Chapter 6
Istood frozen in front of the mirror, my heart beating so hard that I couldn’t hear anything but my own blood pounding in my ears.
What the hell was that?!
I turned around, spinning myself in a circle as I stared into every corner of my room, but saw nothing.
I tried to recall the image that had, just seconds ago, flitted through my field of vision, but the details were like sand slipping through my fingers.
I couldn’t hold on to them. Had there been a face?
Had it been the Gray Man, as I had known him when he walked the beaches in my childhood dreams?
Had it been the mysterious young man of Sarah Claire’s memories?
I truly couldn’t say for sure, but something inside me had recognized that figure as surely as my own reflection in that mirror.
I backed away from the mirror until my back hit the opposite wall, and then I sank to the floor, my legs turning to water. I scooted myself into the corner so that every square inch of my room was visible, and then I sat there for several minutes, struggling to get my breathing under control.
I couldn’t hyperventilate now. If I passed out, I’d be vulnerable. Unprotected.
As the minutes ticked by and nothing happened, my fear began to settle into something resembling cautious curiosity.
My breathing eased, and the feeling returned to my muscles, now tense with the repressed urge to jump up and look in the mirror again.
It was, I realized, an extension of the feelings I’d been wrestling with for the past few weeks—the desire to know exactly what I was facing, to stare it down rather than hide from it.
I wasn’t some helpless, clueless child anymore.
I was a witch—a powerful one, deep down somewhere—and I suddenly needed to embrace that.
I was a Vesper. Vespers didn’t cower in corners.
I staggered to my feet and walked back to the mirror.
I took courage from my own face in the reflection.
I was pale, my eyes dilated to dark pools, but I looked more determined than frightened.
I moved closer and closer, until I stood with my nose only a few inches from the mirror’s surface.
I let my gaze wander away from my own features, and began to search the mirror as though it were a room I could step right into.
I shifted right and left, looking into the corners.
I saw nothing out of place. No movement. No figure.
But I felt it.
It was that feeling of being watched, when the weight of a gaze pressed down on you like fingers on your shoulder, or sent a shudder through you like a breath against your neck.
Somehow, I knew that if I could only look a little further past the mirror’s edge, I would find someone or something there, waiting for me.
This realization should have scared me—logically, I knew that—but it only frustrated me, because I wasn’t Alice.
I couldn’t simply step through the looking glass.
Could I?
I moved away from the mirror and sat down on the edge of my bed, thoughts racing.
I’d done it once, hadn’t I? In the garden of Shadowkeep, when Xiomara and I had tried scrying for the first time.
I’d looked down into the birdbath, and somehow found myself inside the reflection.
I hadn’t done it on purpose, and it was clear that Xiomara had not expected anything of the kind to happen, so therefore, I’d assumed it was a fluke—a magical mistake, only possible because the Source was so damaged by Sarah’s interference.
But now the Source was healed. Spirit witches could work as they were meant to work, and so something like that couldn’t happen again…
could it? Hadn’t my mother said something when we were discussing different forms of divination?
I’d expressed hesitation about wanting to try scrying again, and she had been quick to agree.
What had she said? I dug back through my tangle of memories from the past two days:
Scrying surfaces—mirrors, water, crystal balls, all of that—it’s not like looking through a window. It’s more like opening a door and then leaning through it. An open door will let you see through it, but you can also accidentally step through it.
She had also said that those kinds of things only happened when someone was inexperienced, but of course, that’s exactly what I was. So, what if that was what I’d done, just now, completely unintentionally?
I quickly came to terms with the fact that I couldn’t answer that question, and that I would need to find someone who could.
I certainly wasn’t going to ask my mother or Rhi.
They’d have that mirror smashed on the ground before I could even finish explaining, and I wasn’t at all sure that was what I wanted.
But in the meantime, I still needed to sleep tonight, and that mirror was starting to feel like a door I’d left wide open.
Gathering my courage, I crossed the room and, purposely averting my eyes, I lifted the mirror down off the wall and carried it over to my closet.
I opened the door, shoved the mirror into the furthest corner, tossed a pile of clothes on top of it, and slammed the door.
Was it entirely necessary? I had no idea.
But I knew I’d have a better chance at actually getting some sleep if I wasn’t constantly wondering if something on the other side of the mirror was watching me.
Then, just to be thorough, I circled through my room, looking for other reflective surfaces. I closed up a compact on the top of my bureau, and pulled the curtains over my windows. I even flipped my phone over so that the smooth reflective surfaces of the darkened screen faced down.
I turned to climb into my bed, and gave a yelp of surprise. Freya was sitting there, her tail twitching back and forth like a pendulum. Her eyes, glowing gently in the semi-darkness of my room, were fixed intently on my now closed closet door.
“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked her.
She cocked her head in acknowledgment of the question, but still didn’t take her eyes off the closet door. Wouldn’t you like to know, she seemed to say.
“Do me a favor, Freya,” I muttered to her, as I came to settle beside her on the bed. “Keep an eye on that closet tonight, would you?”
Freya looked back at me with a droll expression as though to say, Obviously.
Whether Freya just did an exceptional job of fending off nebulous threats, or whether I wasn’t in any actual danger to begin with, I couldn’t tell.
All I knew was that, after a fretful and dream-ridden night’s sleep, I woke up in my own bed, safe and sound.
I crept over to my closet, and pulled the pile of clothes off the mirror.
Only my own tired reflection blinked warily back at me.
I peered into the corners, but nothing lurked out of sight.
My relief was short-lived, though, as I considered all the rest of the reflective surfaces in the house.
I couldn’t afford to waste any time. If I wanted to protect myself, I would need to find a spirit witch who could help me, just like Jess had suggested.
I’d slept late enough that everyone had already scattered to their respective workspaces.
Through the French doors, I could see my mother’s figure moving between the flower beds out in the garden, tending the blossoms and making sure the frosts were not penetrating her protections.
Beyond the garden, smoke was rising from Persi’s workshop, meaning she was already shut away brewing her various concoctions.
And judging from the smells wafting from the back of the house, I knew Rhi was already baking something that smelled of cinnamon and good intentions.
“Oh Wren, honey, you’re just in time,” Rhi said, as she looked up from the oven to see me enter. “I need someone to taste-test something for me, if you don’t mind?”
I pressed a hand to my chest in mock horror. “Gourmet baked goods? What fresh hell is this?”
Rhi laughed her high-pitched giggle. “Very funny. I’m trying out a new recipe ahead of the Solstice. Gingerbread scones.”
“And what’s the spell?” I asked, taking one as she held it out to me. It was still warm and crumbled a little in my open palm.
“I set an intention for gratitude. You know, the holiday season and all that.” She rubbed at a smudge of flour on her cheekbone, but all she managed to do was deposit a second smudge on her jaw.
I bit into the corner of the scone, and chewed slowly.
The warmth that spread through me as I chewed had nothing to do with the fact that the scone had just come out of the oven, and everything to do with the spell Rhi had cast on it.
A sense of contentment stole through me, and I found myself looking down at the rest of the scone as though it were a parcel I had just unwrapped, to find a long-coveted gift inside. I looked up at Rhi and grinned.
“Perfect,” I announced.
Rhi was still twisting her hands together nervously. “Are you sure it’s not too much? I thought I may have gone a bit heavy on the nutmeg, and the incantation was—”
I put up a hand to silence her and, to my surprise, she actually pressed her lips together. “I said perfect, and I meant it. It’s delicious. Sell them to every exhausted mom whose kids won’t stop whining about their Christmas list. You’ll be a national hero.”
Rhi blushed a rosy pink. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m glad you liked it.”