Page 50 of Florescentia

“More fantastical, mysterious inventions are underway, I suspect,” Calum said, popping a few books into their places and climbing one of the ladders to shelve the rest.

“Always,” Maxim muttered. “Do you need help finding anything?” he asked me.

“I don’t think you have what I need in here.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I stared up at the monstrous shelves.

Maxim snorted. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

I laughed with him, but I knew the answers weren’t going to be in any official book.

“I think this is the first time you’ll be departing with fewer books than you came in with,” he teased.

“I could help,” Calum offered. “What are you looking to build? Is this for research?”

“In a way, not necessarily for anything mechanical yet.” I shrugged.

“Is it like your pneuma-types?”

My gut twisted.

He must have sensed a change in my face. I was an easy read most times. My face was honest, even if I wasn’t.

“The one I processed for you over at the Patent Office,” he clarified, “the imaging film?”

“No, something else,” I said.

“Reception said you called for it. I’ve been keeping an eye out,” he assured me. “I know how it is to lose important things.”

“Because you forget to log the returns properly?” Maxim huffed.

“Only twice!” Calum pushed back as he came down off the ladder.

“Just let me know if you need anything”—Maxim looked at me sternly, as if he was asking something else—“anything at all.”

I offered a smile, then a nod. He was satisfied with that simple assurance.

Eleven thirty in the morning.

The wristwatch ticked along, reminding us of when the inevitable crowds would take the streets. My satchel was lighter in the absence of books, my energy returned to me with some extra bounce to my step. Could it have been our conversation the night before?

“Where to now?” the shadow asked, the small figure entangled in my hair for stability.

“Something new to you.” I stared up at the shop signs, finally reaching the one with gilded lettering.

The Lilac Everium

As I pushed past the door, a delicate chime of a brass bell rang as the hostess prepared to slip through to serve the outdoor café tables.

The small shadow’s balancing act on my shoulder turned to the steady pressure of a hand grasping my shoulder.

The shattering of glass startled me.

When I turned, the waitress hastily stumbled, not sure whether to pick up the glass from the floor or offer the rag to the dark stranger in the doorway.

“My deepest apologies.” She couldn’t maintain eye contact, the blush rising in her face as people turned to look. “I don’t know what happened, I didn’t see you there. Please allow me to compensate your patronage.”

The beast, now a striking image of a man, raised his hand to dismiss the gesture. “Mistakes happen,” he said cheerfully, almost thrilled someone noticed him. His eyes flicked to me, that eerie opalite stare piercing right through me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he could see right through my skin, my vessels, my organs themselves.

A peacocking poseur, that one.