A chill prickled her exposed skin, telling her off for neglecting the change in seasons. From a distance, the falling leaves almost passed for snow, yet the branches never grew bare even after so many years, and the lonely pathway somehow always remained clear of the debris.
Evalyn entertained the possibility of something lying in wait for her at the end of that path, and the thought that it might finally be the time to search for it.
She held onto her husband’s hand, the tips of her fingers turning as red as the bridge of her nose. The man in question had his eyes averted to the ground, probably some level of guilt swirling around in his bushy nest of hair. She didn’t hold him to it; his decision had been a catalyst, yes, but if anything, she could only be grateful that he'd forced the issue on her as early as he did.
“Elly is thinking of moving up,” she explained, unable to meet the old Spirit’s eyes herself. “He wants to put in for a promotion and move up.”
“Well, congratulations,” Darminjung said, hands resting on the head of his cane, his expression betraying blissful serenity as it had since she'd first laid eyes on him; what for him must’ve only felt like a small kink in his timeline.
“He wants to throw in the towel and stop flying soon,” she reiterated.
The Spirit gave some pause, but still, his demeanour remained entirely intact. “Has your love for it waned, perhaps?”
She felt Elliot startle, and so squeezed his hand, a little peeved to know he was hoping to get by without talking himself.
“No," he said. "Not for flying but…doing what I do. I’m starting to think it isn’t worth dying over.”
He was slowing down, perhaps not enough to significantly impact his performance, but when invincibility was the norm, anything less was terrifying. That was the answer she came to when she imagined her armour as fallible.
“And that’s brought your own circumstances into doubt, has it Evalyn?”
She pursed her lips, nodding. The mutual agreement between the married couple to always fight for each other, like a clause in their marital contract, had kept the idea of retirement from her mind.
“It’s true I don’t want to let go of you yet,” she said, terrified of being on the receiving end of something that even rivalled her magic, “but once Iris is ready…I can’t see my heart being in this anymore.”
She had an out; perhaps the greatest privilege the Spirit of Desire had afforded her. No term had been set, no promise of eternity. To the Wishing Whale, ten, twenty, even fifty years were the same; the difference between five minutes and fifteen. When Evalyn could bear becoming a regular person again, she could.
The Spirit smiled, leaning back into the bench. “Do you finally feel it’s been enough? The actions you’ve taken in these thirteen years since, have they absolved you?”
“I…don’t know, but I know it isn’t why I’m still doing this anymore.”
The old man nodded, enjoying another fresh gust of melancholy wind pass through his wispy-thin hair.
“Your wish hasn’t changed. The way in which you chase it, yes, but the core itself is part of your being.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I will stay here until you’re satisfied. But, if ever I become a detriment to your wish…then of course I will leave.”
The Wishing Whale turned to her and smiled. “No hard feelings, of course.”
And, despite the cold nipping at her face, she returned the smile, feeling the edge of her vision blurred with tears.
“Thank you,” she managed to say before turning away out of embarrassment. “Thank you.”
“At your service…ah, but before you go.” He turned his cane to his left, its end pointing into the distance, where the path disappeared behind a golden, misty curtain of falling leaves. “Why don’t you start walking? You've never ventured far, and—although I don't blame you you're a busy woman—I'd be hard-pressed to see you go without making the journey. I’ll be sure to mark your progress.”
“How far?” Elliot asked, a tinge of laziness slipping into his tone. She elbowed him for his troubles, or rather lack thereof.
“Not far, but you two must get to bed soon, so nothing you can finish by tonight,” he said, revealing a shimmering watch from underneath his sleeve. With his cane hand, he poked her knee, goading her on. “Get to it. Chop chop.”
And so, just having been evicted from the bench, they indulged the old Spirit.
They were never truly out of sight per se, but losing him in her rear-view mirror gave her the confidence to wrap a tepid arm around Elliot’s, sharing their body heat.
“Sorry,” was the first thing he said, and in response, she squeezed tighter.
“Stop,” she said. “It was going to happen. Better now than later.”
“Right,” he said. “I don’t think we ever cleared it up.”
“Cleared what up?”
“How long you’d be a Witch for. Part of me expected you wanted to end up like Colte.”
“Oh, God no. Not anymore. A decade ago, yeah, but then I looked at our savings account.”
Elliot nudged her, and she rocked back and forth on his arm, the motion shaking a chuckle from her.
“Okay, yeah…I just think it happened naturally. Because at the time, I couldn’t see an end to it all, but I knew there’d be one. I looked down at my own body and…realised that I can’t do this forever.”
Elliot looked her up and down, grinning. “I don’t know darling, you look pretty good for your age last I remember.”
Evalyn squinted, letting out a soft groan as the needle ticked back and forth between forgiveness and retaliation. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” she threatened.
“And you should be, it was a compliment.”
“Back to what you were saying. Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t clear it up. It just wasn’t concrete enough to put into words.”
“Ah…beats me. I switched up fairly quickly.”
“Really? Doesn’t seem like that to me.”
“Does it not?”
“No,” she said, shuffling her hands up his arm. “I’ve been getting the sense you want to settle down for a while.”
“How so?”
“You never took this much leave for me.”
He wriggled his arm out of her grip and wrapped it around her shoulders instead. They swayed, back and forth in time with one another.
“Well, aren’t you glad I saved it until three years ago?”
Evalyn frowned, knowing exactly the moral victory he was gunning for.
“Just because she’s my daughter doesn’t mean I can’t be jealous of her.”
And she didn’t let him have it. Watching his face curl and tint red, she was satisfied knowing she’d gotten the one-up on him.
Tilting her head into his shoulder, she indulged in a guiltless smile. “Give her as much of your leave as you can, all right?”
“Course,” he replied. “And you make sure that one day, she doesn’t need to hide behind you anymore.”
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“I think we’re past that point already,” Evalyn sighed. “But I think I’m…we’re all still propping her up from behind.”
“But that’ll never change,” Elliot muttered. “Never will for any of us, hm?”
“I know, but it’s different when it comes to her. Magic or not, I’d burn the world down before I watch her die.”
Elliot smiled, unable to agree with words, but in his embrace, she could tell they were of the same mind.
“What do you think is at the end of the road?” she asked.
“I hope it’s worth it,” Elliot mumbled. Unsure where the sarcasm ended in that sentiment, Evalyn swung her foot into the back of his knee, just to find out.
“You’re done already?” she teased. “It hasn’t been ten minutes.”
“I’m just hoping it’s nothing too personal,” he said, massaging the point of impact. “It’s your mind palace. Freaky stuff is probably tucked away in here.”
“Freaky?”
“Freaky.”
“What freaky stuff have you not uncovered after thirteen years?”
“I don’t know. Could be something horrible.”
“And you’re talking from experience, are you?”
“I am but a simple man, not a lot going on up here. But you—ow!”
The room always reeked of smoke whenever he visited, and as long as his rear touched any upholstery, it would reek of smoke for hours afterwards as well. Elvera didn’t smoke. She’d made a point not to and drilled it into Evalyn’s mind before she ever met the Ash Man. Clearly, that nagging had stuck.
But it wasn’t the smell that bothered her, the smell of smoke. Thanks to his infrequent visits, that smell of smoke had latched onto whatever part of her brain stored her memories of him. It wasn’t glamorous, or even particularly sentimental, saying that smouldering ashtrays reminded her of him, but it was how things had turned out.
Her ashtray, taking its rarely occupied spot in the centre of her dining table, proudly boasted a small, neat pile of the stuff. It caught her eyes every time they strayed from the documents before her.
As a pair, she and Colte were partial to a select few underground joints in and around Excala. But sometimes, her days off only meant earning the privilege of doing the same work, just in a different environment. And on those days, which were more frequent than she cared to admit, he’d instead find his way to her apartment—a bottle of something too expensive in hand—and wait out the day’s work, oftentimes smoking on the balcony.
“You’re going to drop dead one day if you keep that up,” she said, eyes drifting laggardly down the page. Regrettably, by that time of night, the glass of whiskey in her hand had a way of appealing to her eyes that the documents couldn’t hope to match.
“Then you’d better stop sending me contracts,” he mumbled, slouching against her railing.
“Keep it at a minimum outside of work. That’s a fair deal, no?”
“Fair deal my ass,” he chuckled.
She took a swig, fighting the alcohol on its way down and smacking her lips afterwards. The shimmering, amber liquid managed to break her stupor and convinced her hand to put the pen down.
“In other news, the Sidosian shadow Prime Minister confirmed in a press conference today that it will continue investigations into Vesmos’s role in an alleged spy plane incident if it wins the upcoming snap election. The election, which comes in the wake of Prime Minister Dalena Fault’s resignation, has put the future of these investigations into question, fears that the S.D.C. party’s earlier statements have put to rest for the meantime. Vesmos authorities, including the Imperial family, have yet to address these claims, neither confirming nor denying their involvement. Despite this, Sidos has not ceased levying further claims as research continues—”
She turned down the radio, muffling the presenter’s voice into static dissonance. Its place beside the jewellery box hadn’t changed since she’d bought the dresser they both stood on, nor had anything else in the room for that matter. Colte had mentioned it for years, and the same went for Evalyn, yet neither had managed to convince her.
Every time Colte visited, he knew where everything was as well as she did. Every time Evalyn and her cadre reported for dinner, they had no trouble finding the plates and cutlery.
It was a mark of stability, although one could argue that a lack of variables came with its downsides, too. But she imagined it was much the same for Colte; other people ultimately forced those changes. Other people that, for them, didn’t exist.
“What was it this time, then?” she asked, the start of the conversation calling him back in from the balcony. He trundled over, a much less intimidating figure without his coat. Dressed to standard, but only barely, and perpetually in clothes that always kept her wondering where exactly the money she paid him was going.
“Nothing. I just wanted to…check in, I guess.”
She smiled. “I’m doing all right. Yourself?”
“…yeah. Yeah, I’m doing all right. Could be better, though. Tell you the truth, I was hoping to hear your gripes so I didn’t have to deal with mine.”
“What kind of coping mechanism is that?” she snorted, lounging in her chair now that the day’s work was far from her mind. She tapped the glass in front of her. “I thought this was more down your alley.”
“What image do you have of me, Marie?” he asked, sitting down and reaching for his own glass anyway. He grunted, opening the bottle and watching the pour until a thumb’s height of liquid swayed in the vessel.
“Gripes aside,” he started before taking a sip, “I did just want to see your face.”
“How sweet of you,” she chimed. “Hope it was worth the trip.”
“Always is,” he smiled, and they drank to the silence. There were things to talk about. There always were.
But there was a moment there that felt as though it’d break with any mention of the present.
“Do you miss the Royal Espionage Division?”
Colte’s eyebrows rose, and his attention found her with a face like a startled hound. “R.E.D.? What brought this up?”
“You saying you wanted to see my face,” she said. “You say that, but I can’t help but feel like something’s missing.”
Colte pursed his lips, finally dumping the remnants of his last puff into the ashtray. Two neat piles, slightly overlapping each other.
“Who’s still kicking around from those days?”
“From those days?” Elvera crossed her arms, “most of the flyboys are still on the Steel Whale. Francis Molaine, you met him, right?”
“Briefly. Heard Elliot mention him a couple of times.”
The cicadas began to wail again, heralding another chill breeze that brushed through the apartment. It’d bring in all sorts of bugs, but summer days in officer uniform were torture: it was worth the price if only to feel that breeze kiss her bare skin.
“So him…a few other Squadron Leaders…Kedron, he was head of Intelligence.”
“Oh yeah,” Colte replied, smiling as he rolled his sleeves. “Loved watching him try to figure out what I was doing there.”
“He did eventually.”
“Did he?!”
“No, no,” Elvera chuckled, enjoying Colte’s sour face. “Thought you were just a gun-for-hire until we disbanded.”
“Good,” he said, settling back in his chair and talking into his glass. “I’m hoping to take that small win to the grave.”
“Petty.”
“What? I never liked him. But, keep going.” Elvera racked her brain again, but no noteworthy faces came to mind. All were riffraff, cycling in and out of Special Operations duties, and to the end, never aware of exactly who they were working for.
“Then…I guess us. Evalyn—”
“No, she doesn’t count. Elliot doesn’t either.”
“And why does that detail rile you up so much?”
“It’s a cool kids club. You’ve got to keep the red tape intact at the front door. Pun intended.”
“All right,” she sighed. “Then, besides that…us four.”
Colte nodded, letting the silence stretch. Seems like she had gotten it right.
“Heard from Daugherty at all?” he asked, but Elvera had nothing to offer him besides a shake of her head. “How long has it been?”
“Long enough to put him down as MIA,” she sighed. “Do you think he’s all right?”
“If we’re talking about the same sucker, then yes,” he grunted, the frown stubbornly glued to his face. “Even after all that, I never knew what that guy was thinking.”
“Me neither.”
And the other didn’t need much mentioning at all. Eyes like gemstones and a frustratingly beautiful smile. Someone who had run circles around them all until the end, somehow always one step ahead. But in their line of work, the great equaliser called death was an everyday factor. It had taken the best of them, and far too soon.
“Does Evalyn still visit Lyanna’s grave?”
“Every year. She goes while Elliot attends the remembrance ceremonies.”
“Still?” he asked.
“You say that you still don’t do the same.”
Elvera watched as the man drifted into another world entirely, the sheen over his eyes thickening. Many names and faces were swirling around in his head, all of whom had left their bodies at some point down the road. But the reason Elvera never had qualms inviting a bachelor to her house, nor any complaints when he invited himself over intending to drink, was because she knew that girl was still running circles around his head.
He'd brushed it off as a one-night thing before, no different to how most of his folk treated their love lives. But Elvera could call his lie where Evalyn couldn’t, and saw that sheen crawl over his eyes every time he wondered if Lyanna thought of their ‘one night’ the same way he always pretended to.
“I don’t, technically,” he said, finally returning to the summer of 1941. “Changed the date after things got awkward with Evalyn.”
“I don’t know if you’re kind or a coward.”
“Bit of both,” he smiled. “But running into her there, of all places, would’ve been a nightmare. We all know her mentor should’ve been Lyanna.”
“Doesn’t excuse you from messing up once or twice,” Elvera smiled. “But I miss her too.”
Elvera’s face lightened a little despite the mood, and her small smile brought a curious one to Colte's dour face.
“She would’ve been in love with Iris.”
Colte chuckled. “I can see it.”
“Lyanna loved them dense, after all. Aw, she would’ve been all over Iris.”
“Yeah,” Colte said, her smile infecting him. “I can see it.”
Elvera let the smile linger, the image staining her mind with rainbow pink and purple. The ice in her glass clinked, reminding her that the whiskey was probably helping the process along somewhat.
“Would have liked to see what she could do with that girl. Hell, Evalyn barely knew her, and she visits her more than she does her own father.”
Colte kept his smile under control. It was a touchy subject, sure. She kicked him underneath the table.
“Come on, I can make that joke.”
“Can you?”
“Sure I can,” she said, standing up and feeling the drink in her legs. “It’s been a while.”
“Has it now?” Colte asked her as he finished his drink. “Don’t know about you, but it feels like he was put in the dirt only yesterday."
She finished her glass and placed it by the radio. The breeze pulled her to the balcony, and feeling a little lighter on her feet, she gladly obliged.
“He died the day Florence did,” Elvera said, keeping her smile. Painful memories, but she was only human. It wasn’t in her to cry over wounds older than her goddaughter. “She would’ve liked Iris too.”
The radio drowned out the crying cicadas, and Elvera turned around to see another empty glass beside hers.
“Speaking of Iris, I’m going to start looking for a way into that network Trysha talked about.”
“You got any ideas?”
“It involves me going undercover, but yeah, I’m sure I can pull a few favours.”
Elvera smiled and mouthed a thank you. It was brief, and the full version would come after the drink wore off. For now, Colte tuned the radio until the sound of strings playing somewhere in the city filled the small, stagnant apartment with a small sense of life.
He outstretched a hand, and she, with a sigh, took it.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Anytime.”