“What the fuck?” said Jack, gawking at the smoke-spewing phone box. “What is that thing?”

The bald man coughed, climbing to his feet. “It is called the Hadron and Relativity Drive of Nexus.”

“What… what does that even mean?” He gripped his temples.

“Wait…” said Lydia, standing with a smirk.

Hannah wrinkled her nose. “HARDON?”

Curling his lip, Jack sighed. “Because of course it’s a gag.”

“Well,” said Lydia, “depends how big it is.”

They all eyed her sideways, and the man turned back to his phone box, sticking his head into the plume of smoke.

“Violet?” he said, voice shaking. “Violet, where are you?”

Lydia popped up behind him, following his gaze. “It looks more crimson to me. Little bit of black, perhaps.”

He faced her, horrified, and slumped to his knees. “Yes, right, of course. Explosion. Um…” Springing back up, he clapped his hands together. “Introductions! I am Dr. Cornelius Wen, time-traveller. And you are?”

Jack coughed, his eyes beginning to itch. Was this guy serious? Regarding him, he saw a strained expression as Dr. Wen glanced about the office, like he was resisting an urge to run dramatically into an empty street and scream at the sky.

“A time traveller?” said Jack, eyebrow raised. “If you’re here for John, you’re a couple of decades too late.”

“I sense your disbelief,” said Dr. Wen.

“Yeah, wonder how.”

“Is this really weirder than monster cat, though?” said Hannah. “Or Lord Lost, or the actual devil.” As if to punctuate her point, she’d picked up a book from the table and begun reading it as if everything was normal. Her eyes watered from the smoke, but it didn’t seem to bother her.

He coughed. “Definitely more toxic—would you shut that bloody door?”

“Of course, sorry.” Dr. Wen leaned over, pulling the phone box shut. Jack approached the window, opening it as wide as it would go, and stuck his head out into the afternoon. The air tasted… pretty much the same, actually.

At least his lungs didn’t feel like a razor was bouncing around inside them anymore.

Inhaling a few gulps of cleaner air, he withdrew back to staring at Dr. Wen.

“Anyway,” he said, “all that other stuff is explainable. This is different! Like, if he changes something, does it make a paradox? Does everything turn to five-dimensional mush, or does it correct itself? Do we get new timelines; are we about to go all MCU up in here?”

Dr. Wen sighed. “Is it truly so hard to believe that the universe is self-consistent and there are, in fact, rules—even if we don’t quite know them?”

“No,” said Jack, voice flat. “It’s just impossible to believe our author has the attention span to figure those rules out.”

Approaching with a curious expression, Lydia inspected the wood of the ‘time machine’. “Yet magic has rules, and he figured those out.”

“Doesn’t look like that to me.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.”

“Only idiots call people idiots, idiot!”

She ignored him, stroking and mumbling. Dr. Wen chuckled, before furrowing his brow and looking between them all, pointing.

“Wait,” he said, focusing on Jack, “are you perhaps Jack O.A Trades, protagonist?”

His mouth made an ‘o’. “You know who I am?”

“But of course! Everybody in the future knows The Supernormal.”

Turning to face him, Lydia narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like a lie.”

“It is not! I’ll have you know that…” Dr. Wen swallowed, glancing around shiftily. “I can’t tell you anything. Sorry.”

“Bullshit,” said Jack, “you can tell us whatever you want.”

“Well now that you mention it, I’ve been having a bit of trouble with some hemorrhoids recently.”

“Not that!”

“Yes, they’re rather itchy.”

“Tell me about the future, dammit!”

“Fine.” With another sigh, Dr. Wen cleared his throat, giving Jack a heavy stare. “Seek Avalon to depose the ancient king.”

Jack stared at him.

Lydia stared at him.

Peeking over her book, Hannah stared at him.

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“Oi, what the bloody hell’s that supposed to mean?!” said Jack, nostrils flared.

Dr. Wen folded his arms, smug. “It’s a prophecy. Good, right?”

“Like hell!” yelled Jack, waving smoke away from him. It was wafting out the window, but the air was still thick. “That’s not even a proper prophecy format!”

“Indeed,” said Lydia. “Perhaps you should go further back and seek instruction from Agatha Fruiter.”

Rubbing his forehead, Dr. Wen cast a sad expression to the phone box. “Evidently, I cannot. My HARDON is completely out of commission, if you couldn’t tell from all the smoke.”

“You know,” she replied, “they have drugs for those sorts of problems.”

He nodded, smiling. “Lydia Blackwell, yes? Your exploits are very well-documented.”

“I don’t need to know,” she said, smirking. “Once a winner, always a winner.” She patted the wood. “I can’t figure this out, though; how did you make it?”

“Runes, my dear. Runes.” Eyes gleaming, he scampered over to the sofa, studying Hannah. “And that, of course, would make you Queen Crimson… though nobody ever said you were grey.”

“Who?” she asked. “Is that the name of someone’s Stand?”

“Yes, of course. Not there yet.” Clapping his hands, he whirled round, a grin attempting to hide the wavering sadness in his eyes. Jack saw it easily; he recognised it from the mirror.

“Anyway,” he continued, “as you three are historically known to help situations like this, could I perhaps hire you?”

Jack pursed his lips, thinking. He wanted this man—and his phone box—out of his office, allowing him to return to awaiting a real customer—one that would actually pay. Dr. Wen looked broke. Plus, he knew nothing about magical time machines, and just wanted his living room breathable again.

Though it did make a good environment for brooding.

“Can you afford us?” he wanted to say, but was cut off by the sound of a book slamming on the table.

Hannah smiled at Dr. Wen. Fists clenched, she stood, noting the other two with disappointed glances. “Of course we’ll help. Our creed is to help anyone who needs it, unless they can do it themselves. Then they can sod off.”

Jack started. “Since when?”

“Just now.”

Exhaling, he eyed his console telephone. Time to make a call, he supposed.

***

“Rooney,” said Jack, answering the front door. “Thanks for coming, mate.”

“Not a problem,” said the Sidhe—wearing his usual smart half-suit—before gesturing behind himself. “You said this was important, so I brought a couple of friends.”

Behind him were two women—Lizzie, who nodded curtly, and one of average height with dark brown skin and a yellow sundress ending at the knees. In winter.

Shaking his head, Jack waved them on, ascending the stairs. “Yeah, it’s upstairs. Maybe you can explain what…” He gestured at them as they stepped in, “this is.”

They entered the office, where Lizzie and Lydia exchanged electrically-charged glares as Rooney led a round of introductions. Hannah and Dr. Wen sat on one sofa, the doctor giving increasingly ridiculous prophecies, to her delight. The best had been ‘remember your weed in the other world’. Even if there were other worlds, what would he need drugs for? Extra income? Or maybe just to keep him sane.

Finally, Rooney pointed to the woman behind him.

“And this is our new member,” he said, “Amanda Tizzent.”

The woman’s gaze was locked on her toes, hands wringing each other before her hips. “Hi,” she mumbled.

Shooting over, Dr. Wen performed a regal bow and took her hand. “My lady, it is a pleasure.”

She made a small squeal, ripping her hand free.

“Tell me,” said Dr. Wen, “will you be able to fix my HARDON?”

Silence reigned in the auditory equivalent of a blue screen of death.

Rooney cleared his throat uncomfortably. “No, I believe you need a physician for that.”

A puff of smoke surrounded Amanda, immediately clearing to reveal Dr. Wen, still in the sundress.

He cocked his head, standing. “My word, I really need to show my legs off more.”

“Sorry,” she said, in his voice. “I always change when I get scared.”

“Do not worry—I have encountered doppelgangers before. Never one quite so lovely, though.” He admired her impersonation.

Jack chewed his lip. “So what’s with the Scooby Gang, Rooney?” His eyes tracked to Lizzie without his input. She stared back at him.

“What is it about her? She loves you, but you barely even think about her. Like you’re trying to avoid something—you don’t even describe your thoughts about her to the readers.”

Can’t you just dive in my memories and see?

“You asked me not to.”

You listened?

A huff sounded inside him, followed by nothing. Okay then.

Rooney held out his arms, grinning. “I am glad you asked, my friend. You see, with things growing more dangerous, and all of us performing separate research—”

“Get to the point,” said Jack.

“Right,” said Rooney. “We three have elected to combine our forces into one scientific organisation, the Magical Science Guild!”

Amanda and Lizzie nodded, and Jack and Lydia shared a look while Hannah giggled.

“MSG?” said the vampire.

“I’m sure Uncle Roger will be pleased,” said Lydia.

“Seriously?” Jack covered his mouth. “You named yourselves after a seasoning?”

“We did wanna call it the Magical Guild o’ Science,” said Lizzie, hands on hips, “but we thought Konami might no’ be too happy wi’ that.”

Her gaze still burned holes in him. Something stirred within, hot and painful.

“Chapter sixty-one. Do better, Jack—how are the readers supposed to know what’s going on?”

It’s called subtlety!

“There is such a thing as too much, you know. Right now it looks like we’re pulling things out of our asses.”

That’s because we do, every damn chapter!

Lizzie strode over to where he leaned on the sofa, grabbing his arm and meeting his eyes as they tried to escape.

“Can we talk?” she said.

With a rough exhale, he nodded, leading her to his bedroom. It was a bit of a squeeze, but he sat on his disorderly bed and faced her as she pushed the door closed.

“What’s your problem?” she said, frowning. “You’ll barely even look at me, and you’ve still no’ come to visit. Runes? I shoulda been the first one ye called, and you know it.”

He swallowed, looking down. “I’m too weak, Lizzie.”

“Everyone’s got weakness in them—”

“Not like that.” Chewing his lip, he peered into her eyes. They looked hurt. “I can barely look at you without thinking of what happened.”

Her expression softened. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was,” he said, a lump of ice in his gut. “I made the choice. And now it’s come back to haunt me.”

“What do ye mean?”

“She’s alive, Lizzie.”

Eyes widening, Lizzie chuckled. “That’s fuckin’ brilliant! Why do you look so doon aboot it?”

“She changed,” he said. “Into something dangerous. Remember Saul Oyster?”

“Billionaire got murdered—aye, I heard aboot it.”

“That was her.”

Lizzie blanched, disbelieving. “Are ye sure it was Lea?”

“Pretty damn sure.”

Sighing with her nose, she said, “then as far as I’m concerned, we both bear the sin of lettin’ her die, even if she didnae.” She threw herself on him, sending him swaying as she wrapped her arms around him. “You’re my oldest friend; please stop shutting me oot.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. He’d spent his life running away from everything that scared him: relationships, confrontation, and even the wrong kinds of thoughts. It was his fault they’d lost Lea. It was always his fault.

But still, she embraced him. Even though he was the one who’d carved that sin into her soul, she melted the ice taking root and spread warmth through him.

Fighting back tears, he broke the hug, standing to return to the other room.

As he opened the door, a boom shook the office. The HARDON stood wide open, everyone crowded around it and coughing as even more smoke erupted. Rooney emerged from the cloud.

“Good start,” he said, face blackened. “Though I should have brought goggles.”