Maz and Eli stand on the pavement as the drizzle runs down their faces. They look up at the shop name painted in black calligraphy, reading ‘Ari’s Buzzing Wellness’ across the wide window.
The Closed sign on the glazed door hangs crooked, yet through the glass, Ari stands behind the counter with his head bowed.
Maz pushes the door open, and the bell above it jangles as if it has never known how not to.
“Morning.” Her best attempt at a ‘regular customer’ voice sounds pitchier and louder than usual.
They step in, scanning the jars that line the shelves. Each holds an assortment of honey colours from amber to deep red, the shop’s warm light catching every glass curve. Half the jars sit empty, some struggling to hold on to the idea of honey as residues of what may have been syrup cling to the bottom. The scent of sugar and hive smoke dominates the shop. As Maz and Eli approach Ari, the whiff of vinegar and compost begins to tickle their noses.
Ari hunches over a ledger on the counter. Several sticky bits of glassware crowd the surface. He lifts his head enough for the bags under his eyes to greet the pair.
“We’re not open.” His brow creases at what he writes. Instead of paying any more attention towards the door, he wipes his hand on his apron, stained with honey and a streak of something leafy, and returns to his ledger.
Eli glances at Maz. The corner of his mouth tilts up as he turns back to Ari. “A-hem. It’s only the two of us, unfortunately.”
Ari raises his gaze, his eyes seeming browner, the green in them long gone. His face changes from exhaustion towards recognition and doesn’t quite finish the journey.
“You look like hell.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
Maz stops partway out of her coat and wriggles back into it. Her smile fades away momentarily before it corrects itself.
“You heard about the weather? The year’s completely lost the plot, it seems.”
“Yeah. Don’t get me started.” Ari gives a dismissive wave.
“Bees are barely producing any honey. Already told you–” He catches both of their oblivious stares.
“Ah. I see. Knew you’d turn up.”
After he clicks open a mint tin and pushes it across the counter, he turns to his ledger and flips a page.
“Just one tin this time.”
Eli takes the tin. The scales inside look thicker and more matte than they have ever been. Their lumpy stack, a softened sevenfold, keeps them stuck together. When he tilts the box, the dulled green discs remain stuck at one edge as if denying gravity, until they finally roll in a loping tumble and hit the corner with a muffled clump.
His brows rise in stages.
That’s… not right, right? I don’t remember them looking this… blunt.
“These… new?”
Ari mutters something inaudible to the open page and crosses out the last line.
“Not enough honey also means not enough of it to coat them properly, but they should still work. Luckily, this morning’s scrapings made it into the mix at least.”
Maz plucks one out.
It’s heavy.
Her fingers stick to its darker, swampier surface, where there should be a green and black sheen. She sniffs it and recoils at once.
It smells nothing like… what you expected. Like you remember what to expect. Don’t be silly.
“Smells like spinach.”
Ari opens his hand and lets the pen fall onto the page he was on.
“It’s the same batch.”
With a huff, he drags a jar from under the counter and thumps it down. The jar looks half full with thick green sludge. Its handwritten label, Viper recipe, final (v3 v4), has its corners lifted where a strip of older adhesive peeks through underneath. One rogue sequin clings to the lid and winks at the warm light. None of the three points it out, but Ari’s eyes stay on the jar a little longer before he returns it to its place.
Eli picks one up from the tin and tries to split it in half. The gesture arrives in a snap of muscle memory; as for the swampy scale, not so much. It flexes and springs back into place. On his next effort, it almost jumps from his fingers. He tries again with more force, and with no luck, the thing doesn’t budge.
He shoots Ari a look with scrunched eyebrows.
“Bite them if you want. I don’t know.” Ari pulls out a small pocket knife from a skinny glass tumbler on the counter. His focused stare at a green streak on the handle begins to waver before he holds it out to Eli.
“Just use the knife.” When Eli doesn’t take it, Ari puts the knife down.
“Or not.”
Ari takes his pen and taps its cap on his ledger.
“And for the love of all gods, keep to the schedule this time. I’ve got orders up to the…” He tips his chin up to the ceiling, which, not unlike the bookshop, appears as darkness above the pendant lights that hang low.
“I can’t make more until next week.”
Maz pulls out her phone and scrolls through last night’s photos of their fridge notes.
Yep. Of course. The schedule. Whatever that’s for.
She glances at Eli, at the dull green lump, and back at the screen, then tilts the phone towards him.
“Might as well. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Eli looks over and nods.
Right. Not famous last words at all. Move on.
He puts the sticky matte scale on the counter and picks up the knife. His hand tries to angle the blade to cut perfect halves.
“Seven days, seven halves, right?”
The scale resists and squeaks against the steel as he presses harder, which only makes both of its sides bulge out.
Ari keeps his head down, writing tiny scribbles that resemble calculations.
“I’ve only been telling you for I don’t know how many equinoxes now.”
Eli looks up.
“What?”
Ari’s pen stops on the ledger.
“You know… Uh, don’t worry about it. Seven days, seven halves.”
Eli sighs and starts working the knife. The scale gives squealing scrapes all the while he saws through it. As it splits, the cut looks nowhere near perfect, too skewed to be called a half. The blade leaves a green streak beneath the scale on the counter.
He turns to Maz and offers her the larger piece.
“So, last night counts as day one?”
She nods as she plucks out a scale from the mint tin and leaves it on the counter.
“Yep, we’ve done… day one.” Her hand reaches towards Eli and takes her share. She pinches it and rolls it between her fingers before she marks both days on her phone calendar.
“Yesterday, today. Five more to go.”
They swap a look, then tip their oddly halved scales into their mouths in unison.
Eli coughs at the spinachy chalkiness hitting the back of his throat.
Obviously, something’s not right with this. Did we get the ‘should be binned’ batch? For some reason, I was expecting a metallic flavour and got a health kick. Neither feels like the business of a honey shop, though.
Maz winces as she swallows hers.
That’s just… weird. When’s that ‘hiss’ supposed to happen?
She pulls out a bottle of water from her tote, and they both chase their halves down.
Ari wipes the counter with vinegar and a cloth older than democracy before pushing the tin closer to them.
“Come back if something’s wrong. Or don’t. Up to you. There’s always more… until there isn’t.”
Eli glances at Maz and slides the tin into his pocket. As they step towards the door, the scales thud together, soft and heavy where nothing skitters or rattles.
The rain has quickened into a driving shower. It batters their faces the moment they leave the honey shop. They stand on the pavement and watch the street’s puddle collection seethe and the shop signs creak in the breeze.
A jar filled with green and black liquid lies on top of an overflowing bin on the pavement beside them. Where its label used to cling, now remains only a smear of leftover glue that becomes slick with rain, already losing its chance to ever serve as a flytrap.
Eli laces his fingers with Maz’s.
Has she always felt this cold?
She tries to count the beats of her pulse, or his, either would suffice, but finds none.
“No hiss.”
He squeezes her hand before they walk the ten paces to The Frayed Spine.
Behind them, in the honey shop, Ari flips the sign on the door to Open. His hand rests poised on it as he looks over his shoulder into the shop. With a sigh and one last glance at the sign, he turns it back to Closed and locks the door.
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