Scots vocabulary
Roasters – idiots, stupid people.
ijit – idiot
Greeting – Crying/sobbing.
Story
There’s a few places in the shop I haven’t been. The rooms upstairs where the Madam lives, each with their closed door and mysterious contents. One, at least, is a bedroom, one a kitchen, and the other the front room where the customers spill their secrets. As for the rest, I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to explore them in the future.
The only other place is storage. That enigmatic place mentioned every so often that contains even more horrors than the shop itself, the place where the cabinet in the front room draws its contents.
I managed to answer at least one of the mysteries of the rooms upstairs. One of them leads to storage, but let’s set the scene first. It’s a full house, both of my familiars are in, playing checkers together. Chronos, uncharacteristically, is upstairs. I presume he’s upstairs because I haven’t seen him since I arrived. I leave the roasters to their game and busy about the shop until the bell goes and everyone’s attention wanders. The customer that walks in is strange. They’re confident as they stride over to the counter and stare expectantly at my familiars. Very few people stride into the shop, they don’t even stride out, it’s usually a run or a sprint. No hesitation, no questioning looks, no ogling curiously at the chaos. This woman knew exactly what she wanted, and it was to see my boss.
Except there was no card. I’d expected it to be lying on the glass counter, but there was nothing to find. I approached the woman from behind and she eventually honoured me with a glance. Her face crumpled into surprise before being replaced by understanding. She surmised, aloud, that I must be the apprentice, and that she was here to see Madam Norna.
Despite myself I threw a look at Fionn to check if he knew the woman, if there was recognition or distaste on his features, but he shrugged, and I felt rather than observed that he didn’t know her. I wonder if the rings will ever let me read his mind. On second thoughts, I don’t think I want that, just in case it’s a two way-street.
Realising this woman was impatient about her business with my boss I led her past the roasters and up the stairs where the Madam was waiting in the front room. This woman was perhaps in her thirties, the only thing of note about her was the designer handbag she had hanging from her shoulder. Just by looking I couldn’t tell what she might do for a living. She, in general, was a bit of a mystery. A normal person who knew enough about the shop to take me by surprise.
When my boss greeted this woman by name, I wish I could say the pieces fell into place. She could be anything. The Madam called her Lydia, didn’t need to offer her a seat because she strode with as much confidence to the sofa as she had through the door, and told me we wouldn’t be needing tea.
Silence settled, unusually. My boss was never the first one to speak, and I had a feeling she could sit there all day in silence if she wanted without ever feeling that pressure of awkwardness. A master of silence was the Madam. Lydia was not. Irritably, Lydia stated that Norna must know why she was there, and what it was she wanted.
“There are a lot of things you want in this shop,” my boss answered.
Lydia almost rolled her eyes before she sat forwards and pulled out a drawing of a carriage clock. They look a bit like boxes, either of wood or gold, with a clock face on one side. They adorn the mantelpiece of many a home, although probably more are tucked away in lofts or gathering dust in the back room of an antique dealer. I was surprised Lydia hadn’t pulled out a photo but a pencil line drawing with some shading. The clock pictured was a wee bit different to what I’d seen before. This clock, rather than box like, was covered in a dome of glass, the pendulum swinging down fae the clock face itself.
Lydia asserted that she knew it was in the shop, that her trail her led her right to the Madam’s door. She was willing to part with a pretty penny if she could get her hands on this carriage clock. I began to suspect during this conversation that Lydia was a Collector, like Flora but more aggressive. Where Flora had things drop into her lap, Lydia went hunting for them like a fox after a rabbit. I dreaded to think what this clock did, and what else she had in her collection.
I wasn’t sure what my boss would say. I’d never seen her sell anything to a Collector before. It seemed a requirement that you couldn’t know what the object you bought from the shop did. So, I was surprised when Madam Norna confirmed that the clock was in the shop, but that it was still in storage. I perked up at this word, the fabled and ever mysterious storage that was hidden somewhere in the shop. I felt the Madam’s eyes shift over to me and I couldn’t decide if I was nervous or excited.
“Maya can get it for you,” she told Lydia.
I was slow to get up, uncertain if this was a good idea. I knew of at least one thing in storage. The monster jars, and if they were kept down there, then how much worse was everything else? Once I was standing my boss told me to take either Reid or Fionn with me as it was easy to get lost when searching, and two sets of eyes were better than one. The refusal jumps out my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t say it aggressively, but it sounds defensive, almost petulant. It’s not like I can usually tell what the Madam is thinking, and this was no different. She nodded unreadably and told me that the door to storage was the last one on the left, down the corridor.
So it was behind one of those closed doors up there. I suppose that’s the only place it could be, but I’m kind of…disappointed. I wanted it to be a bit like the wardrobe to Narnia, or some vortex. Why is storage so boring when you can pop into the past through a hole in the shop’s wall or by staring at a painting? A part of me wanted to pack for the journey, take a few pieces of survival kit, rations, a tent, a flare. I didn’t really know what to expect. If it was in one of the rooms then it could be no bigger than a cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps storage wasn’t as big as the shop itself. Perhaps there were fewer truly awful things in the world than I realised, and they would only need a small room to contain them.
What an ijit.
I found the door at the end of the corridor, boring in its uniformity with all the rest. I opened it quickly onto a room full of clutter, similar to the shop. There were shelves on the walls that held glasses, tea sets, ornaments and decorations, sets of drawers and wardrobes shunted against the green walls, and miscellaneous tat strewn on the remainder of the floor space, save for one single aisle that led to another doorway. This one had no door and opened out onto another room filled with clutter.
I took the path and passed through the equally chaotic room, and then another, until the final doorway I passed through opened into a warehouse. Maybe it wasn’t as big as that, but it felt cavernous, with higher ceilings and rough stone walls that echoed every breath and footprint I made back at me three times over. There were no windows anywhere, not even in the ceiling. It should’ve been dark, but I could see as if there was natural light streaming in. Storage was just a bigger shop. Stuff was everywhere, with only a single narrow aisle winding its way past, into antique-made alcoves and special areas with bookshelves and racks of clothes. I felt like every antique in the world could be here.
There were a few things I couldn’t understand about this place. How was it so big when the shop itself wasn’t? We had neighbours on either side, businesses with patrons, yet the storage sprawled out where they should be. The second was how the hell you found anything! I thought I’d seen a cabinet similar to the one in the front room, presuming they were mirrored somehow. Was this actually where the Madam spent all of her time? I didn’t know what she got up to up here, I just assumed she read a book and waited for customers to turn up. Was she actually the one who changed the stock in the cabinet? It’d make more sense than my idea of what she did with her time. If I got lost looking through the shop’s various inhabitants, think of how much time I could spend getting lost in here? Hundreds of years might just be enough.
I had to remind myself I was in storage to look for something, although how I was supposed to find it escaped me. This wasn’t as neatly arranged as a library, with numbered shelves and labelled items. Like the shop itself, there was no order here, only chaos.
Although having said that, there evidently was a theme to certain areas. There was one corner full of typewriters, another filled with war memorabilia, even more filled with just fur coats. Perhaps there was an area full of clocks?
It was worth a try. At times I felt a bit like Jason in the labyrinth, except I didn’t have a string to show me the way out. I couldn’t get lost in here…right? I got distracted, scanning around looking for a clock, so I didn’t notice as a I brushed against something and heard it smash on the ground.
For fuck’s sake, I’d been so careful not to touch anything.
It was a glass jar filled with candle wax. Almost as soon as it’d hit the ground, I’d been assaulted by the scent of cinnamon and Christmas. I wasn’t aware that a scented candle could be considered an antique, but it wasn’t the strangest thing I’d glimpsed so far. Only the candle was left intact, the wick burnt down a few centimetres. It was too late for the glass. I tried to scrape it to one side, vowing to come back and clean it up once I’d found the clock.
I took a few steps forwards and saw something else do the same. I say saw, but it was more like felt, that inkling you get when something moves at the edges of your vision. Some alcoves were created by large antiques, the biggest wardrobes you’ve ever seen, paintings that could only fit on the wall of a stately home. They created blind spots, corners that you couldn’t see around, but you could catch glimpses through the gaps in the chaos. It was through these gaps I noticed the movement.
In a very unwelcome game of Simon says, every time I moved, so did something deep in storage. A shadow, a cloud, I couldn’t tell. Then when I stopped, it kept moving, inching closer to the blind corner. Instinctively I darted into another alcove, behind a set of drawers and amongst a sea of magazines and dolls clothes. I held my breath because it was deafening amidst the morbid silence. I listened for footsteps, shuffles, even cracks of bone or muscle as whatever it was moved towards me, but the silence remained.
I dared a glimpse over the top ae the drawers and saw it inching closer, about to round the corner where I was.
“Maya!”
It was impossible to tell where the voice had come from, but I knew it was Fionn’s. Just as it had snared my attention it captured the shadow’s just as quickly. It disappeared from the corner, from between the gaps I was peering through, and fled in the opposite direction. I quickly realised I had no idea where I was. I’d thought the exit was behind me on the path, but Fionn’s voice had come from the opposite direction.
I heard another voice, gruffer, calling out to me. Both of my familiars had been sent in here, no doubt to get me. How long had I been in storage? It could only have been twenty minutes at the most, and that was starting to be enough. The more their shouts echoed the easier it’d be for that creature to find them. Fate knew what it would do. Storage was where the real monsters were kept.
I had to warn them both. I darted from my hiding spot and ran in the direction of their voices, hoping it wouldn’t be too late. What was once clear parallel paths soon became a labyrinth of antiques and memorabilia, making it near impossible to navigate. Had I seen that gramophone before? Was that hatbox not on top of a wardrobe and not the floor? I should’ve been more careful, should’ve noted items I could use to feel my way out.
I had no other option than to follow their voices, desperately shouting at them to run in the hopes they could hear me as clearly as I could hear them. I eventually rounded the last corner and saw them both standing in the path in front of me. There was nothing else around, no shadows, no bared teeth, no frosty presence.
I almost let myself exhale.
Then it slid past me, a brief breath of air on my cheek as it shot its way towards my familiars. Made of shadow, it was difficult to see if it slid along the ground or moved in the dark places created by the antiques. With a snap of someone’s fingers my familiars were sucked down paths and into alcoves by long, black whisps of shadow. It was everywhere and nowhere. One moment they stood there, the next I heard the crashing of antiques and the desperate grunts as they both tried to free themselves from their bonds. The gasps of breath, the choking sounds filled the air, cutting through the silence like a scalpel through flesh.
What did I do? How was I here again? How many more times was I going to watch those two get injured or attacked by some arsehole? Why was it that I could do nothing? Against monsters, against Fate itself? Was I really this powerless?
“Enough!” I shouted to the empty air, to all of the antiques, and to every single thing in storage that thought they would crawl from their nests and hiding places.
My voice kept going, bouncing off of each stone wall, curving around the ceiling, and wrapping around each item and trinket. The air became thinner, the echo lost its edge, and the atmosphere became static, like the night before a thunderstorm. The room tilted around me, bent where I wanted it to, and I could feel something drawing near, summoned by my voice. It struggled and squirmed, trying to escape from my strange electric orbit.
It didn’t succeed.
Every inch it got closer to me it shrunk. I watched its strange tentacle limbs, its once grinning face baring jagged teeth, and its single black eye collapse in on themselves until the creature was no bigger than my thumb. And that’s where it ended up. I’ve seen moths make less mess. A sudden wave of fatigue rolled across my mind, and I remembered Reid and Fionn.
I didn’t know where they’d ended up, so I began calling their names in desperation. Fionn was the first to answer and I followed his voice to the path he’d been dragged down, trying to grasp onto any of the larger antiques as an anchor. He’s peeling himself from the ground, inspecting his favourite shoes for damage. He confirms to me that he’s unhurt. I haven’t heard Reid’s voice.
Following the other trail of debris I finally see Reid’s legs draped over an upturned set of drawers. They’re not moving He’s not moving.
My heart’s never stopped before, but I swear it did then.
I clamber over the mess, standing on things and barely hearing them crack beneath my weight. Once I manage to get to him, he’s covered in red, smattered on his clothes, his skin, and dripping from his hair. Viscous, crimson liquid pooling on the ground beneath him. His eyes flutter open, and he groans in pain. I frantically tell him not to move, hearing my voice crackle in desperation. I ask him where he’s hurt, or where he hurts the most, I tell him not to worry and that we’ll get him help, the Madam will know what to do. Words are tumbling out as I’m desperately trying to find the source of the blood. He’s trying to speak, opening his mouth before I cut straight through.
Eventually he grabs my arm, shaking it gently, and says he’s fine, and that the red stuff isn’t blood. I stare blankly, not really comprehending what he’s said. He indicated to some broken glass at his side, red waxy liquid oozing onto the floor. A broken lava lamp. Reid kicked it over trying to get free and had covered himself with the red wax in the process. Gingerly I begin prodding the red stains on his clothes and realise they’re starting to harden, transform from a deep crimson to a rosy pink.
I started greeting then, the hardening wax going blurry as tears filled my eyes. I hated it. Not the crying, although that wasn’t exactly fun, but hated the feeling of helplessness. I always knew I was useless in the shop, the class ijit who never knew anything, but I hadn’t cared before. Now I had people to care about, and I couldn’t stand that I might be too slow to help them or save them. I couldn’t protect them from Fate, and I might not be able to protect them from the things in the shop either if I kept on the way I was going.
I was ugly crying, I could tell, wailing like a weeping widow in a drama, so loud that Fionn came over and began to blame Reid for it. I tell them both everything about my encounter with Fate, what I’d been doing in the shop and to customers, and to the fact that Reid’s accident had been all my fault. The distance I’d tried to keep from them in the last few months had been because I hadn’t wanted them to be hurt due to my mistakes.
We three sit on the floor, somewhere lost in storage, cross-legged, some of us wishing we had a tissue. Fionn uses my sleeve to dry my face, and confirms that I am, indeed, an ijit. He says no one signs up to be a Madam or apprentice’s familiar thinking they’re going to be baking and sprinkling fairy dust onto baked goods all day. They both knew what the shop was, what Fate was, when they agreed to be my familiars. It also wasn’t my job to protect them, just like it wasn’t theirs to protect me. Not anymore, at least.
Reid frowns darkly, agrees with Fionn for the first time in history, and makes us each promise the other that we don’t keep secrets. We all promise, no pinkies involved, but the two-headed ring on my finger goes frosty for a few seconds. I assume there’s been a new clause added to our familiar-apprentice bond, and am concerned what the penalty will be if one of us breaks that promise.
We pick ourselves up off the ground and I follow them out of storage. I tell them I haven’t even been in that long. They exchange a concerned glance and tell me it’s been nearly 2 hours.
Shite.
Just before we’re about to leave, the door to the corridor in sight, I stop and growl with frustration. I never found that bloody carriage clock Lydia had come for. Fionn, who’s behind me, pushes me out the door completely and closes it behind him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a clock that looks like the one I’d been sent to find, only smaller. By the time he puts it in my hands it’s regular sized. Reid and I glance between the clock and the wyvern, bemused. Fionn winks, pats me on the head, and walks off towards the front room.
Storage, despite its mess and size and potential for dangerous creatures, is interesting. Does time move differently, or did I just get carried away? How is it even there? I’d like to go in again, but it might be a wee while. Just until I get my courage back.
Scots-ish language version
There’s a few places in the shop I havenae been. The rooms upstairs where the Madam lives, each with their closed door and mysterious contents. One, at least, is a bedroom, one a kitchen, and the other the front room where the customers spill their secrets. As fae the rest, I suppose I’ll have plenty ae time tae explore them in the future.
The only other place is storage. That enigmatic place mentioned every so often that contains even more horrors than the shop itself, the place where the cabinet in the front room draws its contents.
I managed tae answer at least one ae the mysteries ae the rooms upstairs. One ae them leads tae storage, but let’s set the scene first. It’s a full hoose, both ae ma familiars are in, playin’ checkers together. Chronos, uncharacteristically, is upstairs. I presume he’s upstairs because I havenae seen him since I arrived. I leave the roasters tae their game and busy aboot the shop until the bell goes and everyone’s attention wanders. The customer that walks in is strange. They’re confident as they stride over tae the counter and stare expectantly at ma familiars. Very few people stride intae the shop, they dinnae even stride oot, it’s usually a run or a sprint. No hesitation, no questionin’ looks, no ogling curiously at the chaos. This woman knew exactly whit she wanted, and it was tae see ma boss.
Except there was no card. I’d expected it tae be lyin’ on the glass counter, but there was nothin’ tae find. I approached the woman fae behind and she eventually honoured me wi’ a glance. Her face crumpled intae surprise before bein’ replaced by understandin’. She surmised, aloud, that I must be the apprentice, and that she was here tae see Madam Norna.
Despite maself I threw a look at Fionn tae check if he knew the woman, if there was recognition or distaste on his features, but he shrugged, and I felt rather than observed that he didnae know her. I wonder if the rings will ever let me read his mind. On second thoughts, I dinnae think I want that, just in case it’s a two way-street.
Realisin’ this woman was impatient aboot her business wi’ ma boss I led her past the roasters and up the stairs where the Madam was waitin’ in the front room. This woman was perhaps in her thirties, the only ‘hing ae note aboot her was the designer handbag she had hangin’ fae her shoulder. Just by lookin’ I couldnae tell whit she might do fae a livin’. She, in general, was a bit ae a mystery. A normal person who knew enough aboot the shop tae take me by surprise.
When ma boss greeted this woman by name I wish I could say the pieces fell intae place. She could be anythin’. The Madam called her Lydia, didnae need tae offer her a seat because she strode wi’ as much confidence tae the sofa as she had through the door, and told me we wouldnae be needin’ tea.
Silence settled, unusually. Ma boss was never the first one tae speak, and I had a feelin’ she could sit there all day in silence if she wanted withoot ever feelin’ that pressure ae awkwardness. A master ae silence was the Madam. Lydia was not. Irritably Lydia stated that Norna must know why she was there, and what it was she wanted.
“There are a lot of things you want in this shop,” ma boss answered.
Lydia almost rolled her eyes before she sat forwards and pulled oot a drawing ae a carriage clock. They look a bit like boxes, either ae wood or gold, wi’ a clock face on one side. They adorn the mantle piece ae many a home, although probably more are tucked away in lofts or gatherin’ dust in the back room ae an antique dealer. I was surprised Lydia hadnae pulled oot a photo but a pencil line drawin wi’ some shadin’. The clock pictured was a wee bit different tae whit I’d seen before. This clock, rather than box like, was covered in a dome ae glass, the pendulum swinging doon fae the clock face itself.
Lydia asserted that she knew it was in the shop, that her trail her led her right tae the Madam’s door. She was willin’ tae part wi’ a pretty penny if she could get her hands on this carriage clock. I began tae suspect durin’ this conversation that Lydia was a collector, like Flora but more aggressive. Where Flora had things drop intae her lap, Lydia went huntin’ fae them like a fox after a rabbit. I dreaded tae think whit this clock did, and whit else she had in her collection.
I wasnae sure whit ma boss would say. I’d never seen her sell anythin’ tae a collector before. it seemed a requirement that you couldnae know whit the object you bought fae the shop did. So I was surprised when Madam Norna confirmed that the clock was in the shop, but that it was still in storage. I perked up at this word, the fabled and ever mysterious storage that was hidden somewhere in the shop. I felt the Madam’s eyes shift over tae me and I couldnae decide if I was nervous or excited.
“Maya can get it for you,” she told Lydia.
I was slow tae get up, uncertain if this was a good idea. I knew ae at least one ‘hing in storage. The monster jars, and if they were kept doon there, then how much worse was everything else? Once I was standin’ ma boss told me tae take either Reid or Fionn wi’ me as it was easy tae get lost when searchin’, and two sets ae eyes were better than one. The refusal jumps oot ma mouth before I can stop it. I dinnae say it aggressively, but it sounds defensive, almost petulant. It’s no like I can usually tell whit the Madam is thinkin, and this was no different. She nodded unreadably and told me that the door tae storage was the last one on the left, doon the corridor.
So it was behind one ae those closed doors up there. I suppose that’s the only place it could be, but I’m kindae…disappointed. I wanted it tae be a bit like the wardrobe tae Narnia, or some vortex. Why is storage so borin when ye can pop intae the past through a hole in the shop’s wall, or by starin’ at a painting? A part ae me wanted tae pack fae the journey, take a few pieces ae survival kit, rations, a tent, a flare. I didnae really know whit tae expect. If it was in one ae the rooms then it could be no bigger than a cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps storage wasnae as big as the shop itself. Perhaps there were fewer truly awful things in the world than I realised, and they would only need a small room tae contain them.
What an ijit.
I found the door at the end ae the corridor, borin’ in its uniformity wi’ all the rest. I opened it quickly ontae a room full ae clutter, similar tae the shop. There were shelves on the walls that held glasses, tea sets, ornaments and decorations, sets ae drawers and wardrobes shunted against the green walls, and miscellaneous tat strewn on the remainder ae the floor space, save fae one single aisle that led tae another doorway. This one had no door and opened oot ontae another room filled wi’ clutter.
I took the path and passed through the equally chaotic room, and then another, until the final doorway I passed through opened intae a warehouse. Maybe it wasnae as big as that, but it felt cavernous, wi’ higher ceilings and rough stone walls that echoed every breath and footprint I made back at me three times over. There were no windaes anywhere, no even in the ceiling. It shouldae been dark but I could see as if there was natural light streamin’ in. Storage was just a bigger shop. Stuff was everywhere, wi’ only a single narrow aisle windin’ its way past, intae antique-made alcoves and special areas wi’ bookshelves and racks ae clothes. I felt like every antique in the world could be here.
There were a few ‘hings I couldnae understand aboot this place. How was it so big when the shop itself wasnae? We had neighbours on either side, businesses wi patrons, yet the storage sprawled oot where they should be. The second was how the hell ye found anythin’. I thought I’d seen a cabinet similar tae the one in the front room, presumin’ they were mirrored somehow. Was this actually where the Madam spent all ae her time? I didnae know whit she got up tae up here, I just assumed she read a book and waited fae customers tae turn up. Was she actually the one who changed the stock in the cabinet? It’d make more sense than ma idea ae whit she did wi’ her time. If I got lost lookin’ through the shop’s various inhabitants, think ae how much time I could spend getting’ lost in here? Hundreds ae years might just be enough.
I had tae remind maself I was in storage tae look fae somethin’, although how I was supposed tae find it escaped me. This wasnae as neatly arranged as a library, wi numbered shelves and labelled items. Like the shop itself, there was no order here, only chaos.
Although havin’ said that, there evidently was a theme tae certain areas. There was one corner full ae typewriters, another filled wi’ war memorabilia, even more filled wi’ just fur coats. Perhaps there was an area full ae clocks?
It was worth a try. At times I felt a bit like Jason in the labyrinth, except I didnae have a string tae show me the way oot. I couldnae get lost in here…right? I got distracted, scannin’ roond lookin’ fae a clock, so I didnae notice as a I brushed against something and heard it smash on the ground.
Fae fuck sake, I’d been so careful no tae touch anything.
It was a glass jar filled wi’ candle wax. Almost as soon as it’d hit the ground, I’d been assaulted by the scent ae cinnamon and Christmas. I wasnae aware that a scented candle could be considered an antique, but it wasnae the strangest ‘hing I’d glimpsed so far. Only the candle was left intact, the wick burnt doon’ a few centimetres. It was too late fae the glass. I tried tae scrape it tae one side, vowin’ tae come back and clean it up once I’d found the clock.
I took a few steps forwards and saw somethin’ else do the same. I say saw, but it was more like felt, that inkling ye get when somethin’ moves at the edges ae your vision. Some alcoves were created by large antiques, the biggest wardrobes you’ve ever seen, paintings that could only fit on the wall ae a stately home. They created blind spots, corners that you couldnae see aroond, but you could catch glimpses through the gaps in the chaos. It was through these gaps I noticed the movement.
In a very unwelcome game ae Simon says, every time I moved, so did somethin’ deep in storage. A shadow, a cloud, I couldnae tell. Then when I stopped, it kept movin, inchin’ closer tae the blind corner. Instinctively I darted intae another alcove, behind a set ae drawers and amongst a sea ae magazines and dolls clothes. I held ma breath because it was deafening amidst the morbid silence. I listened fae footsteps, shuffles, even cracks ae bone or muscle as whitever it was moved towards me, but the silence remained.
I dared a glimpse over the top ae the drawers and saw it inchin’ closer, aboot tae roond the corner where I was.
“Maya!”
It was impossible tae tell where the voice had come fae, but I knew it was Fionn’s. just as it had snared ma attention it captured the shadow’s just as quickly. It disappeared fae the corner, fae between the gaps I was peerin’ through and fled in the opposite direction. I quickly realised I had no idea where I was. I’d thought the exit was behind me on the path, but Fionn’s voice had come fae the opposite direction.
I heard another voice, gruffer, callin’ oot tae me. Both ae ma familiars had been sent in here, no doubt tae get me. How long had I been in storage? It could only ha been twenty minutes at the most, and that was startin’ tae be enough. The more their shouts echoed the easier it’d be fae that creature tae find them. Fate knew whit it would do. Storage was where the real monsters were kept.
I had tae warn them both. I darted fae ma hidin’ spot and ran in the direction ae their voices, hopin’ it wouldnae be too late. Whit was once clear parallel paths soon became a labyrinth ae antiques and memorabilia, makin’ it near impossible tae navigate. Had I seen that gramophone before? Was that hatbox no on top ae a wardrobe and no the floor? I shouldae been more careful, shouldae noted items I could use tae feel ma way oot.
I had no other option than to follow their voices, desperately shoutin’ at them tae run in the hopes they could hear me as clearly as I could hear them. I eventually rounded the last corner and saw them both standin’ in the path in front ae me. There was nothin’ else aroond, no shadows, no bared teeth, no frosty presence.
I almost let maself exhale.
Then it slid past me, a brief breath ae air on ma cheek as it shot its way towards ma familiars. Made ae shadow, it was difficult to see if it slid along the ground or moved in the dark places created by the antiques. Wi’ a snap ae someone’s fingers ma familiars were sucked doon paths and intae alcoves by long, black whisps ae shadow. It was everywhere and nowhere. One moment they stood there, the next I heard the crashing ae antiques and the desperate grunts as they both tried tae free themselves fae their bonds. The gasps ae breath, the choking sounds filled the air, cuttin’ through the silence like a scalpel through flesh.
What did I do? How was I here again? How many more times was I gonnae watch those two get injured or attacked by some arsehole? Why was it that I could do nothin’? Against monsters, against Fate itself? Was I really this powerless?
“Enough!” I shouted to the empty air, to all ae the antiques, and tae every single thing in storage that thought they would crawl fae their nests and hiding places.
Ma voice kept goin’, bouncin’ off ae each stone wall, curvin’ roond the ceiling, and wrapping roond each item and trinket. The air became thinner, the echo lost its edge, and the atmosphere became static, like the night before a thunderstorm. The room tilted roond me, bent where I wanted it tae, and I could feel somethin’ drawin’ near, summoned by my voice. It struggled and squirmed, tryin’ tae escape fae ma strange electric orbit. It didnae succeed.
Every inch it got closer tae me it shrunk. I watched its strange tentacle limbs, its once grinning face baring jagged teeth, and its single black eye collapse in on themselves until the creature was no bigger than my thumb. And that’s where it ended up. I’ve seen moths make less mess. A sudden wave ae fatigue rolled across ma mind, and I remembered Reid and Fionn.
I didnae know where they’d ended up, so I began callin’ their names in desperation. Fionn was the first tae answer and I followed his voice tae the path he’d been dragged doon, tryin tae grasp ontae any ae the larger antiques as an anchor. He’s peelin’ himself from the ground, inspectin’ his favourite shoes fae damage. He confirms tae me that he’s unhurt. I havenae heard Reid’s voice.
Followin’ the other trail ae debris I finally see Reid’s legs draped over an upturned set ae drawers. They’re no movin. He’s no movin’.
Ma heart’s never stopped before, but I swear it did then.
I clamber over the mess, standin’ on things and barely hearin’ them crack beneath ma weight. Once I manage tae get tae him he’s covered in red, smattered on his clothes, his skin, and drippin’ fae his hair. Viscous, crimson liquid poolin’ on the ground beneath him. His eyes flutter open and he groans in pain. I frantically tell him no tae move, hearin’ ma voice crackle in desperation. I ask him where he’s hurt, or where he hurts the most, I tell him no tae worry and that we’ll get him help, the Madam’ll know whit tae do. Words are tumblin’ oot as I’m desperately tryin tae find the source ae the blood. He’s tryin tae speak, openin’ his mouth before I cut straight through.
Eventually he grabs my arm, shakin’ it gently, and says he’s fine, and that the red stuff isnae blood. I stare blankly, no really comprehendin’ whit he’s said. He indicated tae some broken glass at his side, red waxy liquid oozin’ ontae the floor. A broken lava lamp. Reid kicked it over tryin’ tae get free and had covered himself wi’ the red wax in the process. Gingerly I begin proddin’ the red stains on his clothes and realise they’re startin’ tae harden, transform fae a deep crimson tae a rosy pink.
I started greetin’ then, the hardenin’ wax going blurry as tears filled ma eyes. I hated it. no the cryin’, although that wasnae exactly fun, but hated the feelin’ ae helplessness. I always knew I was useless in the shop, the class ijit who never knew anythin’, but I hadnae cared before. Noo I had people tae care aboot, and I couldnae stand that I might be too slow tae help them, or save them. I couldnae protect them fae Fate, and I might no be able tae protect them fae the things in the shop either if I kept on the way I was goin’.
I was ugly cryin’, I could tell, wailin’ like a weepin’ widow in a drama, so loud that Fionn came over and began tae blame Reid fae it. I tell them both everythin’ aboot ma encounter wi’ Fate, whit I’d been doin in the shop and tae customers, and tae the fact that Reid’s accident had been all ma fault. The distance I’d tried tae keep fae them in the last few months had been because I hadnae wanted them tae be hurt due tae ma mistakes.
We three sit on the floor, somewhere lost in storage, cross-legged, some ae us wishin’ we had a tissue. Fionn uses ma sleeve tae dry ma face, and confirms that I am, indeed, an ijit. He says no one signs up tae be a Madam or apprentice’s familiar thinkin’ they’re gonnae be bakin’ and sprinklin’ fairy dust ontae baked goods all day. They both knew whit the shop was, whit Fate was when they agreed tae be ma familiars. It also wasnae ma job tae protect them, just like it wasnae theirs to protect me. No anymore, at least.
Reid frowns darkly, agrees wi’ Fionn fae the first time in history, and makes us each promise the other that we don’t keep secrets. We all promise, no pinkies involved, but the two-headed ring on ma finger goes frosty fae a few seconds. I assume there’s been a new clause added tae our familiar-apprentice bond, and am concerned whit the penalty will be if one ae us breaks that promise.
We pick ourselves up off the ground and I follow them oot ae storage. I tell them I havenae even been in that long. They exchange a concerned glance and tell me it’s been nearly 2 hours. Shite.
Just before we’re aboot tae leave, the door tae the corridor in sight, I stop and growl wi’ frustration. I never found that bloody carriage clock Lydia had come for. Fionn, who’s behind me, pushes me oot the door completely and closes it behind him. He reaches intae his pocket and pulls oot a clock that looks like the one I’d been sent tae find, only smaller. By the time he puts it in ma hands it’s regular sized. Reid and I glance between the clock and the wyvern, bemused. Fionn winks, pats me on the heid, and walks aff towards the front room.
Storage, despite its mess and size and potential fae dangerous creatures, is interesting. Does time move differently or did I just get carried away? How is it even there? I’d like tae go in again, but it might be a wee while. Just until I get ma courage back.