DRAWN

Outside the library looked as if rusty bricks had been cemented together with moss. Smog stained the façade turning it dark from the top down and fast moving vehicles racing by splatted muddy pebble dash over the lower half. Fifteen year-old, Aisha Harris, sitting on the wide stone window ledge with her two plastic bags, wondered how much longer she’d have to wait.

“Hey! Get down!” The grey librarian in her shiny, long coat shook her umbrella in Aisha’s direction. No one looking over at that moment would have been in any doubt about what she wanted to do with the sharp end.

“You shouldn’t be loitering around out here.” She glared down her nose which was quite a feat as she was looking up.

Aisha slid down to the floor, she staggered, off balanced by her bags. “Personally, I’m more than happy to loiter around inside.”

The librarian gripped her keys and pulled her lips into an unfortunate, tightly pinched O. If it was in her power to banish Aisha she’d have pronounced her Long Gone but that wasn’t how the public library service worked. Of course, she knew the librarian was going to do everything in her power to make sure Aisha’s stay in the library was a happy one. Or, not. But it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t as if Aisha didn’t plan to do some work. She was all over the Dewey Decimal System. The side effects of being locked out of the house, on a daily basis, and having too much pride to let it be common knowledge, were some pieces of detailed – well researched – homework, good grades, and unreasonably dark marks under her eyes.

“Can we open the door now?” Aisha swung one of the bags up. The other was already over her shoulder, cutting off the circulation in three fingers. “And…you have things to do too.” Aisha smiled trying for a friendly/subservient mix – it was a winning combination in school.

The librarian’s narrowed eyes were icy blue. Aisha substituted Icy for Frigid before her thought was fully complete. The woman might be iron-grey on the outside but that much control and Still suggested she was passionate all right – she looked furious.

The librarian raged up the steps with sharp staccato stamps. Aisha shuddered when the door crashed back against the tiled wall. It was going to be an eventful day. She wondered if she could find a spot, out of the way, out of sight, and get some work done. She hitched her bags higher and leaned on the door. It was time to get busy but she didn’t hold out much hope.

In the restricted section of the library the dust motes hung out in sunlight. Bright lights were trained on benches weighted down with timetables, maps and thick ledgers. The librarian hung up her coat, smoothed her crease-free dress and patted her hair in case any had dared to stray. There was no mystery about why the library’s resident ‘ghost’ made her irritated–she was a permanent ripple. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her head was throbbing. She was working to a deadline – of course – that much was nothing new. She scowled at the Egress. Although more subtle, she could feel the change in the air as the ions began to build. She could taste it. Acidic. Sour.

Responsibility weighed heavily on her frail shoulders. Interstices, graded from Limiting to Desolating had been forming on Earth since The Disgrace. But, this cycle, they had been happening more often. Remending, although one of the Greater Arts, had proved easier to master than Rewriting to remove the original fault. Human casualties happened but when they were lucky the Designates were able to limit the damage to place, and time. Skilled Designates Recalculated so well, and so quickly, even eye-witnesses were convinced. And people believed what they were seeing? she thought. Why ruin a Fiction by accepting the evidence laid out before your eyes. It was amazing that humans clung to 'logical explanations' in the face of facts, evidence and incontrovertible truths.

She neatened a tidy pile of papers, then leaned her head against the iron pillar that stood at the end of the bench. Her head was aching. Still, it never hurt so badly that the iron didn't cool her skin and sharpen her focus. It was just beginning to work when a boy stepped into the room and waited.

“Durnick,” she said, and nodded.

“Ware, Keeva.”

“There is evidence of a disturbance. And sizeable,” the librarian said. “But, this time, I couldn't get a definite fix on it.” She frowned at the boy. Even though the boy's face barely altered, she could tell he was smiling, excited. “No. There are things we should do.”

There was an imperceptible shift in the air. Keeva caught her breath over the bitter taste in her mouth. She felt weak.

“You... You said,” the boy began, his voice husky and slow – unused to speaking aloud.

“I know what was said.”

“Keeva!”

She walked towards him with hands wide as if she could keep him penned beside the rotating glassy prism. “Durnick….Nick, there isn't much you can do in the rest of the library that you can't do in here,” Keeva said. “I could find...”

“Do not misunderstand me, I will abide by the covenants. Clearly. Precisely.”

He stepped closer. Slowly.

Keeva held her breath as he neared her. In that moment, the pressure around her grew, the papers on the desk rose.

As he took another step, the air around him begin to shimmer with sparks of blue light – painful in their intensity. “I am bound to each letter of the words.” He brought a hand to his mouth. Licking at his finger, he savoured the air.

“And I haven't broken it,” said the librarian. “Keeva Boru keeps her word.”

Nick bowed. “Ayeright!”

“Sodanayes,” Keeva said. “Beyond the door, but within the walls—”

“Aye!”

“Don't make yourself known. Not to anyone. ”

Compared to the Egress, the wooden door should have seemed plain and ordinary – two-dimensional. But to act without direction? Exotic! Nick swallowed hard. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. He took the last steps, and he stopped. He glanced back. “I hear you. I heed your call – as I must. But... If you have no specific request, I will spend my time as I like.”

“We have things to do,” Keeva said. “This is no time to be distracted. ”

“I WILL remain inside the building.”

At the back of the Reading Room the shelves were lined with boxes of papers and others claiming to be full of microfiche. Microfiche? She thought. There was no water so Aisha presumed she was not sitting with her back to a legion of tiny fishes. She was working but not very hard – a little page turning and a lot of messaging. It almost counted as studying. If you counted listening to complaints and analysing the reasons why no one had seemed to have started it yet. One of the girls, who was someone's friend, said she'd done the reading but no one was especially convinced.

Aisha had been hoping to avoid distractions, but she'd found her space invaded by her best friend anyway. Determined to be of very little use, her friend, Hannah Peachy, stretched her arms across the desk, chin on a book.

“The shops are open now.” Peachy sounded more hopeful than desperate when she added, “Can we go yet?”

Aisha pushed a book at her, and then added a pen on top.

“I'm going to die of boredom. Your fault, just saying.”

“Yes.” Aisha nodded. It was possible. She paused. What if saying the thing increased the chances of it coming true? No. If that was true she'd have died of boredom in the dull weeks before she persuaded Peachey to befriend her. She smiled as she went back to taking notes.

Soon after Peachey wondered off to find a toilet, mostly because she was bored, the door to the restricted section opened. Aisha hid behind her book in case it was the librarian. She passed her eyes along the lines but didn't understand a word. Over the spine, she watched a boy, in a black, over-sized coat, move with careless grace through the book cases and tables. She stared. Flaming locks! In the strip lights, or the sunlight that lay around in blocks, his red hair was brilliant. Aisha pushed back her chair. The boy's skin was a light toffee brown. She wondered what colour his eyes could be. He was 100% more interesting than homework. She wandered after him, to the nearest bookcase. She took down a thick, blue covered volume of Household DIY tips.

The boy was standing by an empty alcove. There was only a faded poster of painted bedroom, seriously in need of a makeover. He was fingering his hands across the space like they were pale spiders with crab-like tendencies. Aisha saw a glimmer of light, a thin flicker of blue, before she noticed the outline of a door appearing. She tried to see, without being noticed–she still stared. The boy had stopped feeling-up a door. He hadn't opened it.

“Umm!” Aisha said. There ought to be a decision, she thought. She took a hesitant step. He'd almost disappeared. The light, and the door, were fading. “If I end up dead in ditch, I'm going to regret this.”

She scraped her arm on a sharp edge as the door closed fast. The door slid over her back as she hurried through. Strangely, she'd hoped it would be an inter-dimensional kind of thing. Instead, it seemed to be a long narrow room. It was dark, there didn't appear to be any windows. It smelled like a crate of old shoes – dried dust and slow decay.

Over the soft sounds of traffic, she could hear footsteps. The steps were fast and regular, mellow as they paced over wood. This is like the next room, she realised. She could still hear the beeps marking Borrows, Returns and Renewals. Aisha's hands were damp. She ran one along the wall. Even though the sounds were soft she could feel vibrations in the wood. She pressed an ear against the panel. A boy's voice – singing – but nothing she could understand.

“Elam! It's a Level One. Why did you follow?”

She had no trouble understanding that. She froze. She'd go back but it wasn't an option. The wall was back being all wall-y. She leaned back against it and pushed, just in case – but it remained what it was. It was almost reassuring. When she couldn't go back, she stepped forward.

It was a theatre. An old, old, everyone-forgot-I'm-here theatre. There were chairs in long, thin rows, their covers worn and faded – incapable of keeping the stuffing inside. The sides were lined with stiff, square boxes. They led her eyes to the stage where black cubes were spaced along the front.

The red-haired boy's hands and arms made shapes while he twisted and stepped creating detailed patterns in movement.

Cold air drawn over her tongue made her mouth dry. Aisha stumbled into a row of seats and rested back. She stared as he glided over the stage, heart hammering as he disappeared – and reappeared – between shapes.

“Elam?” he called between moves. “It was L1 – Provisional. That doesn't take two.”

Good to know, Aisha thought. But she felt confused like she was missing many pages in this guide book. Suddenly, not understanding was a physical pain. Maybe, she hadn't portaled far through the door but Earth – and grounded – did not apply to that boy. Then, he pointed.

“Step up. I need more challenge,” said the boy, laughing. “Don't mess with me. I know you're there.”

Slowly, Aisha side-stepped along the row. She wondered where she could hide until he was ready to leave.

“He was talking to me,” said a deep voice at her ear. Fingers curled over her shoulders. “But, I think we should go say Hello.”

And to think she'd mostly worried she wouldn't be able to get back. Aisha tilted up her chin. She looked for his eyes. She WAS interested in whoever owned the fingers pressing into her shoulders-guiding her forward – just not very much.

“I could Remake this,” he said. “I know you don't need any...other troubles.”

Aisha shook her head. “Remake? I say no. No Remakes!” she protested, shrugging her shoulders. “What is a Remake?” She needed time to think. “You can't do—”

The fingers tightened on her shoulders. She stumbled-shivered.

“Lucky for you, that's true,” hissed the voice by her ear.

Aisha stopped when the hands stopped pushing.

“What do you think?” the voice asked. “Where should I park this?”

The sounds of exercise and movement on the stage had faded to silence. In the dusty interior, he looked more shadow than substance. He ran a hand around the collar of his shirt, and coughed.

“Nick! Thoughts?” He said, "This is your problem."

Aisha took a pace back, trapping his foot under her heel.

Nick glided over the stage, so graceful that is seemed as if he was moving above the stage and he was whisper silent.

Aisha stared. She didn't want to because that was stupid but, as he got closer she could see his eyes were green. Still, admiring his hair and eyes couldn't distract her from the bigger deal – he was pointing at lights making them flare. Yellow. Electric.

“Elam?” said Nick. “Being Nice? You're not are you?”

“What are we doing with this?”

“Setting it free-ish?”

“It knows more than it should,” Elam stared at Aisha as if she were something he could wash off the sole of his shoe.

“It’s not an IT though is it? She is NOT an It,” Nick said, gazing over her shoulder back to the alcove doorway. He sat at the edge of the stage swinging his feet. Every couple of repeats, he hit a heel on the wooden wall.

“So, how did you do it?” he said, musing aloud. “How did you get through?”

“I didn't do a thing.” Aisha said, “I tagged along after you.”

“Is that even possible?” mused Nick. He tapped on one of the stage lights creating an accidental strobe effect. “Through the wall? In the wall?” He leaned forward. “The timing—”

“What doesn't matter,” said Elam. “We do what we always do.”

“That’s great.” Nick ginned. “To you How is—”

“How is almost as boring as Why,” said Elam. He shrugged. “I'm only interested in… things unknowable.”

Aisha felt hot. They were chuckling. She couldn't face them. Dipping her shoulder, she pushed off Elam's arm and raced.

Elam dived for Aisha but – ducking – she skittered under his arm. The dark-haired boy scraped at her with clawed fingers.

Nick blocked Elam's hand. As fast as Peachey at a Sale Rail, he threw his arms around his friend and held on. He pointed a finger. There was nothing in his hand. He stared at Aisha as she stumbled backward toward the solid doorway.

Elam spat streams of unrecognisable, two-syllable words as he squirmed and twisted in his friend's arms.

Nick's red hair was flat now, darker with sweat. Without looking away, he turned Elam and pinned him still with his knee.

Aisha slowed, sensing the proximity of the wall. She reached back hoping it might give a little. It had for him.

He kept his arm steady despite his friend's efforts. His hair glowed like flaming torchlight.

“What’you doing? Get her!” Elam hissed. He added, “This Remake won't take much.”

“Wait.” Nick called, “Stop!”

Elam spun away, clearly furious.

“I'm going now,” Aisha said, swallowing hard. She put her hands on the rough wall. “I won't say anything.” Please, she whispered inside her head.

“Who are you?” Nick's softly spoken question was compelling. “Are you Gifted? Do you have Designs?”

Aisha hissed but she didn’t move. “I just want to go.”

“Then, go.” Nick said quietly. Elam pushed – hard enough to rock him. Nick glared. Then, he waved, shooing her away.

“Aisha?” It was Peachey's voice, muffled by the wall. Aisha kicked back at it. The wall was solid, clearly it had not been thrown together. Made in a time when bricks and mortar were the building material of choice, thin plaster board was unheard of, when these walls were built. “How can I? What do I do?”

Nick shrugged. He dropped down until he was sitting cross-legged; he gazed expectantly at her.

Quickly, before she had time to think – certain she was about to hurt herself – she jumped backwards. A leap of faith.

“It was a W-A-L-L…wall,” said Peachey wilfully, turning her back, and weaving her way through shoppers in the busy street.

“I know,” Aisha agreed. “If you stop walking, we could talk about this.” She skipped and reached for her again. “Could I explain—”

“No!” Peachey said, “Whatever…you said it all before. Say what you want. I don't care.”

Aisha wrapped her arms around her and laughed liked syrup over sugar. “Right.”

“I don't think you're lying,” Peachey said, pulling her phone from her bag, her face light by the cold blue light. “You saw someone you knew. It was personal, sure. But, you...I was worried.”

“I’d never.” Paper bags and plastic wrappers blew around while Aisha wasted her breath trying to explain. “There was a doorway.”

“In the wall?” asked Peachey. “And, it magic-ed you into the poster!”

Aisha sighed. “If you'd seen them you wouldn't say I was spinning stories.”

“Or, know why you went down behind the shelves.”

“Hannah! Do I...Would I need to...” Aisha stared at Peachey. I can’t believe you’d think I’d lie about something like that, she thought. If there ever was a something like that. “I NEVER!”

Peachey ducked into the nearest shop. Suddenly, cut-price cards were riveting.

Aisha shrugged. She patted the back of her head where her hair felt frizzy. I do feel messed up, she thought. Not in a good way. “It felt real.”

Her friend was flicking through birthday cards. She glanced at her, but her eyebrows were pulled tight, eyes narrowed. “Dreams do that,” she suggested.

Aisha almost wished that was true but couldn't shrug off the sensation of fingers digging tightly into her shoulders. “I don't think I was asleep.”

“What else could it be?” Peachey stared at the cards as if they were written in tiny writing. “Walls have doors...or they don't.”

“I don’t know. It could have been an old door, or something.”

“But, you said you felt the wall!”

Aisha pushed past heading for the door. She didn't get far before her friend stepped across her path.

“Don't go,” Peachey said.

“You were there,” said Aisha. “Where library-wise do you think I came from?”

Peachey backed away. “I don't know...I blinked.”

“Of course you did,” Aisha said. She bit her lip. “I gotta go. See-ya.” She darted through, when the door slid open, and hurried up the road.