by Will Jolliff
black tea, lemon, no sugar
Everley covered the
distance to the door in five brisk steps as always, despite the lengthening
shadow at her back. Late, tired, it made no difference when there was a job to
finish – and otherwise she would regret the state of the gallery in the
morning. The world could spare her a few hours before the next cry for help arrived.
She had been afraid
that someone would take her parking space again, stealing time when it most
mattered. The last time her clients had been forgiving, able to wait a little
longer to see their work in the public eye, but it was different now. The long
days of her task required concentration, to say nothing of the bills which
swamped her inbox daily. Tickets here and there, letters of mark and licences
stamped with the colours of a hundred countries, all for her eyes only. Where
is Bryan when you need him?
Everley reached inside
her lapel and pulled out her key card, in time for a familiar face to appear
behind the massive plate-glass door. The automatic mechanism was long
deactivated, as it had been for months beforehand; she would not compromise security
for the sake of a quicker entry. When the door swung outwards, she gave the
doorman her usual smile. “Thank you, Bryan. I was delayed again, they wanted me
at the Castle.” Warm air rolled over her as she crossed the threshold.
Familiar with the habits
of his boss, Bryan had long since given up waiting to take her coat. He locked
the door after her and folded his lanky frame behind the main desk. “How was it
today? I hope you remembered to pack your chains for those roads.” He reached
absentmindedly for a steaming foam cup, then paused in midair. “I almost
forgot; someone came in earlier asking for you. She looked like – like one of
us, but different. I thought I had seen her on the news, but she corrected me…
Anyway, she said she would wait. She’s in the Pine Gallery.”
“I see.” Everley
adjusted the strap of her bag before changing her mind and placing it on the
desk. “I’ll probably have to go again. Will you take this to the office for me
at closing time?” Almost as an afterthought she took off her wide-brimmed white
hat and laid it beside the bag. “Our guest left no card or anything?”
Bryan shook his head. “Though
she did take a submission form. I guess there was a reason to print a few,
which means I’ve finally won our bet.” He tipped his head toward the far end of
the desk, where their antique writing stand spent its days – normally in vain.
“You owe me a coffee.”
“As I have said before,
all you will get out of me is tea,” Everley said, tapping her heel on the
polished concrete floor. “Then you will become civilised and I will gain
customers.” She made to go, but turned back with another thought. “Last favour; could you bring down my other shoes and leave them under the desk when you go?
When I’m done, I don’t wish to spend another minute in these.”
“Sure,” Bryan nodded.
“I’ll do a final sweep of the cameras then leave. If you’re coming back here,
I’ll lock up out back and save you a walk. Being as you’ve secured your
favourite space.” He looked through the front windows, where the outline of her
Jag was covered in a light dusting of snow. “I don’t blame you for keeping your
coat.”
Everley adjusted her fur-lined
collar, her fingertips brushing the outlines of her key card and chain. “Wrap
up warm when you go, Bryan. Stay safe and – please – don’t let me catch you
waiting for me again. See you tomorrow morning.” When he waved, she set off
through the double-height doors into the hall. Back to work.
Without the weight of
her bag she set a better pace, her footfalls echoing along the corridor like
gunshots. To both sides her reflection matched her stride, rippling against the
smoked glass windows and breaking up when the dim orange glow from the
streetlamps outside became too much. The London skyline glittered beyond her
walls, distorted enough by the clouds that her eyes struggled to pick up the
detail hiding there. How fitting. Another night falls, whilst beyond our
enemies move further from our sight. Abruptly she stopped and faced the
first reflection, searching its pale gaze. What am I pretending to do here?
Whispering back to her,
the chain of her pendant lay cold against the bare skin of her throat. I am
here to fix the course of history. I must accept my past. The pendant had
no voice to speak, but Artelia had said that its message lived within her. Artelia
is always right.
At first glance the
Pine Gallery was empty, the torn cardboard boxes that had held the exhibition’s
contents still marring the corner of the room near the card stand. The lights
were on half strength, a diffuse golden glow at odds with the chill
temperature; evidently the heating had gone off some hours ago. Everley made a
mental note to check the thermostat with Bryan, then continued. Where is this
guest? She must have heard me, unless she is in the lavatory. The security
screen to the left of the door showed a live view of the gallery from above,
revealing the path visitors were supposed to take between the tall dividers
that had been installed for the exhibition, but nobody could be seen in any
part of the room.
She stopped in front of
the first painting, the statement piece, and tried to equate it with her
memories. It’s no good, I have nothing. This war… burning light, the cold
kiss of water then darkness. Shock doesn’t even come into it… and yet I cannot
deny I remember this day. The grey waters filled her mind, a restless ocean
that continually waited for her return. My past. My future. My time on this
world is limited, my energy finite. I must give what I can to save –
Footsteps broke into
her mind, bursting the dream as suddenly as it had come upon her, and she
turned away from the painting to face the screen. Good, she’s here. I’ll
listen to whatever she has to say and then head home. If I’m lucky, I should
get four to five hours… She swung around and headed purposefully for the
entrance of the exhibition. Outside the huge gallery windows, several passing
figures caught her eye – a family, from their appearance, moving hurriedly to
spend as little time outside as possible, and for a moment her thoughts
lingered on them – their journey, their worries, the mistruths they had been
fed. She thought, if only you would listen to me. To us.
The family was already
gone. She walked down the last divided corridor and turned the corner,
expecting – well, anyone. The gallery had grown popular in the last ten years,
and she had gathered from Bryan that it was no-one he knew. No-one that he had
a picture of, anyway, taped to the third broken monitor that nobody on the
visitors’ side could see. She had made sure none of their enemies would get in
without recognition, so how had it happened?
“Elenna,” Everley heard
herself saying, her voice curiously detached from reality. Yes, Elenna,
whose picture has never been held up for Bryan because I never expected she
would come here. That the ASD have been sent to deal with me… I never saw this
coming. I bet it was her idea. They’ve allowed me to play myself.
“Yes, it is.” Elenna
stood from the stone bench she had waited the last few seconds on. She had
changed; her new appearance was no match with her character. Their last
meeting, the surprise at the palace, had seemed to confirm everything Everley
knew about Elenna – that she was a blank ink-stained sheet still smarting from
the humiliations of bitter lessons cruelly repeated by her betters, aspiring to
beat them only out of jealousy.
Watching her now,
Everley saw that she had been wrong. And not for the first time. The leader
of the ASD had exchanged the severe suits she had favoured in the past for a
glossy lipstick-coloured parka and black spray-on jeans, topping the change of
image with a pair of white trainers. The disguise – if Everley could call it so
– had been flawless, and now she would pay the price for being fooled. Elenna
had the floor.
She doesn’t know
everything, Everley reminded herself. And she doesn’t know
me. Best to start at the beginning. “Why are you here? Bad – bad time to
talk. We’re just about to close.” There was a chance someone would walk past
the windows and see them when the fight invariably began. It was slight, but it
could give her an advantage.
Elenna shrugged, then
stepped closer. “Aren’t you going to offer me refreshments first? I thought
that was how you people did things.” Closer still. “My mistake. How you used to
do things.” She wore a waspish smile.
“They don’t come for
free,” Everley said quietly, checking off her options. She has that end of
the corridor, but I have mine. She wouldn’t have been able to get weapons past
the scanner, so on that front I’m clear. And if she tries to jump me, I’m ready.
She never went without a shield, and it had never failed her.
“Nice theme you have
going on here,” Elenna examined the nearest sculpture, a large rising wave cast
in aged bronze that weighed close to a metric tonne. “Though I don’t see the
point in expensive paperweights. In anything on these walls, in fact. You must
feel mighty proud of yourself, clacking around this place to look at pretty
pictures whilst half the world is starving to death in terror of our kind.”
“All my artists get
paid,” Everley said, trying to find the opening. “Better record than starting a
company for the sole purpose of killing. That’s what the ASD does, correct? You
find people who refuse to play by the rules, people like me, and you kill them.
All in the name of keeping the citizens safe. All in the pursuit of power… Tell
me, what did Whitehall say when they decided to employ you? Who do they have in
the wings waiting to step forward when you sell them down the river?”
In the long moment of
silence that followed, she reached down, unbuckled her heels and stepped out of
them. This floor… it will be like running on an ice rink. But at least I’ll
be able to run. Elenna watched her, a condescending smile forming on her
sharp lips.
“I see you’ve thought
this through,” she said, folding her arms. Everley watched her hands in case
she should open her palms, but she made no effort to adopt any position at all.
“Let me explain to you the purpose of my organisation, Everley – but that isn’t
what they call you, is it? Where is your shining sun now, hmm?”
She knows,
Everley thought. Damn. On repeat again –
It took her a split
second to realise that Elenna was not rushing her for a reason, the same amount
of time for a sudden series of staccato thumps – footsteps – to build to a
crescendo and release. Why would she come alone? The ASD, Everley. The
purpose of her organisation. Killing people like me. Her thoughts ran out
as the dividing wall to her left, a solid plywood box frame mounted on wheels
and plastered in approximation of a real wall, overbalanced and toppled towards
her.
Throwing up her hands,
she almost caught hold of the wall, but some immense weight was on its far
side; there was nothing more that could be done. Everley jerked back from the
falling ruin, trying not to let it drive her into Elenna’s range, and too late
she saw Deron’s massive bulk still clinging to the top. She managed to half
turn away, before the wall landed with a dull boom and Deron’s huge
bowling ball of a fist swung out to collide with the side of her head.
The impact flung a
whirlpool of shooting stars across her vision, turning the room inside out as
it lifted her wholly off her feet; fortunately, the far wall broke her fall. She
slid down to the hard pine floor amidst a cloud of plaster dust, her skin where
the blow had landed feeling as if it had been doused with fire. At first glance
his fist had managed to turn the world through ninety degrees, but after
opening her eyes she found herself lying on her side. She blinked painfully,
her eyelashes scraping over each other, and brought a hand to the side of her
face. I’m missing… what am I missing… Some seconds passed before the
tiny white dot in front of her resolved into a blurry tooth, and she searched
for the hole where it had been with her finger. It came away dappled with
blood.
“Good job, Deron.”
Elenna made no move to intervene, even as Everley struggled to raise herself to
a sitting position. Dust and flakes of plaster were everywhere, trapped in her
hair and speckled across her ocean-blue coat, but her assailant showed no sign
of pressing the advantage – for now. Waiting for orders? I didn’t – didn’t
think they worked like that. Her head was still on fire, but she had to
move. The polished floor was as slippery as it had ever been, and she wished
she had swapped over to her driving shoes before leaving the car. Have I let
myself down so much… She wiped her eyes, and pressed her cold palm against
the side of her face, and tried to understand the method of their attack. Why…
why didn’t she start by throwing fireballs… Ah. She knew I would expect magic.
Eventually – though it
must have been mere seconds to the others – Elenna went to sit back down. “All
right, Deron, you go ahead. I think we can say we’re done for the day. Everyone
has a plan until…” She made a fist and drove it into her hand, and Deron
laughed. He took a step forwards, toppled off wall, and his heavy leather
shoe sent an echo rippling through the floorboards.
Everley rolled over,
blinking away hot tears in favour of the ageless power that all of them had
trained for – she more so than her opponents, because of the promise. The
promise that one day people would come looking for her, and she would have to
be ready to join them. Artelia said this is no longer a time for building
armies. This is a time for using them.
In the second before
Deron’s hand closed around her ankle, Everley pressed herself to the cold
floor, her hands cupping her lips as she spoke the silent words. O Lady
Tyburn, hear me. Accept my offering. There had always been the alternative,
but her earlier self could not bear the idea of combat. This was the safer, no,
the cleaner option. Hear me! She repeated the spell, with a long,
painful breath.
“Oh no you don’t!”
Elenna snarled, finally getting the picture. Everley smiled in relief; she was
far too late to do anything at all. Any second now…
A round hole appeared
in the floor beneath Elenna’s spotless white trainers, perfectly mirroring her
expression of surprise as she took the first step toward Everley. Surprise gave
way to fear, and motion gave way to weightlessness; she let out a shrill,
terrified scream before vanishing into the darkness below. Everley counted
three full seconds before the splash, but she wasn’t in the clear. Deron still
held her ankle, his massive shoulders almost enough to keep him wedged in his
own version of the trap – but his luck was about to change. As his nails cut
through the material of her tights and into her skin, this time Everley was
smiling through the pain.
“Lady of the Shining
Sun,” Deron snarled, his red mouth working viciously at the words. “Know this.
There is nothing you will manage to change.”
She laid her hand flat
on the floor, the pine warning beneath her fingers, and the second hole began
to shrink. The big man was forced to release her to cling to the edge until
Everley pushed herself around and stared into his eyes. “This has become my
fight, Deron, and I will save them. A fitting end to your final report for the
Anti-Sorcery Defence Group.” The sides of the shaft were churning, the hungry
earth ready for its prey, so a second later she let him go.
When she managed to
climb to her feet, taking in the damage they had done, something caught her
eye. Several figures – no, people – were standing at the windows, their faces
only centimetres from the glass. Moments later, a fist beat against the window,
confirming they had seen what she had done. Muffled voices rose, first one,
then five or ten angry shouts. “Magician! Witch!” Spittle streaked the glass,
freezing near instantly. How long were they watching? Who can say. The state
of this world…
Everley crossed to the
windows, and brushed the dust from her ochre hair. She had no doubt her
injuries showed, but they were immaterial. She reached inside her coat and,
using the moment to breathe, touched the reassuringly cold chain of the pendant
they had recovered from her wreck. The small crowd showed little sign of
breaking up, but that in itself – she was sure – would change.
She let go of the
chain, studied her hand, then placed it flat against the window. When we all
fight our own wars, what we must do… is reach out to one another.
About the author
Will Jolliff, is a second-year university student experimenting with
building different worlds intended to draw the reader fully into a
scene. He is working on finishing his first manuscript.
