“Go clean yourself up in the bathroom, dear. Samantha, deal with the stain on the carpet. I don’t want to see it – not even a glimpse. This is my favorite sitting room.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Samantha knelt, picked up the broken cup, and scurried from the room.

  Vince went to follow me.

  The lady tilted back in the seat, crossed her legs on the other side, and snarled, “Is this how you treat me? All of the support I’ve given you over the years after your father’s passing, and you can’t even be bothered to stay in the room with me after I receive death threats? Vince Strathgordon, what exactly are you good for without your father?”

  Vince ground to a halt. He’d taken one step. His eyes locked forward. His shoulders were tense. Slowly, achingly like he had to learn how to move, he tilted from the hips and faced the lady. “I’m the head of the Council. That’s what I’m good for.”

  “Do not sass me, boy.” She thumped a hardened fist against her armrest. “And sit.” She pointed at the couch. “I want your full and complete assurances I shall be safe. After everything I’ve done for the Council, it’s only fair.”

  Vince looked ready to explode. For half a second. Then he smoothed a diplomatic if icy expression over his face. He glanced at me, regret filling his eyes.

  I bit my lip. “I’m going to be okay. I swear. It’s a burn. Not even that,” I corrected, “it’s a scald. Beth will help me.”

  I walked from him.

  Vince turned and sat like a dog following commands. But Vince was no mere pooch. If the lady continued to push him, he’d push back harder.

  I exited the room. Samantha wasn’t in sight, but somebody tinkered in the kitchen. I heard a tap running and, oddly, someone hammering a cup.

  Bethany scooted out of my pocket. “She will be using a simple magical kit to repair the cup.”

  “I should be doing that.” Regret twisted my mouth into a sharp frown. “I broke it.”

  “Of course you did,” Beth snorted. “You’re utterly uncoordinated, Harper White.”

  I pouted. “Not exactly. I mean, okay, sometimes. Not all the time. I can fight Lord Omega when it matters, for instance.”

  “That you can. But then you drop an expensive teacup all over your knees, breaking it, though you could never afford to replace it, even with a year’s earnings.”

  I ground to a halt. “I’m sorry. A year? It was just…” my fingers uselessly groped the air, “a single teacup. How could it be worth a year’s wage? I don’t even earn any money anymore,” I snapped, freaking out.

  “Lucky for you the lady has a magical slave over there. Or a normal slave with magical tools.”

  “Slave?” My voice shot up.

  “Employee. Though you’ve just met the delightful lady. In this household, I imagine the borders blur between those two roles.”

  “So maybe keep your voice down.”

  “Why? The lady is refined. She knows how to pick a target. It won’t be us. The Treaty protects us. Dear little Vince is on his own. Poor man.”

  I shuddered, imagining Vince standing there in the tidal wave of the lady’s anger, taking every strike with a smile on his face.

  I wandered down the corridor, peering in through open rooms. There were an awful lot of sitting rooms. Not lounge rooms. I didn’t glimpse a single comfy couch. There were certainly no televisions.

  I get it. The house was big with multiple rooms. You’d have to fill them with something. But did one place need so many stiff-backed Edwardian chairs and foamless chaise longues?

  “Stop sneering. It’s worth way more than you’d ever make. It also has charm,” Beth tried.

  “Sure, in a completely cold, dead way. I’d rather live in a dollhouse.”

  “Instead you live in a madhouse.”

  I conceded her point with a shrug. I pushed a door and found a bathroom. It was beautiful. Pristine polished white tiles stared back at me with a bright glow that belonged on a snowfield.

  I closed the door, locked it, and walked to the sink. I drummed my fingers on the basin. I looked at my reflection, not my tea-splattered trousers.

  “Require a lesson in anatomy, do you? Do you know where your knees are? They’re not up your nose,” Bethany chortled.

  I arched an eyebrow importantly. “Look, Beth, you’re smarter than you think. Your knees aren’t up your nose.”

  “Excuse me?” She banged me in the face softly. “I’m the intelligent one. You’re the one who knows nothing about this world. You mustn’t take too much time. The lady will only blame Vince. She’s already going to blame him for everything.”

  I shrugged. “Guess that means I can take all the time I want.”

  “Touché. You might win the fight with me – Vince will pay the consequences.”

  I jerked back from the sink. I watched my expression crumpling in the mirror. I don’t know why I was drawn to it, but it took seconds to yank my gaze off and stare at my jeans. My skin smarted.

  What should I do? Take my jeans off and have a quick cold bath to remove the heat from my scorched flesh? I imagine the lady would scream that was inappropriate. She’d told me to clean up. More likely she wanted me to use magic to remove the stains from my jeans so I was no longer an eyesore. Who cared if I was still burnt beneath?

  I sighed. I poked my jeans and regretted it. The scalds were bad. “Beth, what can you do for me?”

  “If I were still a wizard, quite a bit. I’m not. I suppose I can bake you a cake?”

  I laughed. “I think it would be hilarious if we managed to bake a chocolate cake in the lady’s bathroom. Do you think that would be inappropriate?”

  “I think it would be amazing. Especially if we ate it all and only left her gooey crumbs.”

  I enjoyed the joke with Bethany then went to peel my jeans off. I undid the top button. I stopped. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my expression in the mirror.

  Fleetingly, it looked like a smile.

  But I wasn’t smiling.

  I froze, stared at the mirror, realized I must be mad, and unzipped my jeans. I hooked my fingers around the hem and went to pull them down.

  My reflection pulled them down first. I couldn’t be mistaken. I jolted and grabbed the basin’s edge. “Beth, did you see that?”

  “Are you talking about your reflection? Have you become narcissistic? You’re not that hot, Harper White. Sure, you make up for it with endearing passion and crazy tenacity – but compared to a vampire, you’re ho-hum.”

  “My reflection moved before I did. Eyes on the prize, Bethany. You can insult me later.”

  The ordinary Beth would splutter and tell me I was lying. The last few months had forged a deeper connection between us. I wasn’t kidding – we were partners now.

  She jolted close, and we both stared at my reflection. Nothing happened.

  I jerked back a step, loose hands swinging by my sides. I swore and half turned.

  Maybe I really was going mad?

  “I saw it. She moved before you did. What on earth is going on here?” Bethany snapped.

  I might be going mad – Bethany never would. If insanity beckoned her, she’d insult it, beat it over the head, and kick it out the door.

  I froze. I pivoted on my foot and stared at my reflection.

  I didn’t know the nature of the death threats the lady had received. I could tell you they likely came from Lord Omega or a backer.

  When he made a threat, he carried through with it. What was to say he hadn’t already infiltrated this house? What was to say he hadn’t already set up a trap for the lady?

  I had a habit of interrupting Lord Omega’s attacks.

  Had I done it again?

  I warily stepped toward the basin, reached a hand out, and stopped.

  Bethany pushed close. “Be very careful. I have no idea what kind of spell this is, Harper. My hackles are high.”

  “Not as high as mine. I swear they’re strangling me.”

  “Make sure it stays that way and this spell’s fingers don’t join it. My senses tell me something very wrong is about to happen.”

  “I hate waiting around – you know that. It’s gonna happen anyway. Why not give it a push?” With my tongue secured hard against my palate, I touched the glass.

  Nothing happened. At all. My fingers slid down the smooth pane. It was cold to touch; it was a chilly day.

  I deflated, sighing hard. I turned. I did not pull my hand back from the glass. I couldn’t. Something reached out and grabbed my wrist in a cast-iron grip. Alarm shot through me as Beth pressed close. She tried to grab my shoulder and haul me back. The hand holding me from the mirror was stronger.

  “Beth?” I screamed.

  “Harper—”

  The hand yanked, pulling me through the mirror.

  I tried to stop it. I attempted to gather power. I was too late.

  I’d known today would end with a fight. I hadn’t known it’d start with one.

  Chapter 4

  I struck the white-tiled floor on my knees, spun, and stared at the mirror. There was nothing there.

  Beth was gone.

  I bounced to my feet. “Beth?” I roared. “Beth?”

  Nothing.

  I ran my tired fingers through my hair. I hadn’t fought yet. My body still rocked with fatigue.

  “Crap. What am I doing?” I lifted a hand. I just had to open the fingers, and my magic rose on its own. One perfectly beautiful shimmering drop lifted above my palm, spun, and waited.

  Now I had magic, I felt a little safer.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, nerves prickling along my shoulders like lightning. “Beth?” I futilely tried again. Then I shook my head. If touching the mirror had initiated this spell, maybe touching it again would end it?

  Or maybe it’d drag me to a different level of hell? I’d have to find out.

  Gritting my teeth and squeezing my drop proactively, I touched the glass.

  Nothing happened.

  Wait. It was even colder than before. It felt like shoving my hand into a cryogenic freezer.

  Yelping and lurching back, I almost struck the bath behind me. I pivoted. “What the hell is out there? Come and face me now,” I snapped.

  I didn’t know if I was in the mirror spell. I’d touched a mirror, but it didn’t make sense. I’d traveled through enough of those enchantments to recognize their distinct, unreal qualities. This was… more contained.

  It felt different, concentrated, and far more dangerous.

  I approached the door warily. If I couldn’t touch the glass, I could at least find out what waited beyond.

  I grabbed the handle after some hesitation and squeezed it.

  The door opened, the hinges creaking. I stepped out into the hallway. The floorboards protested under my weight.

  “Who’s out there?”

  No reply.

  I guess I’d have to be proactive.

  I spun to the side, glimpsed a room through a half-closed door, and kneed it open.

  I walked into a sitting room. Something sat on the chaise longue – the two button-backed armchairs as well.

  Mirrors.

  “What the hell?”

  The mirrors didn’t reflect me as I walked past them. They just looked like doorways to other worlds. Almost identical worlds.

  I walked over to the chaise longue. The mirror sat propped against the curved back. I swore with the slightest shove, it’d tumble off and crack on the floor.

  I reached out to stabilize it. I froze. If my intuition was right, and these mirrors led to different versions of this spell, I had to stop. Touching them would only pull me deeper into the maze.

  I walked from the room. I strode to the lady’s main sitting room. Mirrors sat there too. One was propped up on the chaise longue, exactly where Vince had sat.

  I stopped in front of this one for 30 seconds, battling with my conscience. I wanted to touch it. My stupid brain told me it could bring me to Vince. It clearly couldn’t.

  I spun on my heel. I thought I heard something cracking from the kitchen.

  I pushed from the room. I approached the kitchen door.

  Was it just me, or was the spell getting colder? Its icy grip squeezed the air. As I breathed, white sheets of condensation broke against my face. I reached a half-closed, thick oak door and toed it open. It creaked like a thousand graves parting for the first time to release the dead.

  I walked into a large galley-style kitchen. A massive island bench stood in the middle, neat rows of copper pans hanging on hooks above it.

  A large but old stove sat under a brick hood on the opposite wall.

  The only window was high above the stove, a small rectangle with iron bars. It gave the place a grim, prison feel. It also made it colder.

  “Is there anyone here?” I whispered.

  I crept a step into the kitchen.

  Now my breath broke against me like fog. It was getting colder by the second.

  I should’ve worn more than a simple leather jacket. My woolen top was thick. The cold was more penetrating, however.

  Another step. One of the copper pans suddenly fell from its hook and banged against the island bench, cracking a marble tile.

  I jolted.

  The cracking echoed through the house like someone picked it up and replayed it on powerful speakers.

  Nerves exploded in my gut. I turned, trying to track the sound. Dammit. What the heck was this spell?

  “I warn you,” I said to the house at large as I squeezed my magic, “I don’t go down easily.”

  “I warn you, I don’t go down easily,” my voice echoed by my ear.

  I spun and lurched back. I banged into the island bench. Suddenly every copper pan above it fell and smashed down. The clangs vibrated, fraying my nerves further.

  Then they echoed right by my ear.

  I jerked away and tried to grab my ear.

  A mistake.

  Something struck my side. It moved too fast to see.

  I fell against my hip, the fall hard enough to shake my teeth.

  I squeezed my blood. I attacked. My shockwave lanced out and struck the wall. It gouged a hole through the old plaster, revealing cracked wooden beams beneath. But it didn’t attack anything useful. Nor did it stop this spell.

  A reflection of my attack suddenly appeared two meters before me and launched toward my face.

  Shock held me to the spot until I kicked back and rolled. My spell sliced over my shoulder, a centimeter from my skin, and burrowed into the island bench.

  It exploded, the top launching off and striking the walls with superheated chunks of wood and stone.

  I screamed and lurched to my feet. But the reflection of my scream echoed by my ears, louder than the real one.

  I shook my head wildly, feeling like I was going mad. It was just a feeling. One the spell further encouraged. Every footstep I took echoed louder by my ears. As more of the plaster fell from the walls, that echoed too.

  This constant cacophonous calamity filled me up worse than tinnitus. I could grab my ears. It wouldn’t matter.

  I had no idea what this freaking spell was.

  … But it all came back to those mirrors.

  I could attack the walls. Could I attack the mirrors?

  Vince often accused me of acting without thinking. A fair allegation. In the early days, I’d lacked another option. Without knowledge of magic, I’d used my instincts. Now I knew more facts. But I had nothing on this spell. I doubted even Bethany would understand it.

  It felt so foreign.

  It was also clearly out to get me.

  “I’ll break you. Whatever you are, I will break you,” I snapped aloud.

  “I’ll break you. Whatever you are, I will break you,” my own assertion echoed by my head. But it wasn’t a perfect replay of what I’d said. All emphasis fell on the word will.

  I spun. For a fraction of a second I thought I saw a hand reaching for my throat.

  My eyes widened with fear.

  I lurched back against the smoldering remains of the island bench.

  The copper pots had already fallen. So tell me this? How could they fall again?

  The bench could no longer protect me. As I heard something swaying and slipping from a hook, I lifted my head to see a massive copper pan barreling toward my noggin.

  I yanked up an arm and pushed it away, but it struck my elbow hard.

  I winced against the pain, barreled up to my feet, and watched as the pans fell on top of the bench again. It didn’t matter that the bench had already broken. It didn’t matter that the pans were already covering the floor. They just kept reappearing and falling as if I was stuck in some repeating echo.

  I might not know every fact about magic. My extensive fights had taught me this. Sometimes you have to find out on the fly. The best way to do that is by pushing.

  Attack what you can. Learn from your mistakes. Rinse and repeat.

  Last time, I’d used my magic, it’d reflected back at me. My shoulders bristled as I appreciated that’d happen again. I squeezed my free hand into a fist, knowing I had the concentration to do this. Then I attacked. The pans seemed like a logical target. They were irritatingly loud. Every clang banged harsher than the last.

  I thought I caught a reflection of something as an enormous wok sailed down onto the broken bench and plummeted onto the floor.

  It felt like a reflection of me. No. There were two of me.

  Too late. I attacked. My magic lanced out and struck the pans. It was powerful enough to blast them apart. Fortunately none rolled back toward me. I forced them outward. Chunks of their metal and handles blasted against the far wall, gouging holes through the cooker and pinging across the bricks.

  I immediately doubled back, threw myself to my knees, and rolled. A smart move. A reflection of my attack lanced toward where I stood.

  As I flattened myself on my back, I watched it fly over my face.

  It struck the wall above the door, destroying the lintel and bringing down a hail of plaster and beams.

  If I demolished this room while I stood within it, I’d just kill myself. I sensed an opportunity and rolled through the door into the corridor.

  Just in time. Indeed, the room fell. Because my attack appeared again. It bounced into another wall, destroying that one.

 

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