“We’re in the slums. On the edge of them. These buildings on our right, the whole lot were demolished in the eighteen nineties. Gone forever. They kicked everyone out of their houses, knocked them down, paved over where they had been, and made it a promenade instead.”
“No, this can’t be real.” But he’s tripped up the gutter as he moves closer to the other side, running his hand along the filthy stone. Already there’s a look of wonder about him that I recognise. That excitement of first discovery. That mind that’s mine. Or was. And it hurts to see.
“When we get to the bottom of the street, you’ll recognise where we are. None of that has changed very much. But it’s different enough for you to believe me.”
He’s walking again, side-eyeing me. It’s kind of weird that I don't know how to break this ice between us. I’m trying to put myself in his position, to figure out what he’s thinking, but this is one thing that has never happened to me, being here in the past with someone else. Let alone myself.
I’m surprised at his calm tone when he asks, “How long does it last, and how do we get out?”
“The longest it’s lasted for me was a few hours. Then it just evaporates. You’ll turn a corner and be back in your time.”
Passing the tip of his tongue over his lips, concentrating on the pavement, “Does time move the same? Here and in my time?”
A clever question. But one that disappoints me, because I’d hoped he would know the answer to this. I venture, “Yes, but… you know time isn’t linear, right? Um. These two realities are sets of particles in stasis. Unique sets. When that reality andours become too similar, they can merge. It’s sort of like a…” I’m struggling to think of an analogy this time. No coffee.
August suggests, “Like a puddle next to a river? In the rain? And they’re both water, and separate, but one overflows and becomes the other.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly right.” I realise how hard my heart’s been beating worrying he might not get this, but he does.
He continues, “So, when the rain stops and things dry out, they’ll go back to being two separate states?”
“Side by side. Not touching. But both water. In this case, in a nutshell, the two realities became so similar they’ve recreated the same reality in this specific place at this specific time. These things usually last only seconds before things right themselves, but with the recent shifts in your reality…”
“With the caffeine in my decaf?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Yes. I’m sorry about your coffee.”
We walk a little further, and I guess my reassurances are working, because he seems more settled now. Settled enough for his curiosity to grow, for his brain to switch back on. “But you can’t get back? To your puddle, where you came from? Did you end up in my reality in the same way as this time slip occurred? Just got swept up like we have?”
Actually, I think I’d prefer if his brain switched back off, just for a little while. “No. I… chose to come here.”
“Youchoseto? How?”
“August…” I cannot drop this bomb on him yet. I’m only starting to gain his trust. And I’m not even sure he can help me anyway. “There was…” Why don’t I have a ready lie for this?
Because this Hot August is also unnervingly clever…
And hot...
“When, um, things got weird with my world… I was just able to.”That is weak as fuck.
“That makes no sens?—”
“Oh, look, this is what I’ve been wanting to show you.” I grab his arm and drag him to the bottom of the alley, into the soft light of gas-lit streetlamps, where horses stand tied to posts, shifting on their tired hooves, where the street is wide and cobbled, and where people mill about in full and undeniable Victorian dress.
That should easily be enough to convince him, if the rest already wasn’t. But the jewel in this particular crown is the Crown and Dragon pub, just opposite. It’s almost two hundred years old where he’s from, and a protected building. Here, in the past, it looks almost exactly the same as it would to his modern eyes.
His gaze floats toward the top of the building in wonder, his lips parting as he takes in all three storeys. The past is alive in everything—every smell and sight all around—but that building is unmistakable. There’s something in the way his eyes spark then. He has the magical wonder of a scientist in them, that flame that burns for more and more, and I can see it overpowering his fear. And I want to take his hand and say, ‘Iknow. I understand, like no one else can. Because it’s exhilarating. Because sometimes terror is where you feel the most alive.’
Then, he asks the last thing I would ever have expected him to. “Did you say we can’t interact?”
Christ, look at him. Victorian lamplight looks good on anyone, but on August, it’s a revelation. It’s because I can see the light of danger all about him—inhim. Fuck, we could have so much fun together. If we only had a little more time. And so I tell him about the fiftieth lie so far today: “It was just the coachman I didn’t want you to go near. He looked dodgy.”
His reply is delivered swiftly. “But won’t anything we do here have a ripple effect and change the modern world as we know it?”
He’s too smart for my bullshit.
And that makes my heart beat so fast.
