It's nearly one in the afternoon before Alice finally gets back to the shop. She is carrying two large plastic bags, and the scent of fried chicken wafts in the air around them. “I brought lunch,” she announces in her subtly accented voice. I could never quite determine what that accent is. “I hope you weren't too particularly attached to your Lean Cuisines.”
She sets the bags on the counter and smooths a lock of long ebony hair behind one subtly pointed ear. Alice
is tall and statuesque, always dresses with a dark, understated elegance, and has some sort of genetic condition that left her with white fingernails and oddly shaped ears. She never really said what the condition is, but it makes her look exotic and elfin, a stark contrast to my petite curves and mousy brown, choppy-layered hair. “Have we had much store traffic this morning?” she asks as she starts digging through the bags and opening styrofoam containers before passing them out. “Vi, this one's yours. Evie, for you. And this one for me. I trust these meals are what you wanted?”“You know me too well,” I say, though I am a bit annoyed that she didn't consult me about it first. Alice has a habit of making these sorts of decisions for me, probably because of the role she played in my life when I was a child. She was never really a mother to me, but definitely like an older sister who often had to play surrogate parent. I love her and chafe at her in equal measure. “Um, yeah. It's been dead here. We've had one customer, and she didn't buy anything.” This isn't very unusual; I often wonder how Alice can afford to even stay open, let alone give us our paychecks every week. We'd probably do better if we were in New Orleans proper, but we're hidden off in suburbia, and quite frankly, the word “hidden” is rather appropriate. Even I have difficulty seeing the store sometimes, have actually passed it up more than once while driving here, and I'm here every day.
Alice nods, looking unsurprised, then says, “Okay, I can take over the register for a little while if you two want to take lunch.”
Violet and I grab our respective food cartons-- I also sling my bag containing the mysterious Book over my shoulder-- and head for the break room.
I close the door and look at Violet for a minute. She raises one pierced eyebrow at me and says, “Whaaaaat?”
“Can I trust you, Vi?”
“Um. Why?”
“Because I did something, and am continuing to do something, which I really don't want Alice to know about.”
Violet sighs. “Right. This wouldn't have anything to do with that package you klepto'd from her office, would it?”
“Um--”
“I saw you put it in your bag. Big, old-looking book that looks like it came from a museum? Not exactly your usual behind-the-register reading material. And seriously, I just hope the thing doesn't fall apart in your bag. The thing looks like it needs climate control or something just to stay together.”
I shake my head. “You win an Oscar.”
She takes a bow. “Why, thank you. So. Mind telling me why I'm lying to my boss for you?”
“I'm your boss too.”
“And she's yourboss,” she enunciates slowly, exaggeratedly.
“Oh, she is not. She's not my boss! We're equal partners.”
“Try telling her that!”
I sigh. “Look. I just... I had a very good reason for taking it. I need to figure some stuff out, and I don't want her to know I've seen it.”
She crosses her fishnetted arms over her chest. “Why?”
“Because... because. Because! I can't tell you. But I need to do this.”
“Why? Whywhywhy? You want me to stick my neck out without so much as an explanation?”
I pull a chair out and slump down in it. “It's complicated, Vi. I just... somehow. For some reason that I don't understand, this book that she received somehow... pertains to me.”
Violet looks at me for a moment, then reaches for my bag. I quickly pull it out of her reach. “Let me see it,” she growls.
“No! No, I'm not gonna show you. You wouldn't really understand why it's got me worked up anyway. There are... things you don't know about me. And I thought Alice didn't know either, but now... Well. I'm not so sure now.”
Violet plops into another chair and rests her chin on both hands, elbows on the table, staring at me. “You are so incredibly cryptic. It's kinda sexy. And yet ridiculously annoying.”
“Are you gonna help me out or not?”
She sighs. “You're trying to split my loyalties, Eve. Got me in a tight spot here. It's not exactly fair to me.”
I nod. “I know. And I'm sorry. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary.”
She considers it for a moment, and is about to speak, but before she can utter a word, the door to the break room opens, and Alice steps through. I look at her for an instant, wondering if she had heard us talking.
“Violet,” she says, “Do you remember that package delivered by private messenger yesterday? The one I put in my office? Any idea where it got to? It seems to be missing.” She looks at me for an instant, before looking away again, and I suddenly get the overwhelming sense that she knows more about me than I know about myself. I shiver a little.
Violet shrugs. “Nope, haven't seen it since you took it back to your office, Boss. Evie, you seen it?”
“Nope,” I confirm, shooting Violet a look of gratitude.
Alice nods thoughtfully, glancing between us. “If either of you happen to see it, please let me know. It's a very important package.”
We nod, and she leaves.
“I feel like I'm fourteen years old and lying to my mother,” Violet says. “You owe me, Eve.”
“I do, I know,” I say. “Thank you, Violet.” I squeeze her in a one-armed hug. “You're good people.”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” she says, and digs her cigarette pack out of her pocket. “Smoke time. Touch my food and die.”
“It's gonna get cold!”
“And how will I ever warm it up, considering we don't have a big ol' Panasonic microwave in dire need of a cleaning sitting on the counter over there? I'm doomed to eat lukewarm chicken. Oh, fate, I curse thee.”
I shake my head and shoo her off with my hand, waiting for her to wrestle the door closed behind her before sliding the book out of my bag. I know I should probably wait until I get home to prevent Alice from walking in and seeing me with the book, but patience has never been one of my virtues. I need to know what's going on here.
Slowly and carefully, I turn the first brittle page, and look at the script. Instead of flipping through the book like I did before, I scrutinize the elegant black ink lines and flourishes on the aging paper, and once again I am filled with that bizarre sense of almost being able to understand the language, as if I saw it a very long time ago.
As I stare at the writing, words begin to shimmer into existence in my mind, not English. I won't write them here, not as they sounded to me (I don't know that I could do so if I tried), but I will attempt an approximate translation.
In the beginning, were the Twins. There was All That Is, and there was the Emptiness. They existed in the same space and in the same time, but never did touch, never once, for if they touched, a devastation like to which no one had ever seen would befall the Real.
In time, though, the equilibrium of the Real began to shift off balance, and the Emptiness began to seep into the All, and the All into the Emptiness, like water pouring out of a tilting vessel. And this happened slowly, subtly, and no one noticed at first. No one noticed until the first Unmakers were loosed...
The outside door scrapes as Violet pulls it open to come back into the break room, and I snap out of the trance, feeling as though I have been punched. I look down at the text in front of me with a shudder, and then close the book, sliding it back into my bag.
“That must be some riveting reading,” Violet says as she puts her lunch in the microwave. “Someday you're gonna tell me what this is about.”
I can't think of a single way to answer her.
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If you like what you see here, you can support this project by clicking on the Paypal-linked perfume bottle at the bottom of the Welcome Post.
