Maz stands by the kitchen doorway, one foot in and one out, watching Eli stand still by the kettle with his back turned to her.
You can pretend for one more day that everything is under control.
She listens to the rain pattering at the lounge window behind her. It grows louder as it quickens underneath the dry ticking of the wall clock’s second hand, the roars and pops of the kettle’s death rattle and, in her ears, the thrumming of her pulse, joined with his that runs ever so slightly ahead as his fingers tap-a-tap along on the countertop to both beats.
Everything’s too loud, and still, none the answer.
With a dash for the counter in two steps, she stretches her arm past him and yanks the kettle’s plug out of the wall socket.
“We’ll have coffee on the way to work.”
Eli shuffles back in place of a nod. He draws the mint tin from his pocket, his thumb running across the sunken serpent embossing on top before he places it in front of the kettle. The lid resists his attempt to open it until his other hand comes to the rescue.
This is it, then.
The corners inside the tin, where the lump of scales used to stick together and tumble into, now hold only grey smudges. The last scale at the centre, shrunk to a sliver and turned matte black, not far off a chip of charcoal, stains his fingertips dark when he plucks it out. Taming the urge to carry on with his tapping, his pinky flicks a hollow rhythm at the air well under it. He presses its edge against his palm. It bends under its own frailty until it snaps with an unremarkable click and a small puff of dust. He holds the halves out towards Maz.
The thunder outside recites the ritual for them as they share a look.
She reaches for her half, getting her fair share of the black stain, and tips it onto her tongue. Her eyes find the ceiling.
It’s probably for the best that it has no taste. No sting. No hiss. You can’t even tell if you’ve just eaten plastic or the memory of something that wasn’t actually there to begin with.
Ahead of the calendar alert lighting up the screen, she slides her phone out from her pocket, and without waiting for it to make a sound, she marks the seventh square.
That’s it. You’ve done the seven scales, in halves, as obedient as you can be to your past selves, in seven antsy days. Is it now? Wait for it. How long are you supposed to wait? What exactly are you waiting for?
Eli brings his palm to his mouth and tilts his head back to swallow his in silence. As he dusts off his hand, his glance at the fridge slides off, avoiding the shades around the magnets, and swaps with a stare at the wall clock.
What if it already happened and we missed it? What if nothing happens because we did it wrong? Could it have been possible not to do it right? How would I know?
When Maz closes the mint tin, the dark residue from her finger leaves a smudge on the dented snake on the lid.
Something’s going to be different now, isn’t it? This should be the part where you notice at least a thing or two righting themselves.
The clock hand stops halfway to the following second’s notch. It begins to roll back to the line it has just left behind, but the minute pointer moves quicker, snapping to the previous mark. As it rewinds, a noise grinds out of it, akin to stone dragging against stone, and scrapes its tick along backwards to another past minute.
Maz’s gaze shoots up to join Eli in watching the clock. The seconds continue to go back as the minute hand alters its direction and rushes forward. It locks onto the upcoming marker, then the next, and ticks on in leaps of whole minutes, mimicking the sound of an ordinary timepiece, but without wasting another moment to sweep through the seconds in between the lines, until it has skipped seven. After taking a pause, it resumes as it should.
Eli huffs through his nose and steps closer to the sink.
Clearly that wasn’t enough to weird me out, but… was that it? Something like that happened in The Archive before. Right. Maz was looking at the mirror when the pub name on it did a trick. Then what did we do?
With a slight twist of the tap’s wheel handle that makes it whine, he turns on the water, eyes on the trickle and its straying drops beating against the drain in a stiff order.
I’ll pick up on it if anything changes, right? Will it be a thing I’d be aware of?
Maz’s eyes drop from the clock and onto her phone.
Maybe that was the ‘seven’ the comments were talking about.
She swipes at the screen, opens the RegalRoute app, loads her story, and scrolls to the comments section.
***
“To light the door’s true seam in the dark, one will choose for you to forget the seventh.”
– Weaver
“When time steps on madness, seven is a cage, not your key to heed.”
– Mod
***
The tip of her nail clicks on the side of her phone, triplicate galloping strikes matching both their heartbeats that thump louder in her ears the longer she stands beside him.
What do they mean? As far as you know, you can still count, and the seventh, of either the scales or that clock, would’ve been pretty tough to overlook.
She holds the phone firmer and locks the screen.
You must’ve missed a step.
The darkened glass keeps only her reflection on it, eyes shining golden before she watches them close.
Whatever this is, it’s beyond silly. It probably had nothing to do with the scales, since, yep, it did definitely happen last time you tried to quit. Maybe it’s something you were supposed to say in that scratching minute. Or do. Unless they’re answering a completely irrelevant question.
Eli turns the water off when a silhouette appears at the edge of his gaze.
Right. Shadows. They’re going to have to keep waiting like everything else. I’m moving on.
“So.” He closes his eyes before he turns to her and opens them again to meet hers.
“That’s seven, then.”
“Yep. We’ve done it.” She slips the phone into her pocket.
“Do you feel… different?”
Maz holds the sides of her neck with both hands, elbows raised, as if to form a fortress around her mind that might trap the thoughts before they can discover a fresher tangent to ping off on.
‘Fine’ would be almost ceremonial. ‘Empty’ may as well be a new lie that nobody asked for. ‘Curious’ is practically the same as ‘too lazy to phrase the question’.
A shake of her head follows.
Eli’s fingers picks at a loose thread on the side of his jeans.
“Gone through the full schedule of our own instructions, and nothing’s changed.”
“Well… something has.”
“What?”
Maz averts her eyes.
“Us.” She steps out of the kitchen.
Eli turns to the counter, letting the toe of his boot latch onto the bottom drawer handle and pull it open. He reaches back and slides the mint tin into it, by the takeaway menus and the broken magnets.
It looks way too small in there. Smaller than it felt in my pocket. Yeah, perspective, but smaller than on the counter. Smaller than anything that’s run my life for a week should look once it’s done.
The drawer gives a clattering thud that misses the point to serve as a hiss when he boots it shut. He meanders after Maz into the hallway.
“We should go.” She pulls her coat from the hook.
“Ron said we need to be finished with the basement today.”
“Right.” He throws on his jacket, unlocks the door and holds it open for her.
“Obviously.”
His hand wavers over his pocket where the mint tin used to be.
Last chance for the basement to come up with an explanation.
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