Page 51 - DivineSparkRising II-TheMirrorofSilenceFinal

Nicholas Boothman
Henry stood at the junk frame, pressed his palm
to a pane. The glass was cold and slightly wet—not
with water. With condensation from a machine that
exhaled.
“Who built this?” he asked.
Carolina pointed at a receipt taped to the side of
the desktop: LISBON TECH SWAP – RUA DAS
JANELAS VERDES – CASH. On the back, a phone
number and a word written by hand: ZAHRA. The
final “a” trailed off mid-stroke.
“Not local Portuguese,” she said. “Arabic?
Moroccan?”
“Zahra,” Henry repeated. The name sat in his
mouth like a key.
A footfall creaked on the mezzanine above them.
Then another. The light overhead quivered.
Carolina killed the tower. The screen went black.
She palmed the thumb drive. Henry stepped into
the shadow of a crate, heart up in his throat.
A shape leaned over the mezzanine rail—
skeletal, feminine, a hood up, mirrored safety
glasses where eyes should be. When she spoke, the
words came backwards, the syllables skating off
the beam.
It wasn’t language. It was anti-language.
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