Iris’s introduction to the city had been a grand one. A city she could have never dreamed of had presented itself to her in such a luxurious fashion. But up close, she felt uneasy. The constant motion and flow, or rather spiral, of people moving throughout Geverde International Train Station irked her. Overtones of rich brown replaced the sterile grey. Looking up for some relief, she found what she thought was a glass roof to the sky, but on closer inspection, the clouds were in shapes of words that she couldn’t read.

Maywen – 01:48 – Pure Aether express line

Penevgo – 01:53 – Aether diesel line

The words were becoming more apparent, which only made her head hurt even more. She turned back forward, trying to keep her eyes on Evalyn as she cut through the crowd, slowly disappearing into the mass of bodies. The surrounding bodies snuffed out the last wisps of her beacon-like hair.

A realisation hit that some of the commuters around her were entities she had never even seen before. Black masses wore the same clothes as people and formed the same shape but moved completely differently, at a completely different cadence from anyone human. They had no faces, just white masks with long beaks. Holes for eyes that turned towards her, slowly, like they were staring straight through her.

And she was lost. The height of those around her had made an indomitable wall, suffocating her. She felt the constant flow of people nauseating. She couldn’t focus on something in particular, so her vision blurred.

The droning noise stuck to the inside of her ears and made her want to tear them off. She began to panic as though certain presences stuck out from the rest, watching her. She swivelled around, but any threat was indistinguishable from the crowd.

Panic turned to aggression that she desperately tried to suppress. A feeling made her twitch from her shoulders to her fingertips. She could feel it; she could feel her hair disappearing like it always did. That sickening feeling of relief. A voice called to her. Something emanating from the crowd or even beyond it. It whispered so loudly in Evalyn’s mind, but nothing made sense. No sounds formed words. A sound that felt like it was melting her brain.

“Iris!”

She was a foot off the floor. Two hands around her torso had picked her up and brought her level. Iris, at first not distinguishing who it was through her vertigo, finally found the marking on her face, something to focus on.

She found Evalyn again, and the world from there began to return to her, including her hair.

“Your hair really does disappear,” she muttered in amazement as she put Iris back on the ground. “Let’s not let that happen again,” she said, grabbing Iris’s hand. Strung along this time, Iris felt much safer, enjoying the sensation of Evalyn’s skin on hers.

By this rhythm, they made it to an old building, five storeys tall. The paint was peeling, but it was overall still structurally sound.

“If you need me, then you come here, okay? Fifth story. That’s my office.”

Iris looked up and then back at her.

“You’re welcome anytime if that’s what you were wondering.”

Apart from the boutique, the moving room, it was the first time Iris had felt welcome inside an interior and her first time in one that felt so homely. Things weren’t on display solely to show off to someone, whether it be a service or a product. It frankly didn’t care what it looked like inside; the building did what it needed to.

Her boots creaked on the wooden floor, making Iris weary of her footing. Evalyn instead strode through to the staircase, utterly comfortable in her surroundings. Here, even Iris could tell that her eyebrows had unfurrowed themselves, and she wasn’t looking over her shoulder constantly. The winding spiral staircase rose past every floor, letting her peer all the way to the top. Iris stood in the centre, following the polished railing to the ceiling, wondering if she could ever reach there with her purple limbs.

“Iris?”

“Mm?”

“Rules, do you know what rules are?”

“…”

“Rules are things that stop you from doing something. Just because you can do it doesn’t always mean you should. That goes for your hair as well,” Evalyn said.

“Mm.”

“So, if someone can see you,” she said, pointing at her eyeballs, “you don’t do anything like this.”

Up until now, Iris had been alone in a variety of senses. Physically and emotionally. She had sifted through crowds like water through a colander, something anyone would miss. But the power she walked with inside her had allowed her to take full advantage of that. And she had found some pride in that.

When Evalyn exercised her magic, Iris’s eyes lit up the same way Evalyn’s markings did. A whale, moving, diving in her palm. Golden orange.

Iris stumbled over, mesmerised by the small, fake life. As she got closer, the light grew more potent, and she realised that the solid mass was made of tiny leaves. Three-pronged leaves, the size of sand grains.

And with the snap of Evalyn’s fingers, it was gone.

“Ms Caney, how are you today?” Evalyn called.

“Oh, I’m okay. Thank you for asking, Mrs Hardridge. Back so soon?”

“The case wasn’t much after all. Did you end up tracking down that rent from two weeks ago?”

Ms Caney was one of the shapes that looked so human-like. Iris had seen more on her way but couldn’t help but stare now that she was talking. A black matter, like a shadow, wearing a floral dress and a haunting white mask. Hollows for eyes and a beak rather than any expression to speak of.

Her voice wasn’t normal, either. The warmth and rhythm that innately came with a voice such as Evalyn’s were stifled. Mechanical. Iris felt she had to clear her ears one more time before Ms Caney spoke again.

“No, unfortunately. I might have to talk to you about that.”

“I’d take a month’s rent off as payment,” Evalyn grinned.

Ms Caney sighed and succumbed, muttering the grievances of being a landlord. Evalyn turned to Iris.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“Here, you say ‘hello’.”

“H-hello…”

Her tongue almost knotted itself in the process, but Evalyn looked satisfied.

“Hello, and who might you be?”

“She’s a friend’s daughter. I’m taking care of her for a while.”

“…seems awfully dangerous for your line of work. Surely, it’ll be your husband’s job.”

“I’m afraid so, but I must get going, Ms Caney; there’s an important call I need to make.”

“Oh, I know better to interrupt a P.I. Wives are terrifying when they suspect their husbands of cheating, I must say.”

“I can’t complain about my clientele, Ms Caney.”

“And I can’t complain about never being married.”

With that exchange, they walked past each other, Iris unable to tear her eyes away from Ms Caney.

“It’s rude to stare, Iris.”

“What?” Iris asked, pointing at Ms Caney.

“Ms. Caney? She’s the landlord. I give her money, and she lets me use her building.”

Iris mumbled to herself, scratching her head.

“Oh, I see now,” Evalyn said as she turned to Iris, crouching down from a step above.

“Ms Caney is a beak. I know it sounds like a slur, but it’s okay; they prefer it. They’re a Spirit, and you’ll see more and more in this city. You got your hair from a Spirit, so treat them with respect.”

Iris looked at Evalyn, a semblance of the confusion dissipating. Evalyn stared back, her expression still cloudy with insecurity. She flicked the girl’s forehead.

“I know I’m getting through to you, so bear with me.”

She continued up each flight of stairs while Iris hobbled behind, her forehead feeling betrayed for the first time in her memory.

“You see, when you can do the things we do, it becomes tempting to use them all the time just as long as no one’s looking. I mean, why can’t I blast myself up to the top or create an elevator myself? But beyond the fact that someone could always be watching…it isn’t as fun, is it?”

It sounded as though Evalyn enjoyed speaking, even if there was no one around to understand. To Iris, her lips were simply moving in ways she could not comprehend or even hope to replicate. Even then, certain sounds stuck out, ones that repeated and were easy to recall.

“That being said,” she muttered as—with a dull flash of her markings—she produced a golden key at the tips of her fingers and pushed it into the lock.

“It is bloody useful sometimes.” Click.

Evalyn’s office wasn’t a large affair by any means, but it certainly had the layout of a police station one might find themselves sitting in after a row at the local pub. Iris glanced around, noting how many doors the space had compared to the shops she had visited or even the boutique.

A potted plant, paintings and waiting chairs lined one wall, while the other had three doors. Evalyn walked to the very far one, strolling past the first two; unremarkable apart from the fact signs denoted their purpose. One, labelled ‘Bathroom’, and the other marked ‘Staff only’, which, even to an illiterate Iris, stuck out from the other two signs. The last door which Evalyn opened, was labelled ‘Office’.

Evalyn’s expert handiwork quickly unloaded the rifle of ammunition, leaving one bullet chambered before propping it up beside her desk. She slumped into her chair and it creaked backwards, tired of her abusive handling. She sunk into the pillow as Iris sunk into her surroundings. She saw walls lined with colourful bricks, and her toes mingled with the fluff on the floor.

“The carpet, I did just import from Rodhisva. I swear it’s the best part of this room, apart from this chair. Suppose you’re wondering about the books? They’re mostly for show. Actually, let me get a window open.”

The orange brick that seemed to make up every building in the city peeked out from underneath peeling white paint. A sturdy wooden beam ran along the centre of the wall, dividing it into two with a window on each side. Evalyn swung the gates of the closest window open, and her hair began flowing in the gentle breeze. Evalyn sighed deeply and looked back, leaning against the windowsill. She stared at Iris, and Iris stared back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Evalyn whispered.

“…”

“Well, I’m going to make a call, so please make yourself home.”

And Iris was alone with herself once again, meandering from one end of the room to another.

“Hello, yes, is the Lieutenant-General there? I want to speak with her…Yes, I know this is a secure channel; why do you think I’m on it…Hardridge, H, A, R…”

Hearing the conversation made Iris realise that no matter how much she felt she was understanding, sometimes words could still sound like gibberish if she thought them too dull. The breeze and its source were what attracted her first. She had never been so high up before and tempted a look down. Below was nothing but water, a canal instead of a street. A little voice inside her told her to jump, to see what it would be like, but the fear of five storeys kept it at bay.

“Marie, please could you get me a direct line? No but you’re never home, are you…well, I’m sorry I interrupted you, but I’ve got something here that’s a great deal more important…no, it’s another Witch, I’m afraid…”

The coloured bricks or ‘books’ on the wooden shelves felt soft and hard simultaneously, almost like wood but without the density. They opened with slight resistance and revealed their delicate insides. The pages, or more the black lines on them, looked like the shapes the clouds made in the station. She put the book back, unwilling to revisit the feeling just yet.

“I can fully confirm she’s been infused with Aether, yes…I found her in Sidos, but we’re in my office right now…what else am I supposed to do with her? She’s the youngest Witch anyone I’ve ever known knows about! I can’t just leave her there and report it to Sidos Home Guard! They’ll tear her to shreds!.”

Iris looked back, and Evalyn was mumbling into a black rod wired to a box, and Iris, concerned for her new guardian’s mental state, scampered off into the hallway, where she found the room labelled ‘staff only’.

Rules. Just because she can do something doesn’t mean she should. But for Iris, being non-fluent was a helpful excuse. She pressed her hand against the lock, bringing forth the memory of Evalyn’s key and the shape of its teeth. The tendrils pressed against the pins, gently massaging them into a form that the lock recognised and thus yielding itself to her with a satisfying click. She looked back at Evalyn, her back still turned, seemingly unaware. Iris’s curiosity overwrote the little sense of guilt in her mind, and she pressed it open.

She scanned the room, whose layout was identical to the last, but its contents were vastly different. Two sets of metal beamed shelves lined with boxes of the same drab colours and contents. These were labelled like the books in the other room, ‘1929-Jan’, ‘1932-Aug’ and so on. If they were anything like the books, Iris could guess the contents already and had barely any interest in them.

What she found more stimulating were pictures, particularly those pinned to the far wall. Iris followed the seemingly random succession from one pinned parchment to the next. Sketches that Iris could not recognise.

Sharp things, scary things, things that, if were real, Iris would be wary of. The most intriguing of all, however, was the parchment set in the centre. A person drawn with sharp edges. Its arms were segmented into plates, intricate designs followed their lines, and each seemed to click into place with the other. Every paper was labelled ‘edged weapon three’ or ‘ranged weapon sixteen’, and their drawings were scribbled over with writing, but this one more so out of all the others. ‘Armour’.

“No, I can’t discern her abilities yet, but you can add lockpicking to the list.”

Iris instinctively jumped in her jacket, scrambling to hide. Evalyn, already leaning on the door frame, sighed, shaking her head. Iris understood what she meant with little thought and conceded, sneaking one last glance at the papers before leaving. Evalyn pressed the phone against her chest.

“Next time, you ask first, okay?”

She resumed the call and began to walk back to her office. Iris watched her round the corner, intent on following, but found she couldn’t.

The hallway outside changed, morphed into something unrecognisable.

It stretched past the confines of the building’s structure that Iris was keenly aware of. The walls were pale white, and no natural light passed through them, only the sickly orange of the lamps above her head. Her bare feet against the carpet didn’t feel the softness of its fabric. It was bristly, red, and hostile. Down each side were doors. These weren’t labelled, but Iris had no sense of urgency to find out what was behind them.

Her urgency fell entirely in the fact she feared them. The doors loomed quietly, inviting her to turn the brass knobs that kept her from something she knew she did not want to remember, could not afford to remember.

She closed her eyes, wishing it would go away, hoping the doors would see she wasn’t interested, but they pressed on. Their inevitability far surpassed Iris’s protests, her insignificant protests. This time, the voice that sounded didn’t come from the unending flow of bodies but focused on a singular point.

The final door in the sequence at the end of the hallway became clear to Iris. Clear in shape, but not in meaning.

She collapsed, her body falling onto the hardwood, her skin graced by the sun’s light, and her condition finally brought to Evalyn’s attention.