He shambled inside like poor Marley’s ghost, sending a broadsheet scurrying into the cluttered room. The 12:00 train blared behind him, only to be muffled by the door as it clanged shut. Evelyn glanced up from her counter, then did a double take, letting out a most unladylike splutter.

“A…Adam?” she asked.

Her voice brought him up short. After a moment, he managed, “Afternoon.”

Like Evelyn, he’d adopted the cadence of his fellow Londoners, though lifetimes of drink had rendered him a mumbling wreck. The acrid-sweet smell plumed off him in a cloud. Had Evelyn been the nose-wrinkling sort, she may have indulged the urge. Instead, she frowned down at his gloves, threadbare and fingerless.

“Lily seems well,” Adam said. “Spoke with her on my way in.”

Evelyn had yet to venture beyond her counter. “She is. Tending the flowers gives her purpose.”

“Lovely irises…blue and white, just like home...” He paced with labored steps about the shop, peering at the various oddities and curios of Evelyn’s trade. She watched him, willing herself quiet. If she should comment on his dishevelment, his lurch, his haggard, haunted eyes, he might flee again. Evelyn couldn’t help him unless he let her.

“Loud out there…” he muttered, and waved his hands vaguely about his head. “All that banging and hissing and…not like—” He hiccupped. “Miss the quiet is all. Quiet in here.”

“Built a factory not three blocks over,” Evelyn said. “Can you imagine? I daresay all of London will be smokestacks before long.”

“And not a patch of green in sight,” he agreed. Stopping before a creaky old shelf, he plucked up a delicate tangle of bronze gears and verdant vines. Leaves sprouted between the cogs, then shrunk away again.

“The charm’s fading, I’m afraid,” Evelyn said, nodding at the vines. “I’ve had a devil of a time coaxing it back.”

He fiddled and didn’t look at her. After a moment, she made her way around the counter and crossed to him. The sticky tang of cheap spirits coiled up in her nose. He let her retrieve the instrument and place it back on its shelf. Their fingers brushed, both calloused, both brown.

“Adam, could I get you a cup of tea? Lily will be in soon, and—”

He shied away, skittering toward the door like a spooked dog. Evelyn held up her hands. 

“No tea, quite alright.” 

He shifted his weight; floorboards creaked. Outside, the train whistled once more, faint now beneath the susurrus of hooves and footsteps. When he finally relaxed, Evelyn let out the breath pulsing in her chest. Still a chance. 

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve a good deal of work today,” she said, testing the way each word fell on him. “But, please, do make yourself at home.”

No tea, certainly no food. She wouldn’t offer him food this time—probably never would again. Instead, she ignored all her instincts and turned away from him, padding back to her counter. 

Beneath the wood, in a cabinet locked three ways, Evelyn had a certain little box. She kept it down there, along with several other ongoing projects, and only retrieved it when the time felt right. Now seemed like a promising moment. She tugged the chain of a small iron key from around her neck. 

Kneeling behind the counter, she fit her key to a matching lock. A turn clockwise, counterclockwise, and a murmured bit of Greek, and the cabinet popped open. Evelyn reached inside and carefully hefted the box—clay, roughly the size of her cupped hands and warm to the touch. Faint gold light trickled through her fingers, humming from delicate scrollwork stenciled beneath the resin. Evelyn set it down and fit a glass to her eye, studying the glow.  

Meanwhile, she darted the occasional glance up at Adam, who’d resumed his aimless pacing. More than once, he stopped to toy with some trinket or tome. Had he been any other customer, Evelyn might have availed him with a sales pitch. She’d grown rather good at those over the last several decades. As the age of steel and sterling clattered on, more and more people visited her shop, curious about the old ways. 

Either talent would be lost on Adam, however. He likely had some grasp on what he saw already. Still, Evelyn wished dearly to offer him…something—perhaps a new pair of gloves, or a proper winter coat. She bit back the urge. Last time she’d tried—two-hundred years ago—he’d vanished. No, she had to proceed most cautiously. 

At half past one, Evelyn caught sight of her sister through the front window. Lily clanged through the door a moment later, making Adam jump a good foot in the air and drop a fragile crystal horn on the floor. Evelyn listened to the crash and tried not to sigh. 

“Ah, you’re still here!” Lily chirped, prancing toward Adam. She dusted the potting soil from her pink palms and threw both arms around him before he could resist. “How wonderful.” 

Stiff in her grip, Adam mumbled something Evelyn couldn’t hear. He swayed a bit when she let go. Turning to Evelyn, Lily pushed out her lip and added, “Sister dear, I saw the most dreadful thing in Covent this morning.” 

Evelyn flicked her eyes toward Adam, imploring her sister to hush. But, as Lily was wont to do, she barreled right on. Older sister or not, she certainly didn’t behave like it.

“Those boys who hang about near the market—you’ve seen them? Poor things. One of them swiped a bit of bread that fell from a cart. Terrible bread, mind; it bounced when it fell. Anyway, he took it, and a constable knocked him flat! Can you believe it? Probably ten years old and hungry. Dragged away.” Lily shook her head. 

Throughout this monologue, Adam pressed closer, concentrating more on Lily’s story than anything Evelyn had said. A pall fell over him when she finished, an old familiar darkness Evelyn knew too well. On the counter, her box bloomed just a bit brighter.  

Lily, meanwhile, waited for her due reaction, dark eyes wide. Though Lily shared Evelyn’s curly black hair and brown skin, her eyes had always been so much deeper.  

“Dreadful,” Evelyn said dutifully. She let her glass lens fall from her eye and into her palm. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Lily.”

“Well don’t feel sorry for me!” she answered. “It’s those urchins you should feel for.” 

“Monsters!” Adam spat. Both women started. 

He lurched over and bumped into the counter, jostling Evelyn’s tools. The box’s light cast pools of shadow across his nose and cheeks. 

“Bloody…heartless…” Trailing off, Adam dug in his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small metal flask. He took a long draught, eyes closed. Evelyn stole the opportunity to shoot a dire glare at Lily, who had the grace to look contrite. 

Adam finished and screwed the top back on, glowering out the shop’s casement window. Silence stretched, broken only by the box’s faint thrum and the steady herd of passersby outside. Evelyn furrowed her brow. She knew there must be a way to approach Adam—she just had to puzzle it out. 

“Monsters?” she asked.

In another age, Adam might have spit, but time and custom had disabused him of that revolting habit. Instead, he waved his flask-free hand. “All of ‘em. Whole city…” 

“Surely not the children.” 

He looked at her, and the wilted despair in his expression seized her heart. “Are you blind, dear?”

Tighter, tighter around her heart. He hadn’t called her “dear” in so very long. 

“They buried their souls,” Adam said. “Buried them in girders and refineries and sealed them away.” 

“Adam,” Lily said, putting a hand on his arm. He shrugged her off. 

“Father was right,” he said. 

“No!” Evelyn snapped. They jerked and stared at her. “He wasn’t. Isn’t.”

Lucidity, dim but sure, burned into Adam’s bloodshot eyes. “When was the last time you went out there, aye? Looked—I mean, really looked.”

He popped the flask to his lips again, eyebrows raised. Evelyn held his surly gaze. 

“All the time,” she said. 

“Well, you are blind, then.” 

Lily tutted and folded her arms. “Must you two have this fight again? It hasn’t changed in—Lord, how long?”

Adam hissed. “Don’t say his name. Bloody old codger’s liable to stroll in here.”

Evelyn fought for composure. The conversation echoed words spoken a thousand times, always with the same result. As though fueled by her anger, the box bloomed like a gas lantern. Evelyn frowned, then lifted her glass once more and peered at it. She’d never seen the little thing behave in such a way. 

“And it has changed, Lily,” Adam continued, apparently oblivious to the light—or more likely, apathetic. He gave his head a bleary shake and sank to the floor, knees up. “Gotten worse. Louder…meaner.”

Lily shuffled her feet and bit her lip, watching him. Evelyn considered them both before nudging the box toward her sister. Gold light, like a touch of sun through morning clouds. When she pushed it toward Adam, it flared like daybreak. He didn’t seem to notice that, either. Lily, though, raised a brow at Evelyn.

“It’s our fault,” Adam said, barely a whisper. “Everything was beautiful and new and then we came along and…and…Lily, they’re children. Children in factories, covered in soot. Children scrounging for bread in the gutter…”

“Adam,” Evelyn interrupted. “Might I show you something?” 

He lifted his face, squinting at the light. “Has that been—what are you doing?”

“It’s not me,” she answered. The light seemed to blossom in her chest, warm as a hearth. 

Adam labored to his feet, gold flickers dancing in his dark eyes. He studied the box with leery interest. “That’s…”

“Yes,” Evelyn answered.

“Where on earth did you get it?” 

“From the source.” 

Lily glanced between them. “What? What source?”

But both were entranced. “I have a theory,” Evelyn said. “But I need to test it.” She pushed the box toward him. “Open it.”

He shook his head. 

“Adam,” she breathed. “Adam, look at it. See, when you get close?”

He lifted one tentative hand, pink palm bright in the glow. 

“I’ve never been able to,” she continued. “Watch.”

She gently pushed his hand away, then rested her own on the lid. The light shrank to a pinprick. Despite her tugs, the hinges wouldn’t budge. The box sat stubborn and still. 

“I think it’s because…I don’t need to.”

He stared a moment. Two. Three.

“It’s not lost, Adam. Just waiting.”

“I…” he reached; light bloomed. 

His hand dropped. 

“I can’t. Not…not after last time.”

“This isn’t like last time,” she insisted. 

“It’s exactly like last time!” he said. “We thought we were doing the right thing then, and look what happened. I bet Pandora thought she was, too.” He stabbed a finger at the box. 

“Adam—”

“No, Eve.” 

He turned. The light brightened against his back, burning like a tiny, golden star. 

“Adam!” she called again, her voice cracking. “Adam, please.”

“Not again,” he said. 

Reaching into his coat, he retrieved his flask once more. A long draught, and his eyes clouded over. 

“Stop trying to change the world,” he said. “It only ever changes for the worse.”

The door chimed, noise and smoke and stench filled the shop. A slam, a silence, and he was gone. 

Evelyn closed her eyes. Her breath hitched. The red light shining against her eyelids faded, faded, faded back to black. When she opened them again, the box was back to normal, the shop lit only by sunlight and its single flickering lantern. 

“Oh, Evie,” Lily said. She reached over the counter and brushed Evelyn’s cheek. 

“I know he’s wrong,” Evelyn said, and perhaps she was trying to convince herself. Outside, a group of dirty, haggard children passed by the window—fishing through the gutters, no doubt. She sighed. “And so did Pandora.” 

She allowed herself one more sniffle, then shook it off. Lily watched, brows knit, worrying her lip. Evelyn ignored her. She swept the box off the counter and crouched down once more. Inside her cabinet, she pushed a few things aside to make space: Magical relics, a few tinctures, and a single, bright red apple. Unspoiled, with a bite taken from either side.

Evelyn considered the latter a long moment, then slammed the cabinet shut.

J. Nelson Jr. has been fortunate enough to have two previous pieces published in NonBinary Review: a short horror story, "First Night's Always Free," in issue #19, and a flash fiction piece, “Far Too Short a Day," in issue #21. All his work can be accessed through his website.