The pub’s double door swings open and lets Maz and Eli step outside. The rain needles their cheeks as the wind makes the streetlamps shiver in their flickering light.
Eli’s footfalls are half a pace ahead of her. His hand reaches back every now and then, only to feel the dense air before getting anywhere near her.
If I touch her again, would there be another snap? It’s safe to assume that both the shop and the pub had wonky wiring earlier. We’re outside now, but… what if the snap doesn’t even have anything to do with physics?
He extends his arm back again.
I’ll let her be.
His hand drops before raising halfway and returns to the front. He hooks his thumb into the pocket of his jeans as he keeps an eye on her over his shoulder.
It looks like each of her steps is trudging heavier than the last, but she might be deep in thought after the – no, I’ll leave it. Moving on.
The street falls quiet around them as The Archive’s sign recedes. Down the way, lights in the upper windows blink out one by one.
Bus shelter posters announce nights that have already gone. Maz reads each one, even the ones that have been rained into illegibility.
Someone made those for people who wrote something. Now they’re just soggy evidence.
Don’t be daft. You did that. Yours is still there, still dry. Under some name that’s both familiar and all too alien. Just like the pub’s name.
Maz watches his boots landing on the wet pavement and spraying the slightest of splashes.
“The mirror…”
What did you mention that for? Of all the things that happened, yep, go on and pick the weirdest. Say something else, or shut up.
“Yeah.” Eli looks up at a streetlamp.
‘Yeah’ to what – self-writing mirrors are clearly normal?
“‘The Lower Archive’, apparently?” Her voice trembles.
And that was your better option. Well done.
“Right.”
The wind picks up and pushes at their backs in short gusts as they walk past the shops.
“So, does that mean–?”
“I don’t know.” Eli looks ahead.
“I mean… I’m not entirely sure.”
She pulls her coat sleeves down over her knuckles.
Lower than what? Pretty sure just then you were hearing voices that weren’t actually there. Maybe he was too. Low enough to get us hallucinating about something…
Lower than… Stop.
He watches the droplets fall in the slowing drizzle, turning into glowing threads that catch the dim lights from every angle.
Lower than here? Lower than this street and this rain and this very normal evening, where I saw the pub mirror write on itself and a clock move when it shouldn’t and someone who might be our boss arguing with someone who might own the weather.
Right, because all of that makes perfect sense.
Puddles reflect the street upside down. Maz steps around each one with her boots skirting the shallow edges.
Is every reflection bad news now? Or are some of these meant for falling straight through?
She let out a jagged laugh as they pass a late-night chip shop whose queue consists of more arguments than the need for fried potatoes.
“They do look like they might need a ticketed queue system.” Her brows bunch up as the words tumble out of her.
Eli looks at her.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… why did I say that?”
When they turn a corner, Eli takes out a cigarette. He turns to Maz with a hand held up to shield the lighter. It takes three attempts in the wind. Sparks sputter before the flame begins to flutter. It pulls back, threatening to put itself out, until it holds. A brief flare catches Maz’s face from a strange slant, and for that moment, she looks both older than him and younger than herself.
He passes the cigarette to her. Her fingers touch his as she reaches for it.
A static snap jumps between them and makes both their pulses kick against each other’s skin at once. They slow their pace, walking in step, staring at the point where their hands meet.
“Careful.” Her muttered word is more to the air than to him.
“At this rate, we’ll set the rain off.” Maz’s chuckle forms a small cloud between them before it scatters into the breeze. Her hand remains unmoved.
Eli watches her watching their hands.
This is weird, right? I won’t say anything stupid. Obviously, I’m steering well clear of any cheesy lines. I can find a middle.
“It’s us.” He rushes the words enough to make them sound like one word.
“I think it’s just us.”
She looks at him.
You knew that. Well, you’ve known that since the staff room. Since before the staff room. Since before whatever ‘before’ means anymore. He just said it first.
He looks back before his glance moves down to the pavement and returns to her.
“Yeah… I know.”
His fingers tilt the cigarette her way without pulling his hand back or pushing it closer.
Blunt isn’t the middle, but at least she knows I tried… something.
As she takes it, her hand moves away from his, and they no longer feel any hearts beating, their own or each other’s, beneath or against their skins.
He notices the absence.
So it’s only when we–
His eyes stay on the smoke Maz drags in and follow it as it leaves her mouth, thinner than he expects.
Maz gives him a sidelong glance.
Why’s he staring at you like that now? Did he feel the–
He reaches for the cigarette back from her and moves it to his other hand as he laces her fingers with his. Their breaths rush back in right away, followed by a sudden gasping sound that is too simultaneous to be a coincidence.
Okay, so, it’s only when we’re in contact.
Maz squeezes his hand.
You felt that. Did he… do it on purpose?
He takes a long drag and closes his eyes as he feels both of their pulses, his own and hers.
The smoke he exhales drifts forward and lingers in the air as the wind dies down.
It’s normal that it came from me, right?
His eyes stay unblinking as he watches it twist. The shape it makes looks like the bushy and agitated tail of a squirrel. He stares at it as it scatters into the wind until it dissolves.
Was that…? I’ve dreamt that one up def– I obviously recognised it. That was something.
Genius. I’m clearly sounding saner by the minute. Move on.
They near a car that idles by the kerb. Its engine whirrs in front of a closed florist, near a bucket full of rainwater and plastic flowers that will never wilt. A newspaper that lies on its dashboard shows through its wipers’ smears. The headline in big block letters catches their eye:
‘SEASON EXTENDED: WHEN WILL AUTUMN FINISH?’
Eli reads it twice.
Right. That lady was complaining about being buried under the seasons, or something. We should technically be nearing autumn now. Ish. So, I can remember ten months of a perpetual season, but yesterday is somehow too far?
He turns his head to Maz as they walk past the car and opens his mouth.
“I… That woman outside the pub–” His eyes snap down to the pavement.
Right. And now I’m drawing lines between things I have no idea about. That’s obviously not a sign of anything.
“Hmm.”
Maz looks away from the car and draws a slow breath through her nose.
You used to know a name for that. Where did that name go?
She glances down at the mint tin’s outline in his pocket before giving it a tap with a knuckle.
“Last chance to see if the answer’s in there. Or Deon was right to save us.”
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