Chapter Text
Mary was right in the middle of yet another computation when she heard a light knock on the door.
She froze mid-click, her ears trained toward the back of her dimly-lit office. Her heart started beating faster as she sat up in her seat, mentally running through her schedule to think of anyone she'd possibly be meeting with this early in the morning. It was only just past five o’clock, after all, and most academics she knew barely made it on time for nine o’clock meetings. Why would someone be here so early at her door?
Then again, Mary didn’t really know what to expect anymore. It’d been an extraordinary day, to say the least. After the most curious visit from that inquisitive girl named Lyra, Mary had dived straight into further ways she could get the Cave to talk to her. This included poring over various coding languages she could use to somehow try and rewire the machine to communicate with her in the way it had done with Lyra. She didn’t know what she was doing, really, and she wasn’t much of a computer scientist, but she didn't have a choice. This was what she had to do. She could practically feel the discovery that was just waiting to be made, in the same way she could feel her own shadow. She hadn't yet slept; she’d spent every single, available moment working toward this goal. And she would succeed. She had to.
"Hello," said a woman as soon as Mary opened the door. She was beautiful and young, with dark hair curled craftily around her round face and eyes the brightest shade of blue. She looked strange in a way Mary couldn’t quite describe. Out of place, almost. Out of time, as her red dress ensemble looked antique and classic in a way she’d only ever seen in movies and TV shows.
There was also something about her that felt faintly familiar.
"H-hi," Mary finally let out. "Can I help you?"
"Are you Dr. Mary Malone?"
Another person who not only was looking for her but who also happened to know her actual name. Mary couldn’t help the frown that started to set around her brow. Something very, very strange was happening to her. Stranger than she'd even imagined.
“Yes, that’s me.” After a pause of the woman simply staring at her, head tilted to the side, Mary cleared her throat and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in, then?”
“I would,” the woman said, a smile curving up onto her red lips. Mary’s eyes were drawn to them immediately. “Thank you very much.”
“Of course. But, uh, sorry for the mess...”
Mary was, up until yesterday, planning on packing up everything as her funding had run dry. She had some cardboard boxes spread out next to her bookcases, where she’d pack away the essentials but likely try to pawn off the rest on other researchers in the building. Books grew on you over time like residue, constantly building up until one day there’s too much of it and you don’t know what to do with it. That’s how Mary felt, at any rate, about her office supplies but most things in life.
“Not at all,” the woman said softly, weaving between boxes and books as she made her way over to one of the armchairs. She carried a dark brown handbag with her that she kept over her left shoulder. It seemed heavy, now that Mary looked at it, and when the woman set it down beside her on the ground, Mary thought she heard a strange sort of hiss coming from it. Like an animal of sorts.
She really needed sleep. Or, rather, more coffee.
“Can I offer you some coffee? And, er...what is your name?”
“Marisa,” she said, smiling again. A flash of perfect white. “And I would love some. Thank you so much for your kindness and hospitality.”
Mary again had the oddest sensation of déjà vu. She’d never seen this woman before, she was certain. It would hard be to forget her. So why was it as she pressed the button for the keurig to run and fiddled with the mini-fridge to get out some creamer Mary couldn’t help but feel like she’d felt this woman’s presence before? She couldn’t possibly explain it, and she didn’t fully understand it. But something just struck her.
“Here you are,” she said a few minutes later, handing Marisa a mug and then pushing over the carton of creamer and some sugar packets on the coffee table. “Help yourself.”
“Excellent.” Marisa poured some cream into her coffee and then emptied two packets of sugar into it. She moved quickly and methodically, Mary noticed. Her movements were light and purposeful, restrained and intentional. “It’s been a long night, so I appreciate the extra energy.”
“Where are you from, Marisa?” Mary decided to ask. Surely she can make sense of this and figure out what was going on. “Are you from a department here at St. Peter’s, or...from another institution?”
“I’m not from here,” the other woman drawled very carefully. She bit her lip just then, and Mary felt herself squirm and her brow only creased more.
She wasn’t the first person to tell Mary that she wasn’t “from here.” Lyra had said something even more plainly: she was from another world. Not another school, but another world. Another world with something called the Magisterium and Dust and people who were seeking to destroy it, because it was thought to be “original sin.”
Did Marisa know about Dust? Was she part of the Magisterium? Did she know Lyra?
“So, not from Oxford?” Mary pressed.
“London,” Marisa said, her voice measured. “But I’ve come a long way overnight for a very specific purpose.”
“And what purpose is that?”
"I'm looking for someone," she said then. Marisa’s blue eyes bore into Mary's. It was like a shockwave hit her, and she felt more than actually saw the things Marisa didn’t quite say. She felt desperation and urgency and fear and something that almost resembled hysteria. All Mary could do was stare back, her mouth gaping slightly as this woman and her emotions simply trampled over her. "And I was hoping you might be able to help me."
"Who are you looking for?" Mary breathed, but she half-expected the answer and wasn't surprised when she heard it.
"Lyra. A little girl named Lyra. I'm afraid she's lost and I'm trying my best to find her and keep her safe."
It all made sense, yet it didn’t. Mary was struck by her memory of Lyra sitting down, defeated, not too far from where Marisa herself was now sitting. " I’m doing it all wrong,” the girl had groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This matters. This matters so much. I’ve traveled so far, and I find myself here.”
And now this Marisa person found herself here. Looking for a girl from another world. Something about it all felt entirely off-putting. It felt wrong as she looked at the woman who seemed so gentle and sweet and currently so upset. Mary wanted to help her. It was instinctual, perhaps, to help someone in need. It was part of Mary’s nature, and she could never figure out how to turn off the way she seemed to subsume the emotions of other people as if they were her own. Too empathetic for her own good.
But, again: something was off here . And Mary realized she had to be very, very careful and protective of this strange girl from another world who had changed everything for her.
“I don’t know of a girl named Lyra,” Mary answered, looking back at the woman with what was actually genuine concern. “I’m so sorry to hear that she’s lost. Is she...your daughter?”
That hit a nerve, it seemed. Marisa’s jaw clenched then, as if she were struck. Her eyes also drifted down toward the handbag, which Mary thought she saw move, perhaps, but then the woman’s eyes were trained back to her, filled with such breathtaking sadness.
“She is,” Marisa said, her voice barely audible. “My only child. And I’ve lost her.”
“Oh,” Mary breathed, her mind whirling. This was Lyra’s mother. Lyra had mentioned something about her father, and something he did with Dust. How did the mother fit in, Mary couldn’t help but wonder? Was Lyra running from or to her? How could she be sure? What was she to do?
“You really haven’t seen her?” Marisa asked, taking the tissue that Mary had offered to her. Her fingers brushed Mary’s ever so slightly and she very nearly shuddered.
“No, I’m afraid not.” Mary looked over at her then, taking in the way the woman’s eyes narrowed just the faintest bit before she bowed her head. “I’ve been working all day and night here in my office and lab. Haven’t seen much of anyone lately.”
“What is it you study, Dr. Malone?” Marisa wasn’t looking up at her, but Mary felt a burst of intensity fill the air now. The tension was thick, and she had the notion Marisa very well might already know.
“Dark matter,” she simply said, still watching the other woman. “Particles of energy that we don’t know very much about.”
“It's Dust.” Marisa’s head snapped up, which surprised Mary more than it should have. Her sadness and suspicion were gone now and replaced entirely with a burning curiosity. Mary recognized that look. It was the look of a fellow scholar, a fellow researcher who dedicated their life to questions that hardly anyone else could understand. “Of course it is.”
“Dust?” Mary feigned, trying to remember how she’d reacted with Lyra to let that guide her response now. Except this time it all felt very critical that she get her response right.
“I just—dark matter,” Marisa mused, turning to look around the office as if she’d only just noticed it. “What’s that?” She was looking at the computer. Her reaction wasn’t that much different from Lyra’s. She seemed surprised yet intrigued as she took in the blinking lights and wires and dual monitors.
“My desktop?” Mary said back.
“I see.” Marisa dipped her head and turned back to Mary, all her excitement and wonder gone almost as quickly as it arrived. How curious, Mary thought as she gazed at her. How remarkable, yet potentially concerning, for her to switch on and off like that. Mary had so many questions in that moment.
“Well, Dr. Malone, I do apologize for intruding,” Marisa sighed after a few more beats. “I’ve been awfully rude and abrupt and you’ve been so patient with me at this early hour.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine," Mary stammered, rising as Marisa rose from her seat. “I’m just sorry I can’t help you, Marisa.”
The woman looked at her again with an unsettling sort of look. It was inscrutable yet alarming. Mary wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I appreciate your time again. And if you do happen to see my daughter, I’d greatly appreciate your help.”
Mary was mystified as the woman nodded again and then headed for the door. It was then that Mary realized she had no way to contact this woman again, if she ever chose to.
Or, as she increasingly was feeling, it she ever wanted to.
"Oh! Do you, uh, have a phone number?" Mary called to her as the woman's hand touched the doorknob. She felt her face flush, in spite of herself. "In case I... hear anything? About Lyra?"
Marisa smiled again. It was gleeful, animated. If Mary didn't know any better, she would almost say predatory .
"Of course," she said lightly, coming back over. "My phone number. How silly of me to forget giving it to you. May I borrow a pen?"
Mary fished around on her desk for a pad of paper and a pen that still worked (it took her a few tries). She then turned back around and handed it to Marisa, who took the pen but left the paper.
"You can call me any time," she said gently, taking Mary's arm and writing down a number on the pale flesh on her forearm. Marisa's hands were soft and smooth. Like butter. And as Marisa stood close and bent forward ever so slightly, Mary smelled the sweet scent of lavender and honey mixed in a strange and exotic combination.
"O-okay," Mary said, returning the woman's smile as best she could. She couldn't quite control how nervously her body was responding.
"Thank you."
And with one last glance at Mary, Marisa was gone and out the door, cradling her dark brown handbag.