Chapter Seventeen
Midnight came and went by the time they drove back to the manor.
“Question regarding Question Mark,” Sonya began. “Will they or won’t they, at some point, reach up for the average bar?”
“No,” Owen said immediately. “And let me make that hell no, with an exclamation mark.”
He caught Trey’s eye in the rearview.
“Yeah, I gotta agree with my former bandmate on that. The bass player’s not bad, but a rock band’s not held up by bass alone. Tell you what, we’ll make it up to ourselves, hit the club in Ogunquit sometime soon.”
“Maybe find out when Rock Hard’s playing.” Cleo shifted to look back. “See when Bree has a night off and she’s going.”
“I can do that.”
“Sounds like a party. I wonder … No, not tonight.” Sonya caught sight of the manor. Only the lights she’d left on glowed. “I wondered if Clover and her ghostly friends had a party like the time before.”
“Maybe they did. Just wrapped it by midnight.”
Laughing, she leaned against Trey. “I really like to think so.”
When Owen parked, she got out. “I trust Jack took care of it all, but we’ll let everybody out for a bit before…”
She trailed off, groped for Trey’s arm.
“What is it?”
“I feel … The mirror. I feel it. I don’t— I can’t— There. There. Do you see it?”
It stood on the lawn, the glass glinting in the cloud-shadowed moonlight. Where it hadn’t been, Trey knew it hadn’t been, even seconds before.
“Yeah, I see it. What else do you see?”
Pressing a hand to her belly, she leaned against him. “The mirror. There’s movement in the mirror.”
“I can see that.” Owen stepped up beside her. “Colors, dark, but colors against that, moving.”
“I don’t see anything but the reflection of the glass.” In support, Cleo put a hand on Sonya’s shoulder.
“I have to go. I can’t not go.”
“I know.” Struggling, Trey leaned down to kiss her. “Owen’s with you. Cleo and I will wait. Right here.”
“We’ve got this. Whatever this is, we’ve got it.”
Taking her hand now, Owen walked with her. Over the grass toward the mirror.
“Voices, I hear voices. Music and voices.”
“I don’t, not yet. Just … sound I can’t make out.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said to convince herself.
“Good. You can protect me.”
Together, they walked to the mirror and through.
When they vanished into the glass, Cleo vised a hand over Trey’s. “I hate this. I hate we just stand here. We can’t hear, can’t see.”
“Right there with you. The dogs are barking. Maybe you could let them out.”
When she rushed over to open the door, he took another step. Pressed his hand to the glass.
On the other side of it, Sonya stood with Owen on the lawn. In a star-drenched sky, a full moon sailed over the rolling sea.
Throughout the manor lights glimmered and shone. Through windows open to what felt like any night in early summer, she heard music.
A male voice crooned. When you were sweet sixteen.
One couple laughed, a gay sound, as they danced over the grass.
Others walked, lit by moonlight and strings of Chinese lanterns. Men wore tuxedos, some more formal tails, while the women shined in sweeping gowns low and fitted at the bodice. Gowns of silks, satins in soft colors they wore with long gloves and the sparkle of diamonds, rubies, emeralds.
“Moira! Moira and Owen Poole. Over there. I recognize them. Do you see them?”
“Yeah, okay. Blue dress? Blue flowers it looks like running down the skirt.”
“Yes! They’re older than when I saw them in the woods. When he proposed. They look happy.”
“Everybody does. Makes me wonder why we’re here.”
“I want to hear what they’re saying.”
She tugged Owen over, ghosts among the ghosts.
A few people applauded as they walked through, as the song ended and the dancers took a bow, a curtsy.
Moira patted her husband’s hand. “We should go in now, Owen.”
“You’re not light-headed?”
“Not in the least. I just needed some air. You know how it is.”
Her hand brushed lightly over her belly.
“She’s pregnant. It’s … I can’t really pinpoint, but I know it’s after Lisbeth’s birth. The fashion. I’ve tried to pay attention to how it evolves. Owen, I think it’s somewhere around the turn of the century, so maybe ah … I think it’s Jack.”
“I have to trust you on that.”
“Why would we need to be here for that? They’re happy. They don’t know what’s going to happen to Lissy.”
“It wouldn’t change anything if they did. They’d just grieve longer.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I just—they’re going back in. Maybe we’re supposed to follow them, go in, up to the ballroom.”
As they started to, she froze.
“What? Dobbs?”
“No. No. No.” She lifted a trembling hand.
“Jesus, it’s Collin. Standing right there by the mirror. He had to come through like we did, but from before. He looks, I don’t know, my age maybe.”
“Yes, about your age. But it’s not Collin. It’s my father. Owen, it’s my father.”
She knew it absolutely. They were twins, yet there were small, subtle differences.
And she knew the man standing by the mirror, wearing ancient jeans frayed at the hem, a Boston University T-shirt, his hair tousled and in need of a trim, his face stubbled and in need of a shave, was Andrew MacTavish.
Her father.
Breaking away from Owen, she ran.
“Dad. Oh God, Dad!”
Running, her arms open to embrace him, she went right through him.
She gave a quick cry, more grief than shock. His body jerked as if someone had bumped him. Eyes wide, he looked around.
Looked, for a moment she believed, looked at her.
“Dad.”
She reached out, but saw he stared through, not at her, then past her.
“Easy.” Owen went to her, put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s hard. Can’t imagine. But you’ve got a chance to see him again.”
“He felt me. I know it. He can’t see me, but he felt me. We’re ghosts here, but so is he. Why can I see him, but he can’t see me?”
“Hell if I know, Sonya, and it sucks. Look, he’s not afraid. He’s more—”
“In wonder.” A tear spilled out. “That’s what he’d call it when he saw something that struck him. In wonder. It’s the manor that strikes him.”
Even as she spoke, so did Drew.
“It’s a dream, just another dream. How can they be so damn real? How can I smell the salt air, feel the grass under my feet? Hear that music? What the hell song is that?”
Shaking his head, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, studied the manor.
“The most amazing house I’ve ever seen. And I keep seeing it. On the coast somewhere. Man, Winter and Sonya would love this place. One day, maybe.”
Then his head turned. “Who the hell is that?”
“Dobbs.” Owen gripped Sonya’s arm firmly to hold her in place.
“I see her. So does Dad. He sees her.”
“Not one of them,” she heard Drew say. “Something else.”
“She sees him, Owen. She’s walking his way. She could hurt him. I have to—”
“She didn’t. That didn’t happen then.” He kept his grip firm, and hoped he spoke truth. “It won’t happen now.”
Even as Dobbs glided toward him, Drew looked back at the mirror. “Sonya’s calling me. Time to wake up.”
Turning to the mirror, he stepped through.
“Stay away from what’s mine.” Dobbs slapped a hand toward the mirror only to fall back several steps. She cradled one hand in the other.
“Damn to you. Damn to all of you. I should’ve smothered the babe. Pick one, steal its breath. This one brings trouble. Brings trouble.”
Her madness swirling like a cloak, she paced around the mirror. A woman nearby suddenly shivered and hugged her arms.
“This brings trouble.”
With her face wild with fury, lips peeled back in a snarl, Dobbs balled her fist. She rammed it toward the glass but before she struck, pulled back, cried out in pain.
“Damn to you.”
She opened her fist, scowled at her blood-smeared knuckles. Then the face of her fury turned dreamy. Her eyes shined as she held out her hands, as she smiled down at the four rings on her fingers.
“Four now, and the fifth tucked away in bed. Safe and snug, they think. Oh yes, safe and snug this night. But soon enough, soon enough a bride she’ll be. And mine.
“Soon enough.”
She dropped her hands down by her sides, threw her face up to the sky. “Safe and snug and warm, but here I bring the storm.”
Laughing, she threw her arms up.
The wind swirled. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. And rain poured out of the sky in a torrent.
On shrieks and laughter, people ran toward the house until only the three stood outside as the rain drenched the lawn.
“Soon enough.” Smiling, smiling, Dobbs admired her fingers and what gleamed on them. “Death comes to the bride.”
She lifted her face, shouted at the sky. “I am mistress of the manor, for all time.”
On another whirl, she vanished.
“Hell of a show,” Owen managed. “And what we came here to see. We’re soaked. Time to go back.”
“He heard me calling him. He went back for me.”
“That’s right. And we’re going back.” He pulled her to the mirror, and through.
To a dry, clear summer night.
“Jesus, you’re soaked.” Trey reached for her. “And crying.”
“It rained, it rained on the party.”
“You’ll tell us, but we’re going up.” Cleo took her hand. “I’ll help you dry off and change. Trey.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make tea.”
“I’m not driving now.” Owen shoved at his dripping hair. “I’m having whiskey.”
“I’ll take care of it.” As he walked to the house, Trey looked back.
The mirror had done what it came to do, and was gone.
Not just soaked, Trey thought, not just crying, but so pale he wondered his arms hadn’t passed through her. He watched her walk upstairs with Cleo as Owen followed with Jones in step beside him.
And he’d make goddamn tea.
“Stick with me,” he told the rest of the pets. “Give them some space.”
Not for the first time, he wished the mirror, and the manor with it, to the far reaches of hell.
Upstairs, Cleo drew Sonya into her room. And saw Molly, most likely, had already turned on the fire.
“You’re shivering. Stand by the fire. You need to get out of those wet clothes. I’ll get towels.”
Because it was Cleo, Sonya let the last thread snap. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.