Kate Cadigan

Amongst the earthy coloured books in the archaeology alcove on the upper floor of the library, Marcus pulled time from his pocket. The immaculately preserved pocket watch, passed down through the family on his mother’s side, read seven o’clock. There was a click, then a low buzzing as the lights dimmed.

‘I wouldn’t leave it all up to you.’ Marcy moved away from the switch on the central reading lamps. Her serious face lasted the sentence then spread into a wide smile as she turned and ran lightly down the worn stairs. Marcus followed the curls and colours of his friend, three steps at a time; he wouldn’t run. She reached the door before him. ‘Night,’ she called looking up from the bottom, then pulled the door open just enough to slip through.

‘See you tomorrow.’ Marcus smiled as he freed the tassels of her scarf trapped in the door and watched her walk away. He acted out locking the main entrance in case she looked back, then went up the stairs following the grooves of infinite footsteps in the grey stone. From the large gothic windows he saw the dark outlines of the city, its hills and castle evidence of a time when nature dictated design. He saw Marcy’s silhouette step through the pool of a streetlight. Coming up from another alley was a larger figure.