. I highly doubted that the bowl had seen a set to a car worth less than my humble apartment. I cringed at the thought and walked by, keeping my own set tucked safely within my pocket.

We continue on, bypassing the hallways leading off each side of the foyer and entering into the central room. The lofty ceilings of the entry were dwarfed by the enormity of the space we now stood in. My guide, a slender lady who had introduced herself as Mr Quintens personal assistant, clicks across the floors with purpose as I lag behind and gawk.

Before us stands a wall of glass, at least three stories high where it disappears into the upper levels of the estate, and the width of a modest ballroom. I use the term ‘modest’ loosely, as I am not entirely certain a ballroom is capable of such a description, but comparative to the rest of the house this space is rather modest. Simple cream coloured walls with curling gold filigree and wall sconce torches dispersed among tall vases of fresh blooms spanned the three walls that disappear behind the glass.

‘This will be your main workspace,’ Loleita, the PA, says, turning to me. She’s stopped by a door that sits discreetly on metal tracks that allow it to slide open without interrupting the view- And what a view indeed. The glass gives way to a sea of green interrupted occasionally by bursts of vibrant colour. Plants of all varieties dominate the space, a space I know will be expansive despite only being able to see a short way in, the swaths of green obscuring the depths beyond.

‘After today you won’t be using this entry, there is a side door you can access that I will show you on the way out, and a series of halls you will use wherever possible. The door has a code unique to each staff member that will track your coming and going, Mr Quinten takes security very seriously.’ I nod my understanding as she flips through a stack of files on her clipboard.

‘I can have a digital copy sent to you but in the meantime,’ she hands me some papers, ‘this is a map showing the locations of all the flora that need your attention. Any rooms that are redacted do not require your services.’ I nod again, glancing at the pages and noting the green squares that appear to denote the presence of plants- one page per floor, at least four floors. I have my work cut out for me.

‘I’ll leave you for a moment to get oriented with the Grove, it is Mr Quintens most valuable room so it will take priority. I will come and collect you shortly.’ With that she turns on her sensible three-inch heels and clicks out of the room.

I take a breath. Overwhelmed doesn't quite capture the entirety of what I am feeling but it is close enough. I take another glance around the room, it feels like even my thoughts could echo in this empty space and I don’t much like the idea of that. I roll the papers and tuck them into my back pocket, grip the slim metal handle and slide open the glass entry into the Grove.

Stepping inside my first thought is that it is much warmer than I had anticipated, humidity clings to me like a wet blanket and a faint hissing sound gives away the misters that must be tucked away. I immediately need to roll my sleeves and every breath feels heavy, but not necessarily unpleasant, it’s as if I had portaled to a jungle island and any second I was sure to be accosted by bugs.

Thankfully there are none, but there is also a distinct lack of the glitz and glam that had pervaded the rest of the house thus far, and whilst I am pleasantly surprised, I am also a bit confused. 'Most valuable room' had been the words the woman had used to describe it, and as a gardener I am more than aware of the exuberant prices some plants could fetch, but it is difficult to comprehend them costing more than a fountain that dumps water onto a bed of literal diamonds.

I move forward, treading carefully on the stone path that waves its way deeper into the room. Even the path was thoughtfully laid, flat sandstone interspersed with tufts of vibrant moss. My eyebrows hit my hairline as I recognised the particular type, it’s an extremely rare and very fussy variant, one that can occasionally sprout tiny purple flowers before going dormant for months. I hum my appreciation and take extra care where I step as I inspect the other inhabitants of the space.

I murmur the names of each plant as I wander by, marvelling at the variety. Most are in great health and arranged in such a way that feels natural yet artistic at the same time. I can see the occasional sign of wilting and a smattering of dead leaves that will need to be pruned but there is no sign of disease or pest infestations.

The room grows ever warmer the further in I tread, it accompanies the light that is trickling through breaks in the foliage and I find myself picking up the pace to find the centre of this treasure trove. The deeper I go I start to see a smattering of dust over the plants, whoever was here before me has either been gone a while or neglected to wash the time from these leaves since there would be no wind or rain to do it for them. I make a mental note to take care of it when I start my work here.

I press on, eager to find the focal point of this garden as I am certain there must be one.

A ring of sandstone converging on a magnificent fountain is the answer. It is set within a clearing that is dotted with all manner of cosy places to lounge and is met on each side by stone pathways that curl away into the green. I am still on the edge of the space, gawking at the carved stone centrepiece when a voice pulls me from my reverie.

‘Beautiful isn’t she.’ His voice is smooth and rich with a timeless accent. My eyes slice to the seat the voice drifted from and land on an incredibly well-dressed individual draped in a hammock chair. His face is upturned, eyes closed and a serene smile lines his face. He somehow makes the gently rocking fabric appear as regal as a throne, the cut of his suit unrumpled somehow despite his relaxed status. I realise that I am staring and I have yet to respond.

‘Yes, yes it is beautiful. A truly wonderful collection.’ I manage, though I find myself rather breathless. His eyes open to meet mine and my breath hitches, those eyes are not the eyes of a human. His irises are entirely bleached of colour save for an outline of deep red and it feels as though they can peel back my skin and look inside. My own eyes are wide and I take a nervous breath, unable to quell the slight tremble that pervades my hands. My reaction draws a chuckle from him, revealing pointed incisors behind his grin and in no way quelling the fear that has entered my mind.

‘I didn’t mean the plants,’ he blinks and looks away, gesturing to our surroundings, ‘though they are wonderful I will admit, nothing can compare to her.’ He gazes towards the ceiling and I step out from under the shelter of the canopy and allow my gaze to follow his. I have to squint now that the light is unfiltered by leaves and my brow furrows in confusion.

Hanging from the ceiling above is a round, gilded cage containing a flaming light, it looks like a tiny sun hovering between the bars. ‘What is it?’ I ask, eyes starting to water.

‘She is a Phoenix. The light of life, and the closest thing I will ever get to feeling the sun's warmth again. It has been an age since I saw the world in daylight. It can take a toll on a man, but since I found her I have found a modicum of peace. The plants like her too.’ He adds with a shrug unfolding himself from the chair. He turns to me again and this time I can see the emotion hiding behind the depths of his mysterious eyes. A tinge of sadness in his smile. He holds his hand out to me.

‘Sorry how rude, the name is Cassius. Cassius Quinten. Welcome to my home.’ I wasn’t sure what to expect, it is difficult to form a balanced thought when you agree to working for a vampire, but he is still somehow unexpected. He looks young, younger than me with his immaculate black hair and perfect skin, but it’s like I can feel the years he has lived. He walks and talks with the patience of someone that has all the time in the world, yet he has the heaviness of someone that has experienced multiple life-times of pain. I grasp his outstretched hand.

‘Tomas, Vanderhalt, your new gardener sir.’ His handshake is firm and cool despite the heat coming from above. The realisation hits me.

‘Sorry, did you say Phoenix? As in the bird made of fire?’

‘I did indeed. Glorious creatures. It’s the only way I can keep this little oasis going. Only way I stay this side of sane too. The darkness can drive an ordinary man mad,’ He adds with a wry smile.

‘I don’t believe you are an ordinary man Mr Quinten. But I understand, I’d go mad if I was stuck inside all day too.’ My eyes widen as I realise what I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean-’ He cuts me off with a gesture.

‘Not to worry, I know you meant no disrespect, and please, call me Cassius.’ I nod in acquiescence and scan the room again.

‘How did you come to find so many rarities for your collection?’ His answering smile is full of glee and pride.

My question sparks an elaborate conversation where our passion for rare and ostentatious plants collide. He waves Loleita away when she comes to collect me and decides to give me the tour of his home personally and I am once again awe-struck by the enormity of the fortune this man must have.

My thoughts about the map are confirmed as each green box is pointed out to me in the tour, and though nothing quite as impressive as the plants in the Grove, it is apparent they are still a source of pride.

At the end of the tour Cassius walks me to the door, thanks me for joining his household team and promises to chat to me again when we next cross paths. I feel almost dazed as I leave, like I have left his world and re-entered reality.

I dream that night of flaming feathers and diamond chandeliers, of ballrooms full of faceless people and lifetimes filled with only plants for company. I dream I am flying at one point, and I am on fire but I do not burn. I wake and find myself needing an extra cup of coffee to shake the dreams free before I head into work.

~

It took me a week to memorise the code that let me in the side door. Three weeks before I stopped getting lost in the hallways and two months before I memorised all the plants outside of the Grove. I never even tried to memorise all the ones inside, Cassius was always finding space to add more anyway.

After the first year I got used to his unusual eyes, though it took far longer to get over the fact that they let him see in the dark.

I never saw him feed and never thought it polite to ask about it but he would often order meals that had once been his favourite for me to try.

I had asked him about his human life once, I think that was in that first year also, but he brushed off the question stating that ‘it was hardly worth remembering’ so I never asked again.

The work was steady, never too demanding, just three days a week and he paid well enough that it was all I needed. After my second year working with him he bought me a car, I nearly fell over backwards when he handed me the keys but he shrugged, saying he’d rather I not be late if my old rust bucket breaks down. Gardening is not a time-sensitive job so I knew that his excuse was nonsense but he refused to hear my arguments. He threw a comment over his shoulder, as I sputtered my refusal, that his dining set could buy him three more if he so wanted and that shut me up. Now I had a set of keys worthy of that mother of pearl bowl in the foyer, not that I ever used it.

The work was quiet, therapeutic almost; Cassius would often wander into the Grove and chat with me as I toiled or other times I would find him draped in one of the many chairs lavashing in the pseudo-sunlight beaming from the Phoenix suspended above. A few times I caught him in conversations with himself, or the plants, or the bird- I was never quite sure. But every time I interrupted him he would shoot me an apologetic smile, murmur something about ‘old habits’ and fall silent. It was those moments that struck me deeply, the thoughts would linger as I worked.

I thought of what it must be like to live for aeons, knowing countless people, but always out-living them, meeting people and always knowing that it would one day end for them and not for you. I wondered if he still mourned the companions of his past lives or if he had become numb to the loss. Sometimes I wondered if I was projecting my own loneliness onto him.

He had asked and asked and asked for years if I would come to one of his galas and I had always refused, uncertain of how it would feel to be in a room full of extraordinarily wealthy non-humans; seeing as I didn’t much socialise with humans anyway. The Vampires, for the most part, kept to themselves and I was supremely good at supporting that choice, a simple man with a simple job and an avid avoider of fuss. But five years in I could no longer deny my friendship with Cassius, nor the pleading in his eyes as he asked me to stay for the revelry after my shift.

The party had been lavish, I had expected no less. Cassius had a suit set aside for me that I suspected he’d had tailored specifically as it fit like a glove, though he had been kind enough to keep it more understated than the ostentatious ensembles that he was always seen in.

As I’d descended the stairs into the ballroom I’d had to quash the feeling that I was an amusement to be displayed, just a silly human man who kept the plants in order. I tried to act like I belonged but the curious eyes that I felt on me and the glinting of fangs that were revealed in bursts of conversation were a constant reminder that I was other in this regard.

I’d kept to the outskirts of the party, lurking in the shadows between the lanterns that flickered around the ballroom and nodding occasionally to those passing by. Cassius dripped with charm and everyone was drowning in wealth, ‘immortality does wonders for investment’ a gentleman, who I’d promptly forgotten the name of, had said when I’d remarked on their apparent fortunes in one of the very few conversations I had held.

I’d stopped going to the galas after that and Cassius stopped asking, I think he grew to understand my particular preference to keeping socialising to a minimum.

~

Twenty-eight years I worked for Cassius. Lolieta lasted seven, left to run some finance business’ office or something. Marcus had only lasted two years, he fell in love and last I heard was living on a yacht with his husband and was doing well. I stopped remembering who came and went after that, I’d occasionally see a new face pop up and I’d say hi but they were usually gone before I realised they’d even started. Cassius seemed to remember every name he’d ever heard though and I often wondered how he didn’t get lost in them all.

The grove became more my home than any other place, I never grew tired of it, nor of the Phoenix that let it thrive. She would sing for me sometimes, it sounded like wind coaxing embers to flame and I adored the sound. When I was alone I would talk to her, speak of the world outside that she couldn't see, I was certain she understood me and I often wondered if she wished she could see the things I spoke about. Cassius overheard me asking her as much and insisted that it was her choice to stay. He told me that he had once tried to convince her to leave so she could be free but she had refused, perching on the fountain until he built the cage she now lived in. He’d admitted that he believed she was a fragment of his soul, a part he lost when he’d relinquished his humanity. I wasn’t convinced but it seemed to bring him peace so I never said as much.

~

Twenty-eight years, Tomas Vanderhalt worked for Cassius Quinten. Twenty-eight years he spent tending to the plants and bathing in the warmth of the Phoenix. He probably would have stayed another twenty more had time permitted, he had said as much one day when Cassius asked why he stayed so long. ‘I like the plants and the pay is good’ he’d shrugged, they both knew there was more to it than that, but neither had pressed the question.

Humanity already limited the time they could share; cancer stole even that.

Cassius moved Tomas’ hospice bed into the Grove for the last three days of his life, they spent them talking about nothing of consequence and drinking whiskey that outdated them both. On the last day Tomas whispered his final words in thanks and slipped gently into the next world.

As the silence settled, the Grove dimmed to pitch darkness and tears turned to mud on Cassius's face as they mingled with the ash that rained from the gilded cage above.

The inferno had dimmed to an ember, a Phoenix farewell.