44. The Magic Mirror’s Tale
FORTY-FOUR
THE MAGIC MIRROR’S TALE
While it is natural for a pure-blooded witch or wizard to take pride in their appearance and accomplishments, one must never succumb to the siren call of vanity. Superiority requires no gaudy displays or excessive preening. Those of noble lineage are recognized by their inherent grace and power.
Narcissism is the indulgence of lesser beings, whose diluted bloodlines compel them to seek validation through superficial means.
A pure-blooded witch’s confidence should rest firmly in her heritage and abilities.
Admiration is not something to be chased, but something rightfully bestowed upon those of distinction.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
A map of the Arcane Archives was etched in Minerva’s memory. After all, she was the one who had been curating the collection for the better part of a century. She had come up with the intake system, meticulously cataloging and classifying every item brought in.
Once an item was received and logged into the system, the item would be cleaned and prepped for storage.
Storage of enchanted items required careful consideration.
One could not simply toss items onto a shelf and be done with it.
Many of the items stored in the Archives were dangerous.
Vials of obscure poisons and hexed manuscripts required special handling.
Many of the storage systems were bespoke.
One glass display case full of bottles was submerged in a seven foot long aquarium.
The tank was a necessary precaution, as all the bottles in the case contained volatile Djinn.
The aquarium was also quite aesthetically pleasing when the light streamed down through the basement windows. Minerva loved the shadows it cast.
Even with her mental map, navigating the Archives from such a diminished perspective was going to be challenging. Minerva was grateful that she would not have to retrieve anything from the underwater case today.
“This should only take a minute,” Minerva spoke to Gemini, who was still as a statue, waiting and watching the open door at the top of the stairs.
Minerva took off running, her sense of purpose renewed.
Although she’d like to claim that she recalled every single item she’d checked into the Archives over the years, she did not.
But she most certainly recalled the mirror that Zephyr brought to her, years and years ago, when they were first courting.
Zephyr had made a special visit to bring it to her for safekeeping.
It was such a minor item. It seemed quite harmless, a mere trifle when compared to most of the items in her care.
Wishful thinking convinced her he might have been using it as an excuse to see her.
Zephyr’s mirror was one of a handful of items proudly displayed in a large glass curio cabinet on the back wall.
The cabinet sat beneath a circular celestial-themed stained glass window that bathed the chamber in colorful light on sunny days.
On nights the moon was full, like tonight, the moonbeams poured in as well.
This was where she kept her favorite items—the ones that were safe for public viewing, anyway.
Of course, the mirror had a story and nobody told a story like Zephyr Nightshade.
Zephyr had owned it since he was a child, or so he claimed. He’d picked it up at a flea market in Belfort, France, while on holiday with his parents. She’d loved the fable that he’d shared when he handed over the mirror, almost as much as the charming object.
Minerva wasn’t so sure that the story was true, but it didn’t really matter. She’d simply been so flattered to see him she hadn’t even examined the mirror with her special glasses to check if it truly was enchanted. She’d taken his word for it.
Minerva recalled glimpsing Zephyr’s reflection in the hand mirror.
His cerulean eyes had sparkled even more brightly as he’d handed it to her.
Once or twice as he told her the item’s story she let her mind wander.
She’d still been listening but also dreaming about a trousseau, and how strange it might be to share the blue turret room with this man.
Veronica’s Mirror
Once upon a time, at a bustling flea market in northeastern France, a humble vendor sat impatiently at his stall, waiting for a buyer to trick.
He was hoping to offload a peculiar hand mirror.
He had no idea the little mirror was enchanted—he only knew it was old, tarnished, and might fetch a higher price if he played his cards right.
“A rare gem! A magical mirror!” he called out to everyone who passed by, though in truth, he had no clue about the item’s value. He’d found it in a box of junk, discarded by the roadside.
Along came a series of eager shoppers, each with a common objective.
They hoped to get something for nothing and sought to swindle the vendor.
The first was a wealthy businessman, his pockets heavy with cash he hated to part with.
He saw this as a great opportunity to invest, but only if he could turn a fast profit.
“I’ll give you half of what you’re asking,” the businessman said with a sly grin, certain the vendor was too foolish to know better.
The businessman gazed into the mirror, fully expecting to see his handsome, well-groomed reflection.
Instead, staring back was a twisted, miserly wraith, with cold eyes and bony hands clutching at his wallet.
He recoiled from the vision and set the mirror down without saying a word, lest the vendor notice.
Next came a haughty society maven. She was pampered, powdered, and rouged like a puppet.
Her fingers were adorned with large and colorful stones that sparkled in the sunlight.
She examined the mirror with a superior air.
“Where are the gems? This looks like a cheap piece of tin,” she scoffed, offering a pitiful sum.
She lifted the mirror to admire her own face.
But she did not find the timeless beauty she’d imagined reflected there.
Instead she was facing a sneering, bloated monstrosity, with jewels as dull as her hollow eyes.
One by one, more shoppers came, each trying to con the vendor, and each shamed by what they saw in the mirror. They all sped away hastily, unable to face the truth.
At last, a curious child approached, his pockets empty. He gazed at the mirror with wide eyes. “How much?” he asked softly.
The vendor was weary. It was now the end of the day. He had begun to pack up his wares, and only wished to lighten his load. “For you,” he sighed, “just a smile.”
The child grinned and lifted the mirror. In it, he saw his reflection bright and true, big blue eyes full of wonder.
The vendor scratched his head, finally noticing how the mirror seemed to change with each potential buyer. “Strange,” he muttered. “Perhaps it was worth more than I thought.”
But the deal had already been struck, and the mirror was bartered to the little boy with the sunny disposition.
“And you’d have me believe that little boy was you, Zippy?” Minerva had rolled her eyes. “It’s a wonderful story, though. It seems like just the sort of item that would end up at an Ordinary flea market. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
Now she wished she’d recorded Zephyr’s voice telling the tale, not just the words, via a transcription charm.
Zephyr had encouraged her to look in the mirror back then too—teased her about it even.
But Minerva was superstitious. She didn’t dare tinker with any of the items in her care.
It was strictly forbidden. More than that, she’d been scared.
Scared of seeing a mousy old spinster, who would end up dying alone.
Now she had nothing to lose.
Finally Minerva reached the glass fronted case.
She examined the twisted wooden columns on either side.
These columns, resembling those on the mantel, were hand carved and sat on clawed feet with dragon scaled talons wrapped around wooden balls.
It only took her a moment to locate the opening, hidden in a knothole that was positioned against the back wall.
Minerva smiled. She would not have to climb the curtains after all.
She raced up the spiral staircase, past the entrances to the first shelf, and the second shelf. When she reached the third, she turned left and exited onto the velvet lined shelf where the mirror was resting, face down.
It was solid sterling and at least three hundred years old.
The ornate tooling on the back contained some unusual markings that also suggested the item was enchanted.
By the size, she’d guessed it was a child’s hand mirror.
Too small for an adult human. But far too big she thought, as she struggled with it now, for a mouse.
Minerva lifted the side of the mirror, attempting to flip it. Try as she might, she could not raise it high enough. Perhaps if she had a lever? She scanned the other items on the shelf, seeking something suitable.
Her eyes landed on the Chalice of Bravery—a silver goblet famous for imparting courage to those who drank from it. Unfortunately, the Chalice was also known to suppress common sense, leading to an increased likelihood of bufoonery, and possible death.
This was the case with most enchanted items. They’d been created to solve a particular problem. But like all inventions, there were bound to be problems when users strayed from the intended use.
Other unhelpful items on this shelf included the Ring of Lost Love, a bit of jewelry that provided relief to the broken-hearted, and the Hourglass of Awkward Pauses.
She’d been tempted to try the ring on, numerous times. But loss of trivial items was a notorious side effect. Even if her ethics had allowed it, she wasn’t sure she wanted to trade temporary relief from heartache for the ability to remember where her keys and glasses were.
The Hourglass of Awkward Pauses was shoved into the corner.
She’d almost forgotten the modest-looking glass contraption filled with pale gray sand was there.
It was a simple device that allowed one to freeze time for up to six seconds.
A time-stopping artifact seemed quite powerful in theory, but The Hourglass of Awkward Pauses only worked in specific social situations.
It was perfect for creating uncomfortable silences in the midst of important conversations, and delaying laughter immediately following the punchline of a terrible joke.
It was a great tool for pulling pranks, but served no other grand purpose that she knew of.
If only she had the Quill of Relentless Creativity, or the Spoon of Good Taste at her disposal. Either one of those mysterious items could have been well put to use as a lever.
Suddenly, a shadow crossed the window and Minerva felt a chill. She heard footsteps outside the window and heard a familiar voice.
“Of course,” the woman said. “I’m happy to help you out. You know I’m one of your biggest fans.”
Minerva recognized Lucretia’s voice immediately.
Hearing it unexpectedly thrilled her. Although her niece could be difficult, she was still family.
Minerva longed to speak with her and to share her recent discoveries about their lineage.
Lucretia wouldn’t like it, but perhaps it would soften her a bit towards Maida.
She wondered if Lucretia might recognize her in this form, as had Granny Luna.
Minerva glanced back at the mirror, forcing her mind to remain on task.
She tried once again to heave it up. This time she got it as high as her waist. She glimpsed the flash of silver on the underside and shoved till her arms started to shake.
It wasn’t working. She needed to get her shoulder under the handle.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gemini spring to her feet. There were noises coming from upstairs. More footsteps and in the distance she heard the shop bell. It was late for Lucretia to be calling, but perhaps one of the others had asked her to stop by.
“It’s just my niece, Lucretia,” Minerva called to the cat.
Gemini wasn’t listening to Minerva. Her whiskers fanned out and her ears swiveled. She crouched and sniffed the air. Suddenly the hair on her back stood up on end. She growled a low scratchy warning. Then Gemini took off running toward the stairs.
“Hey! Don’t leave me here alone!” Minerva cried out. Her plans really only went so far as gazing into the mirror. She hadn’t quite worked out an exit strategy.
She could hear Lucretia’s heavy footfall as she made her way down the hallway. Good. Her niece was coming this way.
“Nonsense. Just leave it to me. Maida will be happy to help you with your request.” Lucretia’s tone was so obsequious and pandering, Minerva wanted to slap her.
“I just don’t think she understood how important you are to our family.
You absolutely need to get hold of that missing grimoire from your grandmother.
Where did you say she was from, Cormac?”
Minerva felt her insides turn to jelly at the sound of the mage’s name. Her worst fears were coming true.
“That depends who you ask,” the silky voice purred. “But she liked to tell people that she was from the same parts as your family.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Lucretia laughed. “We purebloods really have to stick together.”