Page 87 of The Society of Unknowable Objects
James nodded seriously at Magda, ignoring Will as well. “I will.”
“One more thing,” Magda said, glancing back at the wall of flowers, as roses the size of footballs unfurled their petals. “Since I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“What?” James asked. “Anything.”
Magda stood on tiptoes and reached up to pull James down towards her so that she could meet his lips with her own. They kissed, briefly but fabulously, as the world turned to hell all around them, flowers flaring in vibrant colours behind them, rain beating the street like a sick round of applause, and for the briefest of seconds nothing else mattered, it was just Magda and James, and the sense of him filled her up: his smell, his strength, his compassion.
Then she released him, enjoying the shocked look on his face, his eyebrows high on his forehead, lips parted.
God, I hope that’s not the last kiss we ever have.
She nodded at him seriously, pretending she wasn’t quivering with delight and shock at what she had just done, and then took hold of Henry’s hand.
“Let’s go.”
What Lukas Cannot Do
Beyond the wall of roses and wildflowers, the world was suddenly quiet, sheltered from the wind and the rain.
“Wow,” Magda murmured, turning on the spot and gaping at what she was seeing.
They were in a vast arbour. The dark branches formed an arch high above, like the ceiling of a medieval cathedral, huge roses blazing like electrics bulbs, their petals flaring and shrinking rhythmically. The only sound was the creaking of the walls, like trees in a gale, and the distant pattering of rain. There were cars parked inside the arbour, in two neat rows along each side of the road. The townhouses along Bell Street were visible here and there between the branches and tangled wildflowers that formed the walls, and large orange sunflowers, bulbous heads on gangly stems, bobbed and nodded like a congregation listening to a sermon.
“Look,” Henrietta said, nodding ahead along the road. Bell Street Books was visible at the next corner. The large window that looked out onto Bell Street had been shattered, fingerlike branches now curling around the edge of the opening. Frank was standing there, staring out at the changed street with a blank look on his face. Magda had never seen him look that way before, entirely expressionless, eyes wide andunblinking. He looked dishevelled, with the bandage around his head and his hair stuck up.
“Frank!” Magda called, as they hurried towards him, stumbling on the uneven carpet of flowers and weeds. The old man jerked his head around at the sound of her voice. His eyes took her in, then flicked to Henry next to her.
“He’s taken the book,” he said. He lifted his leg over the windowsill, steadying himself with a hand on the frame between the branches, and stepped out into the street.
“We know,” Henry said.
Magda saw Lukas then, sitting cross-legged in what had once been the middle of the road, in between the rows of parked cars that were now encircled with ivy and thorny branches.
“Are you okay?” Magda asked Frank, as they reached him. She took hold of his arm to steady him, peering into his eyes. “Frank?”
Frank dismissed her, jerking himself free from her grip, all of his attention on the man sitting in the road.
Magda looked to Lukas, and as she did, he slipped the strap of Imelda’s bag over his head and let it sit on the road next to him. Magda saw the crucifix and another item around his neck, and a blue flower that that been threaded through the links of one of the chains so that it could rest against the skin of his throat.
What can he do with those things? Those and the other things he carried in Imelda’s bag—the knife, the coin.
Lukas opened the book in his lap.
“I told you,” Frank said, directing his words into the street, to Lukas. “That’s mine.”
Lukas didn’t respond. He seemed engrossed in the open book, studying a sketch that Magda couldn’t make out. On all sides of the street the branches continued to creak, moving rhythmically like the chest of a vast beast that was breathing steadily. Metal screeched where thorns scraped over car paintwork, and windows shattered under pressure, sounding like gunshots in the silence and making Magda flinch. She realised that she could smell the flowers now, the cloying, overpoweringscent of too many roses in full bloom, like being splashed with too much cheap perfume.
“This is not part of the book,” Lukas said, and as Magda watched he scraped with his nails and peeled back some of the tape holding the brown paper in place. He peeled off the protective cover and discarded it, sending it flapping to the ground beside him.
“Oh my god,” Magda murmured, as she saw what had been hidden beneath the brown paper. The cover of Frank’s book—the true cover—was the colour of sunlight, a rich gold that shone like foil, reflecting the lights of the glowing flowers back onto Lukas’s face, painting his skin with shifting shades and tones.
Magda looked at Frank. “It’s beautiful,” she said to him, but Frank didn’t respond, didn’t even look back at her.
“I know what this does,” Lukas said to Frank, holding up the book, the gold cover shining like a bright bulb. “I know.” His eyes settled on Magda. “Oh, hello, Magda,” he said, as if surprised to see her. The tone of his words was almost comically standoffish.
“Hello, Lukas,” she replied.
She didn’t know what to do. How could she tackle a man who couldn’t be hurt? A man who could control plants and the ground they stood on, a man who could resurrect the dead? She glanced at Frank.
