The Mansion of Mirrors, page 15
“Who are you?” Michael shouts back. “Why are you doing this to me?”
The voice doesn’t answer, but Michael can hear its owner drawing closer. The footsteps grow louder, and it’s only a matter of time before the officer will step into the beam of moonlight streaming through the skylight.
“Answer me, asshole! Why are you doing this?”
“Oh, again with the endless search for answers,” the voice says. “What is it with you people? What’s the meaning of life? Is there a God? I just came from a chatterbox who wanted all the answers. And now you’re starting too?”
Now he steps into the light, spreading his arms as though he were the savior himself on the day of redemption. He is dressed in black instead of the usual uniform, yet Michael has no trouble recognizing the policeman’s pale face and excited eyes. Especially those damn eyes.
“But fair enough,” the man says, straightening the collar of his shirt. “How about we strike a deal. I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Agreed?”
Michael nods.
“Excellent! You asked who I am, and I suppose it’s only fair that we introduce ourselves properly.” He squats down in front of Michael. “My name is Daniel Crane.”
“Where is my son?”
Crane rolls his eyes and gestures indifferently toward the mirrors on the left side of the hall. Then, keeping his index finger extended, he brings his hand back and lets it hover in the air right in front of Michael’s face.
“Now, now. Don’t forget the deal. One question at a time. It’s my turn.”
Michael has to restrain himself from grabbing that damned finger and snapping it in half. He wants to hurt this man—more than he ever thought possible—but he also understands that, right now, all of this is happening on Crane’s terms. Consequently, he holds himself back and settles for a nod.
When Crane opens his mouth, the question that comes out isn’t the one Michael had expected to hear. Nevertheless, it gets to him—both in that moment and in the following days.
“Shouldn’t you be picking up the pace?”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess I’m just wondering why Starck insists on taking his sweet time getting you to the mansion. I mean . . . he’s a guide, right? So, he is used to traveling through the mirrors, isn’t he?”
“The mirrors are dangerous,” Michael replies coolly. “They drive you insane.”
Crane throws out his pale hands to the sides and nods.
“My point exactly!” he exclaims. “The mirrors are dangerous . . . and if your son starts to get bored waiting for you, he might be tempted to pull off a few sheets to see what’s hiding underneath.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in properly with Michael—but when they do, it feels as though someone has pumped every vein and artery in his body full of acid. As if all his organs are about to burn up from the inside. Because with the understanding of the words also comes another realization:
Crane isn’t talking about a dream version of the Mansion of Mirrors like the one they’re in right now. He is talking about the Mansion of Mirrors that they’re headed to. The one that exists physically in Urari.
And the flickering spark of malice, now drawing in oxygen and flaring up in his black pupils, confirms that he isn’t talking about a dream version of Benjamin either.
“You’re lying!”
“Maybe.” Crane’s smile widens, and he shrugs casually. “But what if I’m not? What if you can’t trust Starck, and he is just using you for his own agenda? Are you really willing to gamble with your son’s life like that? I mean, you have to admit, it’s pretty strange that he insists on traveling for weeks when you could just use a mirror and jump straight over there.”
“I don’t believe you,” Michael insists, but the tremor in his voice reveals his doubt—both to himself and to Crane, who bursts into laughter.
The pale man’s mocking laughter is the last thing Michael hears before his brain decides it’s time to cut the connection and pull him out of the nightmare. And as he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his trembling hands in the dim light, Crane’s carefully chosen words burrow deeper and deeper into his mind.
For even though he tells himself that it was just a nightmare and that nurturing the seed of hope that the dream has planted in his soul will do more harm than good, he can’t let go of the doubt.
Is it possible that Benjamin could be alive? That he could be here . . . in this terrible place?
38
“Tom!” Crane snaps his fingers and slaps his palm flat against the city map spread out on the coffee table. “Focus, please!”
“Huh? What?” Tom blinks in confusion, forcing his gaze away from his new toy—a snub-nosed Colt Detective—which has a habit of stealing his attention.
He got the revolver from Crane right after he woke up, and ever since, he has grabbed every opportunity to sit and fantasize about the ways he could use it to take out the girl and the old geezer. Truth be told, he has also been daydreaming about putting a hole in the crybaby’s forehead, but since that’s a definite no-go, he keeps that part to himself.
“They’re staying here,” Crane says, his finger tracing the map before stopping on a winding side street off the city’s main road. “That’s where I want you to go. You don’t have to do anything except keep an eye on them. I want to know what they’re up to. I have a good connection to Michael at night, but I don’t know how long that is going to last.”
Tom scratches the bruise on his forehead. The swelling has gone down a bit, but it still itches like hell.
“Why don’t we just go over there and shoot the fuckers? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
Crane responds with a small, dismissive shake of his head.
“You just keep an eye on them for now. They’ll need to stock up on supplies before they continue their journey—that’s when we strike.”
“And if they spot me?” Tom asks, discreetly running the tip of his finger along the metal guard in front of the revolver’s trigger.
“They won’t,” Crane replies, his voice making Tom jerk his hand back as if the metal had suddenly turned scalding hot. For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with either his hand or his gaze. In the end, he places both on the city map.
“Yeah, make sure to study it thoroughly,” Crane says. “We can’t have you getting lost.”
His voice has returned to its calm tone, but the underlying threat is unmistakable: Should Tom get any clever ideas about breaking their deal and running off, there will be consequences.
Tom doesn’t plan on running, though. The reward for their working together is far too valuable. Crane has promised to shed light on his past, to tell him who he was before. For that, Tom is willing to do just about anything—despite something deep inside him whispering that he’s heading into deep water.
But hell, when it comes down to it, what does he really have to lose?
39
As Lisa walks alongside Michael, Starck, Elias, and Sunni down a small street parallel to the main road in the late morning, many shop owners are still putting up signs and display items on the sidewalks. Most greet them with friendly smiles—and the elderly gentleman who has just waved them over is no exception.
Lisa is also smiling, because she has—all things considered—had a good day so far. Her morning began with the comforting sound of Mary’s voice drifting in from the kitchen. She was humming a tune, unfamiliar to Lisa but beautiful, as she prepared breakfast—a meal consisting of small, pancake-like breads that tasted absolutely delicious.
During breakfast, Lisa found out that it had been decided that Sunni and Elias would join them as they continued their journey, which also helped lift her spirits.
The next steps in today’s agenda also seem promising. It includes the promised visit to Scruffy and Felicia, as well as a shopping trip to prepare for the rest of the journey.
“A gift for the young lady,” says the elderly gentleman who waved them over. He smiles as he extends something toward her. “It might not look as beautiful as you, but I promise you that it tastes wonderful.”
The man owns a small produce stand, which consists of nothing more than three fruit baskets and the awning above them. The object he compares Lisa’s beauty to is a purple fruit that he has pulled from one of the baskets.
Aware that all eyes are on her, Lisa tries to come up with a clever response, but the unexpected kindness and compliment have caught her so off guard that it’s a hopeless task. In the end, her creativity amounts to nothing more than a blush and a subdued, “Thank you.”
“I don’t know about the taste,” Elias teases. “But I’d say that the color of your cheeks is starting to match the fruit’s color very well.”
This makes the fruit vendor chuckle. He shapes an invisible gun with his thumb and index finger and fires it at the watchmaker. Then he tucks the weapon safely back into his pocket and turns his attention to his fruit baskets.
After leaving the man’s stand, Elias and Sunni lead them down the street and from there to the left onto a small road paved with cobblestones. At the end of it lies their first stop; a white, half-timbered house, which, together with its associated stable building, is framed by an iron fence. The home of Scruffy and Felicia.
Prior to meeting Scruffy and Felicia, Lisa had a clear idea of what it would entail. Her expectation was that Elias would try to make up for the ‘Fenris card incident’ by showing her some beautiful animal that could rival the wolf-like creatures of the Wastelands. She assumed that Scruffy would be a pet belonging to Felicia.
In a way, she was close. However, it turns out that Felicia is the pet, not Scruffy.
Scruffy—whose given name is Jim—is the city’s blacksmith and just about the farthest thing from a pet one could imagine. He is a huge man, dressed in brown work pants and a dark blue apron that looks almost ridiculously small against his massive arms and the red beard jutting out in every direction. One look at that mane, and it’s obvious why people call him Scruffy.
When it comes to first impressions, Lisa figures life must have thrown its fair share of challenges at this man. Fortunately, it only takes a few minutes to realize that beneath his intimidating exterior lies a kind and warm-hearted person.
The other thing that takes Lisa by surprise is just how breathtakingly beautiful the pet is. She had expected . . . yeah, well, what had she expected? Certainly not something as unbelievably stunning as Felicia.
“She could very well be the last of her kind,” Scruffy declares, his deep voice carrying a mix of pride and sorrow. He grabs the animal’s muzzle and presses his face against her cheek. Felicia blinks her crystal-clear blue eyes, lets out a single soft huff, and then leans toward her master.
“Does she like strangers?” Lisa asks.
Scruffy motions for her to come closer.
“As long as you come one at a time.”
Lisa moves slowly, taking careful steps until she is right in front of the animal. There, she stops, letting her gaze travel over Felicia as she wonders if it would even be possible to describe a creature like this with words.
From a distance, it might resemble a horse, but then again; a horse would be taller and have a tail. Felicia hasn’t got that. Instead, she has what could almost be described as a kind of fan on her back.
A horse would also have hooves and a broader muzzle. But above all, a horse would have hair, fur on its body, and certainly not the mysterious white structure that covers Felicia. It looks like small, pentagonal crystals, but they feel soft under Lisa’s fingers as she gathers the courage to stroke them over the animal.
Felicia lets out a low hum and flinches backward at Lisa’s touch. However, shortly after, she bends her front legs and leans toward her, just like she did with Scruffy.
“She’s beautiful,” Lisa says. “What kind of creature is she?”
“We call them seraphs,” Scruffy replies. “You know, like the angels.”
“No,” Lisa says, squinting her eyes. “I don’t know . . . but I do now.”
She pulls her lips into a smile and so do Sunni and Starck, who stand by the barn gate. Michael, however, positioned to their left, remains stone-faced. He has been like that all morning, distant and withdrawn. Whatever is going on behind those marine-blue eyes is a mystery to her, but one thing is certain—something is weighing heavily on him.
“You say she might be the last,” she says, turning back to Scruffy. “Why is that?”
“Shadow hunters.”
Lisa looks over at Starck.
“Poachers,” he explains. “Seraph hide is to them what ivory and tiger pelts are to poachers in our world.”
“Actually, that’s how I got her,” Scruffy says, running his hand over the animal’s neck and down the front of her leg. He stops and points to a mark just above Felicia’s knee. “See this? That’s the scar from the rifle shot that nearly killed her. I spotted her during a salvage run in the Wastelands. There was only one single tree for miles, and she was lying there, right in front of it. She was completely drained, and no wonder. The ground around the tree was covered in tracks. She had been dragging herself around in circles, following the sun to stay in the shadows. To stay alive. Luckily, I had the flatbed truck with me. It was a hell of a job, getting her up there. We did it, though, didn’t we, princess?”
Scruffy gives Felicia a gentle pat and clears his throat before continuing:
“Anyway, all of that was a long time ago, and as you can see, she’s back on her feet and doing fine. And I get to boast about being the only one to have ever tamed a seraph—the most beautiful creature in all of Urari.”
“Oh, come on, Scruffy, show them already!” exclaims Sunni, who up until now has been sitting on a stool in one of the corners. Apparently, his eleven-year-old patience has reached its limit. “Pull the rope!”
Michael and Lisa exchange puzzled glances and then look to Starck and Elias. Both shrug and offer the same cryptic smile.
“Yeah, I was curious to see how long you’d be able to sit there completely still,” Scruffy says with a laugh as he walks over and grabs hold of a rope hanging down along one of the barn’s walls. “But alright then, you’ll get your wish.”
He gives the rope a firm tug, and above them, where the barn’s wall meets the roof, a pulley wheel lets out a piercing squeal. Right after, one of the roof panels lifts, allowing a single beam from the midday sun to stream in.
As the light hits the crystal-like structure on Felicia’s back, Lisa suddenly understands both the cryptic smiles and Sunni’s impatience. The single beam from the roof breaks into hundreds of shimmering rays, forming a web of light that seems to connect the creature to every surface surrounding it.
Felicia lifts her head and lets out a deep, guttural groan while she glances around in confusion, as though she is trying to figure out where the sudden warmth is coming from. When she spots the opening in the roof, she shifts her weight onto her hind legs. Rearing up in a majestic stance, she remains still for a moment—a radiant, snow-white creature, towering above them and shimmering like a living diamond.
Lisa remains still, struck with wonder, unable to think of anything to say. She might not have had any idea that the word seraph has to do with angels, but now, she can easily see why these creatures were given that name.
She makes eye contact with Elias and gives him a grateful smile. He winks at her and responds with a nod.
You’re welcome.
40
Tom has pulled the revolver from the pocket of his fleece jacket and braced himself to use it. In fact, he was about to disengage the safety when the girl stepped out of the stable and called Michael over to her. Up until that moment, the crybaby had been standing still in front of Tom’s hiding spot in the vegetation along the edge of the blacksmith’s driveway so long that he was sure he had been spotted.
Lucky for you, he thinks, watching Michael’s back as he walks away.
Truth be told, it’s probably also lucky for him. He doesn’t like to imagine what Crane would do if he disobeyed orders and put a bullet in the whiner’s forehead. Still, it would’ve been satisfying to shut him up. Jeez, yeah, it would’ve been the perfect way to wrap up his little scouting trip.
Tom is pretty satisfied anyway, though. He has gathered some solid intel. He managed to get confirmation that they’re heading to Soto, he found out how many people are going, and he learned when they’ll be leaving. He also knows which gas station they’re planning to stop at right before departure. And as a bonus, he found out what the blacksmith has stashed away inside the stable.
A domesticated seraph, he thinks, his eyes darting indecisively between the stable and the gate leading to the street, where the crybaby’s crew is currently heading out. A fucking domesticated seraph!
A part of him is tempted to linger for a bit, maybe even get a closer look at the animal if the opportunity arises. But since the blacksmith seemingly has no intention of leaving along with the others, that ship has sailed. He’s a bit too big and red-haired for Tom’s taste.
So, Tom decides it’s time to head home. He has followed them long enough and knows what he needs to know. Besides, the idea of making the mirror man wait longer than he has to doesn’t exactly appeal to him.
About fifteen minutes later, Tom jogs up the stairs to the empty apartment he shares with said mirror man . . . only to come to an abrupt halt in the doorway, as if he had walked straight into a glass wall.
“Come on in,” Crane says, gesturing with two of his long, crooked fingers toward the only empty chair at the dining table. “Join the party. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Tom hesitates, staring at the empty chair before glancing around at the unfamiliar group of people who have occupied the rest of the seats while he was gone.
The urge to join this gathering isn’t exactly overwhelming—especially since Crane’s guests seem to have skipped tableware altogether, opting instead to lay out handguns where plates and silverware should have been.
