not redeemable for anything.”
“A fair system.”
Trey looked under the bed, and in the closet, and I leaned against the wall by the door with my sword cane and watched him. He hadn’t mocked me or acted like I was a moron, or even patronized me, and that did earn him some points, redeemable for something to be named later.
He finished his inspection and glanced around the room. “Let me just look under the drop cloth over there to make sure nobody’s pulling a Polonius on you.”
Shakespeare reference. All right, Trey. Points for that, too.
He pulled the cloth down, revealing the ornate mirror with its lion’s-head frame, and then stepped back, almost stumbling. He caught himself, looked at his reflection in the mirror, then laughed, turning to look at me and reaching out with one arm to gesture at the glass. “I didn’t know it was a mirror under there, I caught sight of myself and thought, Shit, there’s really somebody in here! I’m just glad I didn’t scream—”
The finger he’d extended to point at the mirror touched the glass…and that’s when the mirror ate him.
Trey gasped, and I watched in what I can only call paralyzed surprise as his hand vanished into the surface of the mirror up to the wrist. It looked like he’d plunged his arm into perfectly reflective water. “What—” he said, and then he was jerked off his feet, yanked by the arm into the mirror and disappearing in less than the space of a breath. The mirror glass was disturbed for a moment, rippling like the surface of a pond, and then went still again, reflecting nothing but the room and a terrified me.
I wanted to run, and I’m not sure why I didn’t, except that I’ve always been the one to keep a cool head in a crisis. Some part of my mind just detached like the escape pod on a starship and traveled to a safe remove, or began running things from a command center in some hardened psychic bunker.
“Trey?” I stepped forward, scrabbling for rationalizations—maybe Archibald Grace had dabbled in stage magic, and this was a special effect. Maybe Trey had fallen through the mirror, and the appearance of unbroken glass was just a trick of the light. (I know. Pretty weak. I didn’t have a lot of reality to work with.)
What I did know was that I wasn’t about to touch the glass. That didn’t stop me from extending the sword cane toward the mirror, though. When the tip of the cane touched the glass, the cane was jerked out of my hands, and disappeared into the glass, leaving only a ripple that swiftly vanished.
I sank to my knees. Staring at the glass, unsure what to do next. Call the cops? “Hi, I’m new in town, and this mirror I inherited ate a scion of the local ancient lawyer family, and then it ate my sword—oh, didn’t I mention I had a sword? Sure, I’ll stay on the line.”
When I was little I saw a cartoon—I can’t remember exactly what it was—about a little boy who passed through a mirror to a magical land. At age seven or so I spent a long afternoon trying to find a way to pass through the full-length mirror Mom kept in the hall, slowly pressing my hands and nose against the glass, thinking if I did it gradually enough, I’d be able to push through, like sticking your finger into a soap bubble without popping it. Once I did that, I’d find something wonderful on the other side.
Never managed it.
Now Trey had. But thinking something pleasant and wondrous waited on the other side of the mirror was maybe wishful thinking.
My phone buzzed. Hell. This late, it wasn’t my parents, which meant it was probably Charlie. He would not have good advice for me, if I were stupid enough to ask for it. I looked at the screen.
The name of the caller was “Trey.”
I answered, because, I mean, what would you have done?
“Bekah?” It sure sounded like Trey, only more panicked than I’d ever heard him sound before. “Did I walk through a mirror? Because…I think I walked through a mirror. Only the glass
“A fair system.”
Trey looked under the bed, and in the closet, and I leaned against the wall by the door with my sword cane and watched him. He hadn’t mocked me or acted like I was a moron, or even patronized me, and that did earn him some points, redeemable for something to be named later.
He finished his inspection and glanced around the room. “Let me just look under the drop cloth over there to make sure nobody’s pulling a Polonius on you.”
Shakespeare reference. All right, Trey. Points for that, too.
He pulled the cloth down, revealing the ornate mirror with its lion’s-head frame, and then stepped back, almost stumbling. He caught himself, looked at his reflection in the mirror, then laughed, turning to look at me and reaching out with one arm to gesture at the glass. “I didn’t know it was a mirror under there, I caught sight of myself and thought, Shit, there’s really somebody in here! I’m just glad I didn’t scream—”
The finger he’d extended to point at the mirror touched the glass…and that’s when the mirror ate him.
Trey gasped, and I watched in what I can only call paralyzed surprise as his hand vanished into the surface of the mirror up to the wrist. It looked like he’d plunged his arm into perfectly reflective water. “What—” he said, and then he was jerked off his feet, yanked by the arm into the mirror and disappearing in less than the space of a breath. The mirror glass was disturbed for a moment, rippling like the surface of a pond, and then went still again, reflecting nothing but the room and a terrified me.
I wanted to run, and I’m not sure why I didn’t, except that I’ve always been the one to keep a cool head in a crisis. Some part of my mind just detached like the escape pod on a starship and traveled to a safe remove, or began running things from a command center in some hardened psychic bunker.
“Trey?” I stepped forward, scrabbling for rationalizations—maybe Archibald Grace had dabbled in stage magic, and this was a special effect. Maybe Trey had fallen through the mirror, and the appearance of unbroken glass was just a trick of the light. (I know. Pretty weak. I didn’t have a lot of reality to work with.)
What I did know was that I wasn’t about to touch the glass. That didn’t stop me from extending the sword cane toward the mirror, though. When the tip of the cane touched the glass, the cane was jerked out of my hands, and disappeared into the glass, leaving only a ripple that swiftly vanished.
I sank to my knees. Staring at the glass, unsure what to do next. Call the cops? “Hi, I’m new in town, and this mirror I inherited ate a scion of the local ancient lawyer family, and then it ate my sword—oh, didn’t I mention I had a sword? Sure, I’ll stay on the line.”
When I was little I saw a cartoon—I can’t remember exactly what it was—about a little boy who passed through a mirror to a magical land. At age seven or so I spent a long afternoon trying to find a way to pass through the full-length mirror Mom kept in the hall, slowly pressing my hands and nose against the glass, thinking if I did it gradually enough, I’d be able to push through, like sticking your finger into a soap bubble without popping it. Once I did that, I’d find something wonderful on the other side.
Never managed it.
Now Trey had. But thinking something pleasant and wondrous waited on the other side of the mirror was maybe wishful thinking.
My phone buzzed. Hell. This late, it wasn’t my parents, which meant it was probably Charlie. He would not have good advice for me, if I were stupid enough to ask for it. I looked at the screen.
The name of the caller was “Trey.”
I answered, because, I mean, what would you have done?
“Bekah?” It sure sounded like Trey, only more panicked than I’d ever heard him sound before. “Did I walk through a mirror? Because…I think I walked through a mirror. Only the glass
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