Chapter 11
Jess
Hallowell Bay was different at night. Shadows from the streetlamps stretched too long across the cobblestones, and the ocean sounded closer, like the tide was breathing at the back of my neck.
We passed the laundromat, its dryers plastered with “out of order” signs.
Us witches knew that meant they were running on spell work for the week, because the owner’s nephew had set the lint traps on fire again during a hex-cleansing.
Bianca swung the flamingo mirror under her arm like it was a purse she’d bought at a garage sale instead of the only magical anchor between me and total disaster.
“Alright, mapmaker,” she said. “Where do we start?”
“Somewhere without people.” I scanned the block. Most shops were shuttered, their windows dark, but every bit of glass made my shoulders tense. “If the veil’s thin, we’ll see it in the reflections.”
“Cool. Just to be clear, thin veil equals dangerous monsters, right?”
“Right. But they won’t bother you much,” I added.
“Uh, why?”
Raven answered from my shoulder. “You’re unmarked. No spell residue, no magical tether. To them, you’re background noise—unless you lean too close.”
Bianca gave a tight smile and adjusted her grip on the mirror. “Great. Let’s go find some.”
We started at the boardwalk. In the mirror, the waves were flat and still, even though in the real world the tide was foaming over the rocks. A street musician’s reflection in the arcade window was standing perfectly still, hands at his sides, while the real him strummed a guitar.
As we moved on, I caught my reflection in the glass of a closed souvenir shop. My mirrored self tilted her head a second after I did, just enough of a delay to make my stomach dip. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as I walked past, turning her head to follow until the frame cut her off.
We headed into the older part of Main Street, where antique stores were pressed shoulder to shoulder. In one window, a mannequin in a 1920s dress had its head turned in the reflection, even though it was ramrod straight in real life. Its painted eyes followed us as we passed.
Bianca gave a low whistle. “If I wake up with that thing standing in my room, I’m moving to Arizona.”
In the pawn shop window just past it, my reflection’s fingers twitched against the glass — three slow taps, like she was trying to get my attention. I froze. The real me hadn’t moved my hands at all. When I blinked, her arms were down again, frozen in my exact posture.
In the reflection of the next shop window, that same hot-dog squirrel was wearing a rhinestone collar and sitting in a doll-sized rocking chair. There was no squirrel, collar, or chair in the real window.
Bianca muttered, “That’s either the cutest thing I’ve ever seen or a sign of the apocalypse.”
Raven glanced at it, unimpressed. “Oh, that rodent? Lives by the bay. Stumbled out of a veil last year and now it’s a walking lost-and-found for stray magic. Ignore it unless it starts speaking Latin.”
“Comforting,” Bianca said.
We passed the old photography studio, its front window still full of dusty black-and-white portraits. I slowed without thinking — one of the frames had caught the light just right. My own reflection stared back, except the angle was wrong. I wasn’t standing that close.
“Jess?” Bianca’s voice came from somewhere over my shoulder, but I couldn’t answer. Mirror-Me was already leaning in, her face crowding the glass until her breath fogged the inside. The fog curled into the shape of a handprint — from her side.
I didn’t realize I’d taken a step forward until my boots touched the edge of the shop’s display ledge. The air between me and the glass was colder, heavier, like stepping into water. Her fingers flexed against the other side, slow and deliberate, as if waiting for the right moment to grip mine.
Bianca’s hand closed on my arm and yanked me back. The fog on the glass snapped into a spiderweb of frost and vanished.
“Hey! Eyes up here. You do not want to know what that looked like from out here.”
My heart was still hammering, and the place where Bianca’s hand had caught me tingled like I’d almost been burned. I didn’t look back.
A sudden gust rattled the shop door, even though the air around us was dead still. The flamingo mirror’s surface shimmered once, like something had brushed it from the other side.
The mirror shimmered again. This time the image was so sharp I could smell it — the stale, metallic cold from when Etan had first stepped out of my bedroom mirror.
Down the center of the glass, a hairline crack spiderwebbed, and for just a second, something pale and hand-shaped pressed against the inside.
“Great,” I muttered. “Now it’s cracking.”
Raven twisted on my shoulder to get a look and let out a low caw. “I’ll check it properly when we get home, sooner if you stop dawdling.”
By the time we looped back to my street, I’d counted at least five thin spots where reflections bent, lagged, or stared back like they knew we were watching.
Bianca blew hair out of her face. “So, good news, we’re basically living in a magical cul-de-sac full of creepy portals.”
Raven gave a dry squawk. “That’s Hallowell Bay for you. Built on a knot of ley lines, settled by three different witch covens who couldn’t agree on a name, let alone a territory. Centuries of overlapping spells have worn the veil thin in more places than most towns have streetlamps.”
“And the bad news?” I asked.
“The creepy portals are looking at us like we’re the main course.”
Raven ruffled his feathers, scanning the street.
“Right. You’ve seen where the hotspots are now.
I know there’s another one at the school, in the auditorium, big mirror near the stage.
But listen to me — seams are dangerous. The two realms rub together at those points, and the more they rub, the thinner the barrier gets.
Keep poking at them and you’re not just going to get Etan, you’ll get anything else that feels like crossing over. ”
I glanced down at the mirror in my hands. The crack was still there, faint but pulsing like a heartbeat.
Raven hopped down to the sidewalk, claws clicking on the cobblestones.
The mirror’s surface caught the streetlamps and turned them into a crown of light around something pale, just behind my reflection.
When I blinked, it was gone. But the crack in the glass pulsed again.
This time, I could swear something on the other side pulsed back.