Dark Mirror 2 - Dark Passage

by M. J. Putney

  She took a firm hold of his arm with a mixture of pleasure and wistfulness. “I’m going to miss the freedom to be together that we had in 1940.”

  “So will I.” The two girls ahead were out of sight, so he paused and cupped her face with his free hand. “But the Lackland authorities can’t keep us here forever. At twenty-one, we’ll be free to leave.” He bent into a kiss.

  His lips were warm and full of longing. Tory had to blink back tears or risk disgracing herself. More than four long years to wait before she could leave …

  Chaos!

  The passageway dissolved into darkness and gunfire. She was in some high, frightening place with a vicious wind tearing at her clothes and deadly peril threatening her. She cried out in terror, “Justin!”

  “Dear God, Tory! What just happened?” In the space of a heartbeat she was back in the Labyrinth, shaking in Allarde’s arms while he stared at her, his gray eyes shocked.

  Using his Christian name instead of his title was a mark of how upset she was. She struggled for composure. “I had a … a vision, I guess.”

  “I saw it, too,” he said grimly. “It was night and you were in a high place with bullets blazing around you. I think I was near, but not with you.”

  “Nick’s war again.” She swallowed hard. “You’re better at foretelling than I am. Is that a glimpse of the future?”

  He closed his eyes, his face smoothing into detachment. After a dozen heartbeats, he said, “As you know, the future usually appears as possibility, not certainty. I think that scene has a strong chance of coming to pass. But not certain.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Do I live to tell the tale?”

  “I didn’t feel your death.” He opened haunted eyes and smoothed back her hair with a warm hand. “But that might be too great a horror for me to see.”

  She gave a choke of near-hysterical laughter. “Justin, sometimes I wish you were a little less honest and honorable. What I really want right now is for you to pat my back and say, ‘Don’t worry, Tory, that’s just a faint possibility, or maybe a memory of Dunkirk. You don’t ever have to go back to 1940 again.’”

  “Don’t worry, Tory, that’s just a faint possibility,” he said promptly as he began stroking her back. “Maybe a memory of Dunkirk. You don’t ever have to go back to 1940 again.”

  “That’s much better.” She managed a smile. “I prefer to think that wasn’t a vision, just a memory.”

  His arms tightened around her. “No one can force you through the mirror without your cooperation.”

  “It’s hard to imagine what circumstances might change my mind.” She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling tired. “But I suspect that I should never say never.”

  “You’re probably right. But for tonight, we’re home and happy, and we were part of a very great deed.” He kissed her forehead, then resumed walking, this time with his arm around her shoulders.

  Tory wrapped her arm around his waist so they were as close as humanly possible while still able to walk. She’d nearly lost him, but she hadn’t. There was no point to worrying about the future so much that she couldn’t enjoy the present.

  “Do you hear those voices?” Allarde asked, his voice threaded with excitement.

  “Yes!” Tory exclaimed.

  They quickened their pace. The heart of the Labyrinth was a wide hall furnished like a shabby but comfortable drawing room. Here the Lackland students and the locals studied and mingled. Now it sparkled with mage lights and happy chatter.

  They’d arrived back only minutes after leaving because the people who had seen them off at the mirror hadn’t gone home yet. Jack was in a three-way hug with his mother and his younger sister, Rachel, all of them talking and laughing at the same time.

  Cynthia and Elspeth were talking excitedly with Miss Wheaton and Mr. Stephens. The teachers were both powerful mages, and they risked their jobs by tutoring students secretly in this mass of ancient tunnels that ran below the abbey. They looked fascinated and deeply relieved to have their students back safely.

  Tory sighed happily and leaned into Allarde. They’d had the adventure of a lifetime and made it home. She hoped she never had such an adventure again.

  But as she thought back to her chaotic vision, she felt dark certainty that Merlin’s mirror wasn’t done with her.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bong … bong … BONG! Tory awoke in her Lackland bedroom as the bell boomed from the chapel tower. Usually the sound was jarring, but this morning the familiar clanging made her happy. So much nicer to hear a chapel bell than Nazi bombers.

  “I’m so glad to be home,” she said as she threw the covers back, wincing at the bruises she’d acquired when she landed on this side of the mirror.

  It was cold at the end of November, and would be colder soon. She swung her feet to the floor, glad for the rug her mother had sent.

  Cynthia was already out of bed, brushing out her glorious golden hair. By the time they’d finished their work in 1940, she’d looked pale and exhausted, though still beautiful. A good night’s sleep had completely restored her looks.

  “How do you do it?” Tory asked enviously. “Always look so perfect.”

  “It’s a gift,” Cynthia said smugly.

  Tory almost laughed. Though Cynthia had proved herself a trouper in 1940, it was too much to expect humility. As a duke’s daughter, Cynthia was the highest ranking girl at Lackland, a fact she was not shy about pointing out. Tory also ranked high as the daughter of an earl—but not as high as Cynthia. “Now that we’re back, it’s hard to believe we were away, much less that we had such adventures.”

  “Like a dream, or a nightmare.” Cynthia made a face. “But I’m glad I wasn’t born in such a vulgar era.”

  Tory sighed as she brushed out her straight dark hair. Her older sister, Sarah, said that Tory’s petite figure and exotically slanted blue eyes made her very winsome and attractive, but next to Cynthia, Tory always felt plain as a muffin. Thinking of Sarah, she said, “I wonder what Lackland is like over Christmas. I thought I’d be going home for the holiday, but … that won’t happen.”

  She splashed icy water from the china washbasin on her face to cool her stinging eyes. Her father had told her she couldn’t return to Fairmount Hall even though Sarah was to be married at Christmas. Tory hated knowing she’d miss the wedding.

  “There’s a long, boring church service in the boys’ chapel since it’s larger than ours. That’s followed by a joint Christmas dinner for both schools. It’s one of the few official occasions when boys and girls mingle.” Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Under the gimlet gaze of the teachers, of course. But the food is usually decent, and there are some students who are brothers and sisters, so they get to visit.”

  “You’ve been here for Christmas?” Tory asked, surprised. She’d always had the impression that Cynthia’s father would want her home when possible.

  Cynthia turned away to select a gown from her clothespress. “My family’s seat is too far north to make returning for Christmas practical.”

  There was a note in the other girl’s voice that made Tory wonder if the duke was as fond a father as Cynthia claimed. Not a subject she dared ask about, especially before breakfast. “After the other students leave, we can go into the woods and gather holly and ivy and other greens to decorate the room. I’ll ask my mother to send a Christmas pudding. We can also leave the abbey through the Labyrinth and visit some of the Irregulars who live in the village.”

  “They are commoners,” Cynthia snapped. “Why would we want to visit them?”

  “Because they’re our friends?” Tory asked mildly. “Jack is a hero, and I’ve learned so much from others like Alice and Rachel.” She’d learned not only magic, but that being wellborn was less important than character and personality.

  Cynthia coiled her hair at the nape of her neck and stabbed in a long hairpin. “That doesn’t mean one joins such people for Christmas dinner.”

  There was no point in arguing with Lady Cynthi
a Stanton when she was in this mood. Changing the subject, Tory asked, “Do you need help fastening that gown? We’ll have to hurry to get to chapel on time.”

  “Please,” Cynthia said grudgingly. Tory’s Lackland wardrobe contained only garments that she could put on without help, while most of Cynthia’s clothing required the assistance of a maid. Usually one of Cynthia’s adoring acolytes, Lucy, came to help her dress, but Tory remembered that the other girl had a streaming cold and had stayed abed for the last several days. Strange to think that Tory had lived over two eventful weeks between her today and her “yesterday”!

  Tory tied and pinned the back of Cynthia’s gown. When her roommate started to fuss with her hair, Tory said, “I’ll see you later. I’m off for the chapel now so I can find a seat in the back.”

  She donned her dark red cloak and headed out into the drafty corridor. Other girls were emerging sleepily from their rooms to go to the chapel. Being late for the morning service would call down the Reverend Hackett’s wrath.

  A plump girl stepped out of a room near the stairs. “Good morning, Tory,” she said with a cheerful smile. “I fear that winter has arrived!”

  Tory wistfully remembered the June warmth they’d left in 1940. “The wind from the North Sea would freeze a goose in its tracks, Nell.”

  Like most Lackland students, Nell Bracken’s greatest dream was to be cured of her despised abilities so she could go home. Tory had been like that until the siren call of magic had lured her to the Labyrinth and she had discovered the Irregulars.

  But she was still friends with Nell, a motherly sort who looked out for all the new students. Tory would never forget Nell’s kindness when she first arrived, shocked and disoriented at being exiled from her home.

  Nell frowned as she fell into step beside Tory. “You have great circles under your eyes and I swear you seem to have lost weight between yesterday and today. Do you think you’re sickening for something?”

  “I feel fine, it’s only that this dress is loose,” Tory replied, though she’d indeed lost weight in 1940. Using so much magic literally burned a person up. “Plus I slept badly last night.”

  “Cynthia?” Nell nodded knowingly. “I don’t know how you manage with her as a roommate.”

  “She’s not so bad now that I’m used to her,” Tory said offhandedly. Nell would never believe it if Tory said she’d grown rather fond of her impossible roommate.

  Nell looked skeptical but refrained from further comment. They descended the stairs and walked outside onto the chapel path. A blast of wind hit them and the air was so cold their breath came out in white puffs.

  “I’m so much looking forward to going home for Christmas,” Nell said confidingly. “I’ve been corresponding with a young man back home. We have … much to discuss.” Her smile was mischievous.

  “If he’s wise, he’ll offer marriage,” Tory said. “Miss Wheaton said you’d be able to leave Lackland soon, and no one would make a kinder or better tempered wife.”

  Nell made a face. “You know that magic reduces our value on the marriage mart.” Her voice dropped. “But George and I have reached an understanding. His father’s the local doctor and George is studying medicine, too. My family would never approve such a match if I hadn’t been cursed by magic, but George doesn’t mind.”

  “How wonderful!” Tory said with delight. Too often girls were released from the school but not welcomed back by their families. They faced a grim future of teaching or becoming companions. But some were lucky, and no one deserved it more than Nell.

  Girls who managed to find husbands invariably married down into a lower social level. Even though students were considered “cured” of magic, children could still inherit their power, making them undesirable mates within their own class.

  Once Tory thought that marrying down was unfortunate, but no longer. A good, loving husband who accepted his wife’s nature was a treasure.

  The ancient stone chapel had a lovely sense of peace, but managed to be even colder than outdoors. Though there was always competition for seats in the back of the room, Helen and Penelope, two other members of Nell’s group, had arrived early enough to save half a pew. Tory sat beside Nell and tried to look unobtrusive.

  The pews were miserably hard, but she’d learned early that the daily services were a good time for her to practice mental exercises to improve her magical control. With her focus turned inward, she could usually ignore Mr. Hackett’s condemnation of mages and magic and wicked young girls cursed with sinful abilities.

  Tory’s happiness about being back at Lackland was fading by the end of the service. For one thing, she was freezing. Away from the school, she’d be able to warm herself with hearth-witch magic, but power was smothered in the abbey by a huge magical suppression spell. That spell was why the abbey had been chosen for the school.

  The school authorities liked to think that monks and nuns of centuries gone past had suppressed magic because they hated it. Actually, the ancient order who had built the abbey had done so to train mages. Power was driven belowground and intensified in the Labyrinth. In the abbey proper, only the most powerful mages could use any magic.

  Tory was so cold that she couldn’t concentrate on her mental exercises, so she heard too much of Mr. Hackett’s angry rant. In 1940, magic had been largely forgotten, but at least people like Tory weren’t despised for their talents.

  Breakfast in the refectory was also familiar, though not in a good way. The long room wasn’t much warmer than the chapel and the porridge had chilled. Nell frowned as she and Tory collected their bowls. “It’s always like this the first really cold day of the year. Tomorrow the room and porridge will be somewhat warmer.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Tory said as she regarded the congealed mass and thought wistfully of the huge, tasty breakfasts the weather brigade had been fed to keep up their strength when they were calming the seas.

  At least the tea was steaming hot. Tory suspected the students would riot if the tea wasn’t decent.

  Sipping her tea, Tory watched the girls split into their usual three groups. Cynthia fit seamlessly back into her circle of haughty, angry girls who deeply resented their exile at Lackland. They were a difficult lot.

  The smallest group was Elspeth and her friends, the students who embraced their magic. They were resigned to staying at Lackland until they turned twenty-one. Then they would leave and become practicing mages. Though the girls who loved magic were avoided by other students, they were relaxed and happy with what they were.

  The largest group centered around Nell Bracken. These were the girls who wanted nothing more than to be cured so they could leave Lackland and try to reclaim what they could of their old lives. They considered themselves the most normal students at the school.

  Tory had been happy to be taken under Nell’s wing. Nell and her friends were pleasant and easy to like.

  But Tory no longer belonged here. She should be sitting at the far table with Elspeth and the others who embraced their abilities. If she moved across the room and sat with them, she would be politely dropped by Nell and the others, who abhorred any suggestion that they approved of magic or mages.

  If Tory publicly declared herself a mage, there would be no going back. Even her brother and sister, who accepted her now on the assumption that she wanted to be cured, might change their minds if she revealed herself to be an unrepentant mage.

  Tory had never liked the rigid separations between the groups, and now she liked them even less. Why shouldn’t Tory publicly be friends with Cynthia and Elspeth as well as Nell? But that wasn’t how the school worked.

  With a sigh, she applied herself to her cold oatmeal. She was home after terrifying adventures—and her old problems were still here waiting.

  At least they were small problems compared to being shot.

  * * *

  The day got worse when Tory went to her Italian class. The teacher was Miss Macklin, a fervent hater of magic and not fond of young ladies, eith
er. Since Tory’s father was a firm believer in education, even for daughters, Tory had done very well on her entrance evaluation when she started at the school. Miss Macklin had never forgiven her for that.

  Tory’s French was better than Miss Macklin’s so she’d been placed in the Italian class instead. She would have enjoyed learning a new language if not for Miss Macklin’s constant criticism.

  Besides being angry all the time, Miss Macklin wasn’t a very good teacher. She managed to make a beautiful language boring. Today the classroom was cold and the chairs were almost as hard as the pews in the chapel.

  Tired from her fortnight of exertion, Tory dozed a little toward the end of a boring set of grammar exercises. Her hands were neatly folded on her desk and she was sitting upright, but her eyes drifted shut. Her whole body was saturated with fatigue.…

  “Abominable girl!” Miss Macklin’s furious words jerked Tory to full awareness an instant before the teacher’s brass ruler smashed across the back of Tory’s hands.

  Tory cried out as pain stabbed through her hands, particularly the left, which took the worst of the blow. Miss Macklin had struck her twice during her initial evaluation, but not since. Tears in her eyes, she shoved her chair away from her desk, distancing herself from the triumphant teacher.

  Mercifully, the bell rang to end the class. Tory grabbed her notebook with her less-bruised right hand and bolted from the room, wondering if her fingers were broken.

  The corridor was full of girls changing classes. Elspeth, who was also a student of Italian, murmured at Tory’s shoulder, “Go into that room ahead on the left. It should be empty now. Maybe I can reduce the pain.”

  Blinking back tears, Tory obeyed. Though most magic was suppressed inside the abbey walls, very strong mages like Elspeth could use some of their power.

  When they were in the small, unoccupied office, Elspeth closed the door to give them privacy, then took Tory’s left hand gently between her palms. “Your hands are like ice!” she exclaimed.