Miriam's grip on Mel and Max's coats was iron-tight as she yanked them away from the presence of the woman standing behind them. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her hands trembling as she struggled to keep the panic from seeping into her voice.
"Come on, we're going home" She snapped casting a final wary glance back at the figure watching them with that serene unblinking smile.
Mel bit her lip, stealing a glance over her shoulder. The shadowy figure of the woman hadn't moved, her silhouette still framed against the fountain's bubbling water.
"Miri, are we in trouble?" She whispered, her voice small, as if she feared the woman might hear her even from a distance.
Max squeezed her hand tighter, his earlier excitement draining away, replaced by a nervous quiver. He blinked up at Miriam with wide, uncertain eyes. Their older sister was never afraid of anyone- at least not as far back as he could remember. She always seemed to be on the winning side, except when he cried over things that made him feel too miserable.
Miriam swallowed hard, deciding something, forcing the frantic beat of her heartbeat back into something resembling control. "Just... just go on ahead," She managed, her voice faltering before she pushed Mel's tangled curls into her cap. "Get home quickly, alright? I'll be right behind you."
The twins hesitated, but Miriam gave them a gentle push, her voice firmer now. "Go on, And Don't look back,"
They did as they were told, their little legs carrying them swiftly through the winding alleys that drove away from the Crossreach. They moved through familiar paths, weaving around steam vents and piles of discarded machinery, the air thick with the metallic tang of rust and coal, mixed with the acrid scent of the city's ever-present smoke.
Mel kept glancing back even as they ran. Why did Miri look like that? Despite her best efforts, she couldn't think of a reason. Adults, she thought bitterly, always spoke in riddles when they didn't want the truth slipping through to them. She stumbled over a loose cobblestone, but Max caught her arm before she fell.
"A kiss?!" Mel snapped as they steadied themselves. "She's angry because of that,"
Max shook his head. "She isn't angry. You're angry!"
"If she's not, then what is it?" Mel's voice grew quieter, the words draining out between panting breaths. They stared at each other as they hurried through the shadows, each unwilling to say the answer aloud, as if speaking it might make it true.
Miriam doesn't get scared.
But they had seen it in her eyes.
The twins reached the crooked building they called home, ducking through the narrow alley that led to the back door. Their home was wedged between old ironworks, a place that smelled faintly of damp wood, rusted metal, and the lingering bitterness of poverty.
The ceiling sagged low, crisscrossed with exposed pipes that hissed and dropped condensation onto the warped floorboards. Night's chill seeped through the cracks in the walls even before the sun thought of setting.
Yet it was a familiar kind of discomfort, a creaking warmth that held the echoes of whispered games and the patter of small footsteps. Mel and Max settled into their routine quickly, bickering over who got to light the single candle on the table, their earlier worries momentarily forgotten. The shadows of the alleys had retreated, leaving them safe inside their own world.
As the night drew on, the two kept themselves busy with small distractions—arguing about whether the cloud looked more like a dog or a pig. From time to time Mel, her jaw set, kept watch by the window for the sight of her sister's black hair, only to be disappointed when skinny Oliver wandered by, sneering about Miriam's long day at the market. The thought of their sister being courted by him was enough to banish any lingering thoughts of the woman by the fountain.
But by the time Miriam finally returned, the candle had burned down to a nub, and the machinery outside had lulled the twins to sleep. She opened the door quietly, cringing at the creak that shattered the rare silence within.
Her eyes swept the room, finding Max slumped across the broken couch, his book resting on his chest, while Mel lay curled beneath a tangle of blankets, her finger still clutching a piece of chalk she'd used to draw a weird creature on the wall.
The sight made her heart clench with a mix of relief and guilt. She'd lost track of time, caught in the woman's words, and regret tugged at her for not hurrying back sooner. But she shook the thoughts away, focusing on the immediate.
Miriam noticed that Mel, the clean freak, had scrubbed their faces clean, her own clothes freshly laundered, the twins' hair slicked back under their caps.
But as she'd expected, the bathroom was a disaster zone—water splashed across the floor, and soap melted into a misshapen blob. She sighed, resigning herself to cleaning it later.
For now, she busied herself with preparing supper. She unwrapped the stale loaf of bread she'd managed to bargain for at the market and set it on the table alongside a pot of cold grain soup that Oliver's mother had sent.
The soup had long gone tepid, but it would do. She placed a few drops of a faintly glowing vial into the pot, watching as the liquid swirled silver through the broth before vanishing. It wasn't magic but a survival trick.
Miriam crouched by the couch, brushing a hand over Max's curls until his eyes fluttered open. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she murmured, pinching his earlobe with a fond smile. "Got some supper for you."
Max yawned, rubbing his eyes as he struggled upright. Miriam's smile softened as she turned to Mel, who stubbornly resisted waking, her fingers still clutching the corner of her blanket. Miriam gently tugged at her earlobe, the way she used to when Mel was just a baby. "Come on, lazybones. You'll miss the feast."
Mel's eyes fluttered open, a frown forming on her lips. "It's cold," she mumbled, but she let Miriam lift her to her feet. The promise of supper coaxed them both to the rickety table and as Miriam placed bowls of soup before them, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of their sleepy faces brightening.
Some nights, when the world outside felt particularly heavy, they'd play at having a grand dinner party, just like Miriam had once done with their mother and father in better days. Tonight, Miriam decided, would be one of those nights.
When she returned to the main room from bath, Mel and Max were already busy setting the table, balancing the last of the glassware, and placing the chipped candleholder in the center like it was a royal centerpiece. Mel chattered about some nonsense regarding Oliver while Max fumbled with a fork, trying to place it just right.
Miriam let them usher her to her seat, a genuine laugh slipping from her lips as Max tried to push into her chair like a perfect little gentleman. "Thank you, kind sir," she said, playfully bowing her head.
Max beamed with pride, but his expression turned puzzled as he sniffed the air. "The soup smells... funny," he said, wrinkling his nose.
"Must've been Oliver's poor mother's cooking," Miriam lied quickly, The entire magic potion thing was funny. "Or maybe you're just too picky."
The twins slurped down their soup, dipping the stale bread into the broth. Miriam nudged Max playfully when he tried to hide his piece of bread in his pocket, and she teased Mel for drawing yet another pig on the wall.
For a while, it almost felt like any other night. But then, as the candle flickered lower, Mel's voice grew quiet. "She smelled nice, didn't she?" she said suddenly, her eyes drifting toward the cracked glass window that let in a sliver of moonlight.
Miriam stiffened, but she kept her voice light. "Next time, save your wishes for something bigger than a kiss from a spooky old lady, alright?" she teased, poking Max in the ribs. He giggled, the sound bubbling up before he slumped back into sleep, his head against Miriam's shoulder.
Mel curled up beside them, her long lashes fluttering as she fought sleep, her breath warm against Miriam's neck. "Miri... you smell nice too," she murmured, the words barely more than a sigh.
Miriam slightly pinched her earlobe.
You're just a girl.
Unwrapped the scarf from her neck, tucking it around the twins like a blanket. As their breathing steadied, her own breath hitched in her chest, the weight of the night settling heavily on her shoulders.
A powerless null. She said.
Miriam turned toward the window, watching the night outside, her thoughts drifting back to the woman's cold smile and the quiet threat hidden in her words. A chill whispered through the air, curling around her thoughts like a serpent.
What happens when they learn what they are? When they can't hide anymore? Will you watch them suffer, just like you watched her?
Miriam shivered, pulling the scarf tighter around the twins, but the voice in her mind wouldn't let her go. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay silent, as if doing so could banish the thoughts back into the darkness.