Chapter Twenty-Eight
TWENTY-EIGHT
MAVEN
I turn around to go back the way I entered, but I can’t find the way. It should be right there, but it seems as if the mirrors have shifted. The path leading in has disappeared.
A note of panic creeps into my voice. “Bea? Honey, where are you?”
My gaze darts through the shifting shadows for any sign of her, but all I can see are unnervingly distorted images of myself, my reflection multiplied endlessly. I push forward, my pulse racing, pressing my hands against the cold glass to try to find my way out of the maze.
“Bea?” I call out again. My voice echoes eerily in the infinite reflections. My panic increases with every step I take.
Then I catch a glimpse of movement in one of the mirrors—her small figure darting past, deeper into the maze.
“Bea, wait!”
I turn to follow her and crash straight into a panel of glass.
I reel back, clutching my forehead where it hit the mirror. The impact leaves me disoriented. The walls of the maze seem to close in on me, their reflective surfaces twisting my panicked reflection into something almost unrecognizable.
Almost … sinister.
Another flicker of movement catches my eye, this time farther away.
It’s a small form in a pointed black witch’s hat, slipping between the mirrors.
I lunge in that direction, stumbling forward, but the reflection vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
It’s so dark and confusing, I can’t tell if I’m moving forward or going in circles.
My fingers brush the surfaces of the mirrors, frantically searching for escape.
Then, as if by some miracle, the mirrors suddenly part. I burst out into the open, the night air cold against my flushed skin. Spinning around, I stare at the exit door swinging closed on the side of the auditorium.
I made my way out, but I can’t leave Bea behind. I have to find her.
Just as I’m about to open the door and dive back in, a familiar voice stops me.
“Maven?”
I freeze, my breath catching. I turn slowly to find Ronan standing only a few feet away, his gaze fixed on me. His buxom companion is nowhere to be seen.
“What’s going on? I heard you shouting.”
“I … I can’t find Bea,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “She’s still somewhere inside the haunted house.”
His expression hardens, his jaw tightening. Without hesitation, he strides toward the door. “I’ll find her. Stay here.”
“No, wait—you don’t understand. It’s a maze of mirrors in there. And you’ll hardly be able to see anything. It’s almost totally dark.”
He mutters, “You’d be surprised what I can see in the dark.” He yanks open the door and disappears inside.
Wringing my hands, I pace in front of the closed door for a few minutes, debating whether or not I should follow him, when suddenly the door reopens and he reappears, carrying Bea in his arms.
Missing her pointed hat and bag of candy, she clings to him, pale and frightened, but otherwise unharmed.
Flooded with relief, I say, “Oh, thank God.”
“Mommy!” she cries, wriggling free of his arms to throw herself into mine.
I hold her tightly, pressing my face to her hair. “You scared me, honey.”
Her voice small, she says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get lost.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I almost wasn’t—I ran into a mirror and fell, and it came off the wall and almost smashed me! But he caught it before it did.”
Those words make my heart contract with fear and dread. If Ronan hadn’t been there, my daughter might have become another Blackthorn accident statistic.
He stands a few feet away, watching us, his gaze fierce and his breathing uneven. When our eyes meet, I feel the raw power of it to the marrow of my bones.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods, his gaze softening as he looks at Bea. “She’s brave,” he says quietly. “Takes after her mother.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just hold her more tightly, grateful that she’s safe.
Without another word, Ronan turns and walks off into the night.
My heart pounding, I release Bea and take her hand.
Leading her toward the parking lot around the side of the building, I clutch her hand in mine, trying to ground myself, but my thoughts are churning.
My mind keeps replaying the scene: Ronan appearing with Bea in his arms, the intensity in his eyes, the way he found her so quickly.
He navigated the maze like it was nothing but an illusion he could see right through.
After a few moments of silence, she says, “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
She peers up at my face. “How come Wonder Woman was afraid of you?”
“You’ve probably noticed, honey, but our family is a little different.”
“I noticed. But not different in a bad way, right?”
I hear the note of worry in her voice.
Like most people, she has a natural inclination to fit in. It’s always easier to be one of the tribe, to be liked and welcomed. Being a valued part of a group is built into our DNA.
And as all outcasts know, being different can be dangerous.
Being different can get you killed.
I look at her. “Do Auntie Esme and Auntie Davina seem bad to you?”
She shakes her head.
“What about Q? Does he seem bad?”
“No. I like Q. I like all of them.”
“So there you go. It doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks. You’ve made up your own mind based on your own experience. That’s how you should approach everything in life.”
She contemplates that in solemn silence for a moment, then says, “I think Wonder Woman had fake boobs.”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t already about to cry again. “Well, it is Halloween. Maybe they were part of the costume. Come on, let’s go get an ice cream.”
We walk hand in hand across the parking lot and toward the town square. By the time we reach the Dairy Queen, her lids are droopy, and she’s dragging her feet.
We each get a cone and eat them on the walk back to the school. By now, the moon has risen over the crest of the mountains and illuminates our way, crowning us in ghostly pale light. We sit on the bench in front of the school’s parking lot. Bea rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.
“Q will be here any minute now, sweetie,” I murmur, watching the street. I put my arm around her shoulders and rub her arm, thinking of Ronan but trying not to.
By the time Q pulls up in the Caddy, Bea is asleep. He gently picks her up and lays her down on the backseat, folding his cloak under her head for a pillow.
As we’re driving away, I catch a glimpse of a caped Dracula standing alone in the shadow of a gnarled oak tree across the street, watching us go with his piercing icy eyes.