by Jill Myles
The woman’s voice had taken on a lecturing tone, and Cora’s body stiffened with irritation. “My life has nothing to do with what I saw last night. The room is haunted—”
“Your life has everything to do with this, my dear. I already can tell several things about you, just from the way that you’ve held yourself, and the way you’ve described yourself—even the way you dress.” Muffin gave a distasteful look to Cora’s jeans and plain black sweater. “You, my dear, do not want anything bad enough to fight for it.” What a strange thing to say. Cora’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Of course I do.”
“Really,” the elderly woman said, clearly disbelieving. “Then tell me what the last thing was that you fought for. Really and truly fought for.”
Cora’s brows furrowed together. “What are you talking about? Examples of what?”
“Examples of things you have fought for recently,” Muffin said in an exasperated voice, and reached over and patted Cora’s hand again. “Do try and pay attention. This is important.”
She scowled at Muffin. “I fight for lots of things.”
“Of course you do, dear. Your last job? Did you fight them for a promotion?”
Cora was silent. She’d been in the same desk-jockey job for five years without a raise. They’d offered her a promotion—that involved moving to Alaska—and she’d declined. They’d laid her off instead.
“I thought so,” Muffin said in a mild voice. “Your love life?” She was not discussing that with Muffin. That was one part of her life that was definitely in shambles.
“You see what I mean?” The woman gave her a firm pat on the hand. “Now, think about this. If I told you that the greatest love of your life lived hundreds of years away and you might have to give up everything to be with him, would you do it?”
“You mean miles, right? Hundreds of miles?”
“Miles, years, whatever.” Muffin cocked her head and one of the plastic birds—at least, Cora hoped they were plastic—tumbled off the side of her hat and onto the counter.
“What would you do if you had to give up everything to go after him? And I mean everything?”
This was a stupid question. “I’d go after him, of course.” The look Muffin gave her was shrewd. “Would you? Your job asked you to transfer to Alaska and you refused, so you were laid off. Your ex asked you to run a marathon with him, and you refused. He asked you to go camping and you refused. He asked you to go on a three-week nature hike—all things he loved—and you refused. Did you even fight for this job or did your mother have to fight for you?”
“That’s different,” Cora protested.
“Is it? What would have happened if your mother hadn’t have pushed her sister to give you this job?”
Irritation began to bubble inside Cora, and she pulled away from Muffin’s patting hands. “You’re not being fair—”
“I am being perfectly fair,” Muffin said in an imperious voice. “You do not go out of your comfort zone. You coast through life, hoping to be inspired and moved to action, and instead, you just sit there. And now that your life has spiraled out of control, you are retreating. You retreated when your fiancé pushed you, and then he left you. You retreated when your job pushed you, and they let you go. You, my dear, are wallowing in a singular lack of motivation.”
By now, Cora’s back was entirely stiff and she glared down at the small, crazily-dressed old woman. “Did you come here to insult me? If so, you’re doing a great job at it.”
A sad look crossed Muffin’s face. “Actually, my dear, I came to offer you courage.
And breakfast.” She gave Cora a wobbly smile and got to her feet. “And now I do believe this old bag has overstayed her welcome.”
The look on Muffin’s round face was so woebegone that Cora immediately felt like a jerk. Embarrassed, she reached out to squeeze Muffin’s hand. “Not at all. I’m just…very tired. That’s all.”
They walked to the front door of the Abbey, neither speaking until Muffin stood on the steps and looked back at Cora over her shoulder. “If you need me, my dear, I’m just around the corner. Don’t hesitate to come by. I’m in the cottage just down the road.” Cora smiled at her, wanting to beg her to stay and not leave her alone in the big house, but she sensed Muffin wouldn’t stay any longer, now that both of them were prickly to one another. “Thank you for coming by.”
“Courage,” Muffin reminded her as she tromped down the steps, waving a finger over her head. “Courage will open doors for you!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cora called after her with a faint smile.
The old woman slung her bright handbag over her shoulder and something flew out and landed at Cora’s feet. She automatically knelt down to pick it up. It looked like a pencil, but when she touched it, she realized it was a cylinder of wood with a ribbon tied around it. “You dropped something.”
“Oh mercy me,” Muffin exclaimed, toddling back up the stairs to retrieve it. “Can’t do without that!”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what exactly it was, but Muffin was blushing, and that brought a blush to Cora’s cheeks as well. If it was something sexual, well…she didn’t want to know.
When the old woman finally wandered out of view, Cora went back inside the gloomy Abbey and shut the door behind her. She leaned against the thick wood, thinking of Muffin’s words. Courage.
She could use a good dose of courage. With that, Cora returned to the kitchen to clean up after her guest. It was only after she’d thrown out the rest of the rock-hard muffins that she realized that she’d never told the old woman about her ex… or her job asking her to relocate.
How had Muffin known? A chill went down Cora’s spine, but she dismissed it.
Muffin had obviously known someone was going to be here this week, so perhaps her aunt had shared some of Cora’s personal details with the neighbor.
Lovely.
#
The rest of the afternoon went by without a hitch—to the point that Cora thought she might have imagined the entire incident with the ghost and the mirror. She explored Stonewood Abbey all afternoon with a feather duster, though she wasn’t doing much dusting. Instead, she was examining the suits of armor in the library, and the massive portraits in the gallery, and simply enjoying herself. The abbey was a marvel, and everything felt warm and inviting. She wasn’t scared at all—perhaps Muffin’s pep talk had done her more good than she’d originally thought. The phone had rang once or twice, startling her, but she’d let it go to the machine, the recorded message about the Abbey being closed for tourism filling the echoing rooms.
At some point, she’d curled up on one of the footed couches in the gallery to take a nap in a pool of sunlight. She woke up several hours later in darkness, her heart pounding. But the gallery itself still felt warm and friendly, and the shadows were just that—shadows. There were no mirrors in this part of the house, and she chided herself for being silly.
It was just an old manor house that resembled a castle. Nothing special. Nothing to be scared of, even if her room had a massive mirror in it.
Courage, Muffin’s voice rang out in her head.
She decided to sleep in her room that night anyhow. If nothing else, to prove to herself that she wasn’t the coward that Muffin thought that she was.
The room was quiet and still, cozy with the light from the small decorative lamps next to her bed. Cora undressed and brushed her teeth in the bathroom, avoiding the small mirror there in case it decided to show a ghost, too. When she was ready for bed, she crawled under the covers and forced herself to turn the light off.
It was utterly silent in the Abbey. Cora lay in bed, stiff and miserable. For some reason, she felt the absurd urge to cry. Muffin’s words had stuck in her head, and she kept playing them over and over again. How had her sad life gotten so far out of control that she was sleeping in a haunted room just to prove to herself that she wasn’t a complete wash-out?
Because if you don’t, she told herself, Mu
ffin will be right. You’re a big loser that doesn’t want anything bad enough. You can do this. You want to stay here at the Abbey, but you can’t if you’re scared of the ghost. So you have to conquer this silly fear, or give up and go home with your tail tucked between your legs.
Tears slid down her face and she wiped at her cheeks, sniffling loudly. A small sob escaped her, just as easily lost in the darkness as she felt. When had she become so completely and utterly alone?
A soft sound pierced the darkness, so soft she wasn’t sure that she’d heard it at first.
Nevertheless, she choked down her next sob and held her breath, so the room was entirely silent once more. The sound returned, still soft and fragile.
It sounded like…singing.
A man’s voice, and it sent a chill down her spine again. Cora’s eyelids were squeezed shut so she couldn’t see anything, but she had to see what was causing the noise. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Soft light illuminated the mirror, as if it had caught sunlight even in the middle of the night. It lit up her room.
The soft singing continued, and she tried to decipher the sound. The words were muffled and low, but even so, they had an odd quality to them that told her it was a foreign language. She didn’t recognize the tune, but she recognized the simplicity of it, the oddly soothing sound of it.
It was a lullaby, a song to comfort. The light from the mirror faded. And Cora knew when she turned over to look at the mirror, that the shadow had returned, the hand resting on the glass again. The soft singing was emanating from the old mirror itself.
Her ghost was trying to comfort her.
Chapter Three
For some reason, Cora found herself getting out of the safety of her bed and placing her feet on the cold floor. The soft singing continued, the words unfamiliar and harsh against her ear, but the voice was pleasant in a rough, gravelly sort of way. Fear had returned to her body, trickling ice into her veins and making her move slowly. The figure in the mirror remained, real and not a trick of her imagination.
Courage, Muffin’s voice rang out in her mind again. Courage.
She could do this. She could confront the ghost in the mirror and ask him to leave her alone. Cora approached the mirror, her eyes resting on the floor. She didn’t want to look at the apparition. What if he had a death’s head or red eyes or something horrible…? She placed her hands on both sides of the mirror, steeling herself to look at the ghost, to confront it.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to the mirror, saw the figure inside it.
He took her breath away.
Beautiful was the first word that came to her mind. He was so beautiful. She’d been expecting something horrible, or frightening, but the man inside the mirror was surely the most lovely man she’d ever looked upon. In the shadows of her room, it was hard to tell the color of his hair, but it was wild and thick, hanging in disarray, the tips brushing against the unshaven shadow of his strong jaw. His mouth was exquisite—she’d never seen a man’s mouth so perfectly formed—and his cheekbones were high, the rest of his face hidden by shadow. He was shirtless, displaying a scarred chest, broad and cut, the planes of his stomach as shadowed as the rest of his figure. His hand pressed against the flat surface of the mirror, moving toward the center as if he could touch her face.
He moved forward slightly, and the play of shadows changed. She could see his face now, and it took her breath away, her mouth parting to gasp even as he continued to sing the soft lullaby, his lips moving in silent song.
His eyes were sad. So sad. Dark and deep, they seemed to stare into her own and share her sadness, her loneliness. It emanated from him in the mirror, consuming and heart-wrenching, as if his very world had been destroyed and only he was left behind to pick up the pieces.
His hand moved on the mirror again, trying to touch her face through the glass, and Cora suddenly realized that this was not someone to be feared. The sad longing in his voice inspired anything but fear. She wanted to help him, just as he was trying to help her.
“Can you…can you hear me?” She whispered into the darkness. “Do you see I’m here?” It seemed a silly question to ask—it felt as if he were singing away her loneliness, singing just for her. But what if he wasn’t? What if he couldn’t see her at all?
Those sad eyes focused on her again and the singing grew lower, one side of the lovely mouth turning up in a faint smile.
Oh, he could see her. A blush crept over her face and Cora ducked her head, feeling shy and ridiculous. She glanced back up at him again and saw that he’d stopped singing, the last note dying away and his movements ending.
“What is your name?” she asked him, determined not to feel stupid talking to a mirror. The man inside it looked so very real, as if she could reach out and touch him.
“I’m Cora.”
His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear the words, not like she could hear the song.
Disappointment spiraled through her, keen and sharp, and she shook her head.
He seemed to realize it as well, and the sad look returned to his eyes and he shook his head slightly, as if acknowledging it.
Cora felt as if her heart would break in that moment, so great was her disappointment.
So they could only look at each other? Stare through the glass? He looked as if he wanted someone to touch him, and she wanted to touch him back, to caress the sadness away from his face.
Before she could think about it, she pressed her hand fully against the cold glass, as if she could somehow ease him.
He seemed startled by the action, but he moved his own hand downward, placing it against hers on the far side of the mirror.
For a moment, the chill of the mirror gave way to heat.
Cora gasped and pulled her hand away in surprise, and just like that, the image vanished.
“No,” she cried out, placing her hand back on the glass again, fingers splaying in desperation. “Wait!”
No change. There was only herself in the reflection, her cheeks still wet with tears, her eyes wide.
But underneath her hand, she swore she could still feel the faint brush of warmth fading away.
#
All that day and into the night, Cora hovered near the mirror, waiting for the man to return. She showered, dressed and fixed her hair, as if those small things could help the day pass faster. She cleaned the mirror. She straightened her room. Cleaned the mirror again. Against hope, she peered into its smooth, polished surface multiple times every hour, hoping for some flicker of the mirrorlight, some sign of her late-night visitor. Yet as the sun went down and day faded to night, she began to acknowledge that perhaps he wouldn’t show every night. The realization cut her—she only had a few short weeks here in England, and she wanted to find out as much as she could about him. She wanted to see him again.
She needed to see him again.
Cora tried everything she could think of to lure him to the mirror again. She hummed a remembered version of his song, and when that didn’t work, she tried singing it softly.
When that didn’t work, she yelled at the mirror, taunting it, daring her mysterious stranger to return and confront her. Nothing.
And when the room was filled with shadows and the night half over, she began to suspect that perhaps he wouldn’t show tonight after all. Or ever again. With a small sigh of frustration, she leaned against the mirror and pressed her palm flat against the smooth, cold surface, closing her eyes. Longing tore through her.
Please, come to me. Please. I need to see you, to know I’m not crazy.
Within a few moments, she began to feel warmth under her palm. Not a residual of her own heat, but something else pressed against it, as if the glass was a mere suggestion that separated her from something on the other side.
Cora didn’t have to open her eyes to know that he was there again, inside the mirror, and a small sigh of relief escaped her lips.
She opened her eyes and looked over at her hand where it rested on the mirror. His hand had met it on t
he other side, pressing up against her own. A meeting of hands, like a meeting of souls. And she could still feel that odd warmth flowing through the thick glass.
She glanced up and saw him staring down at her with the same intensely sad, keenly lonely look from the night before. There was a hunger to his expression, an aching need that she understood all too well. His eyes flicked back and forth, studying her as she stood before him, drinking her in as she did him.
“Hello again,” she whispered against the glass, her mouth curving slightly into a smile. “I’m happy you’re back.”
He seemed to respond as well, mouthing a short syllable that she thought might have been a greeting as well. The room remained silent, disappointingly so.
She couldn’t hear him. It left an ache inside her, despite his return. “It’s me,” she said, a bit louder. “Can you hear what I am saying?”
Silence. After a moment, he shook his head at her.
There had to be a way for her to communicate with him. There had to be. Frustrated, Cora glanced around her small room in despair, and then moved to the small desk in the corner. She scribbled her name on a piece of stationary—CORA GRAMES—and moved back to the mirror, holding it up.
His fingers touched the glass again, his gaze focusing on the paper she held in front of her breasts. Then, he disappeared again and she wanted to weep, her breath catching in her throat as she noticed something else, something new.
The reflection was no longer of her small room. Instead of the dark paneled walls, she saw thick stone, bare and stark. There was hay scattered on the floor, and a bed in the corner was covered in furs. She could not see herself in the mirror’s reflection, not any longer.
What was she looking at?
When was she looking at?
He returned to view a moment later, and she choked on a sob of relief, joy flooding her face once more. Her stranger held up something so she could see it, and Cora peered into the mirror, trying to make heads or tails of the large object.
It was a shield, kite shaped, with the symbol of three flowers crossing the surface diagonally. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her.
