A Hero at the End of the World (34 page)

“Archie?” Ewan called. He spun in a circle. “Oliver? Sophie?”

The streets looked both familiar and, after having been in seven different universes, strikingly foreign. But he knew exactly where he was. He recognized every bit of it, from the architecture to the street signs to the tiny restaurants to the dirty looks he was receiving from pedestrians. The smell of smog, damp, and cigarettes hung in the air.

He was in Soho.

More importantly, Ewan was standing in front of a familiar shop.
Eine Kaffee
, the neon sign in the window said. But only half the letters were working—one fewer than when he had left it several weeks ago.

Ewan’s heart sank. Archie had been wrong about him.

The door opened with a jingle, and someone nearly walked right into him. It was Lino; he took one look at Ewan and exclaimed something in Portuguese that was probably filthy.

“You’re back,” Lino said, pulling his expensive headphones down to his shoulders. His brows knitted.

“Back?” Ewan repeated. Something fluttered in his chest. “Have—have I been gone long?”

“It’s been over a fortnight, mate,” Lino replied, giving him a funny look. “Your parents were going mental. Coppers came by looking for you and everything, acting like we murdered you. I’m on a list now because of you. I’ll have to change my identity again.”

Ewan shoved past him and into the coffee shop. It was devoid of customers, of course. It was the same as he had left it—the mismatched furniture, the terrible paintings on the wall, the sounds of the shop next door—but the feeling of home hit Ewan so hard that he had to close his eyes for a split second. He almost sank to his knees and kissed the floor.

Sara was behind the bar, violently scrubbing something off of the counter. She was chewing on the ends of her hair, which were dyed a flamboyant pink.

“Hi,” Ewan said.

The rag slipped out of her fingers. “Ewan?” she squeaked.

He was home. His relief was so strong that all the tension flooded out of him at once; he dropped a hand to a three-legged table to support his shaking knees as he staggered. It wobbled under his weight.

“Can I borrow your mobile?” he asked. “I need to call my parents.”

¤

His mum cried. Ewan hadn’t seen her cry in years, and he felt like a horrible human being until he realized that she was crying with happiness. His dad hugged him so hard that he thought every bone in his body might snap and then yelled at him in Cantonese. Ewan didn’t understand a word of it, but it made his ears burn anyway.

“Where have you been?” his mum asked, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. Typically, she wandered over the kettle and turned it on.

Ewan had been expecting this question. “I needed some time alone,” he lied, watching her pull three mugs out of the cupboard. “Sorry if I worried you. I forgot to take my mobile charger with me.”

“If you
ever
do anything like that again,” his dad said, holding him at arm’s length, “I’m renting your room out to uni students.”

“Fair enough,” Ewan replied.

His dad pulled him back into another hug.

¤

Ewan sat on a bench on top of Hampstead Heath’s Parliament Hill, watching the clouds drift slowly over the London skyline. It was the first day since he had been back that it hadn’t rained, and it had taken some convincing for his parents to allow him to go by himself. They hadn’t let him out of their sight since he had returned from destroying and subsequently saving the universe. It had been Oliver and Sophie, both of whom had looked happier than he had ever seen them, who had been the ones to come to his parents’ house to find him; they had made plans to spend an afternoon next week doing job applications together.

As usual on London’s few good days, Hampstead Heath was busy. Across from him, a young mother scolded her daughter for getting mud on her new shoes; on a bench down the way, a flock of hipsters shared coffee and cigarettes. Couples walked by holding hands, and parents pushed their kids in buggies. At least every other person had a dog.

Ewan only started a little when Archie plunked down beside him. Today he was wearing an uncharacteristic coral jumper and heavy black scarf. Expensive-looking sunglasses were perched on his nose. He carried a rolled-up newspaper in one hand.

“Is your mum still a dragon?” Ewan asked without preamble. He wasn’t dim enough to ask how Archie had found him.

“No, thank Woden,” Archie said. He threw his arm over the back of the bench. “She does, unfortunately, still have the werewolf bites. They’ve scarred; she says they’re reminders to rein in her megalomania. I still have that ruddy tattoo, too, whatever
that
means.”

“Maybe it’s a reminder to think for yourself,” Ewan said thoughtfully, remembering the bright patterns against Archie’s fair skin.

“How are you?” Archie asked after a moment. “You all right?”

Ewan studied his handsome profile. “I’m unemployed and basically under house arrest,” he replied, “but I’ve been worse. You?”

Archie seemed to think about it. “I’m fine, actually. After we got back, we had a visit from the SMCA. Mother was, ah, encouraged, shall we say, to check herself into a facility for those who have or are thinking about taking over the world. It’s in
California
. That much sunlight is unnatural. She seems to like it, though. She says it’s an awful lot of talk therapy. You know: Americans.”

That caused Ewan to blink in surprise. “How did the SMCA know about what happened?”

“I think they might have always known,” Archie replied, grimacing. He pulled his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose and said, ominously, “I guess we’ll never know for certain.”

“Nice of them to step in and stop us
before
we destroyed the world,” Ewan said dryly.

Archie shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Seen Abrams lately?”

“Yeah,” Ewan said. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Pity about him losing his job.”

Archie unrolled the newspaper, showing him the headline: “
Oliver Abrams: Britain’s biggest threat?
” it read. “
Abrams dismissed from SMCA on charges of conspiracy
,” said the subheading. There was no mention of Sophie, of course, though she had also been quietly forced to resign.

“He’s not too bothered,” said Ewan. “Said he and Sophie might move to Somerset. Try their hand at farming.”

Archie snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ewan watched a dog running happily through the field down the hill, its pink tongue dangling from its mouth. He knew exactly how it felt. Gingerly, he pushed his foot over until it was nudging Archie’s, and, unexpectedly, Archie reached between them and laced their fingers together.

A few days ago, Archie holding his hand would have made Ewan panic, wondering what he was trying to pull. But now something warm was spreading through his chest. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, but it was a nice feeling.

Still not looking at him, Archie asked, “Want to go feed the ducks?”

“Yeah,” Ewan replied. He glanced over at Archie and grinned; Archie’s eyes darted back at him, a smile tugging on his lips. “Yeah, all right.”

About the Author

A
merican-Hungarian author Erin Claiborne lives and works in London, UK. Before this, she was busy traveling the world, living in boring but beautiful cold countries, and getting a Masters degree in Medieval History from a Well-Known UK Institution. Her passions are history, languages, and reading about crazy people on the internet. When not sitting in a pub, she can be found looking longingly at puppies in parks and taking pictures of buildings.

ErinClaiborne.com
Twitter
@ErinClaiborne