by Jenny Nimmo
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loud ping! it slid open and she tumbled in, quickly pressing the ground floor button as she lurched against the back wall.
"Hey!" called the guard.
But Olivia was on her way down and, happily, the elevator didn't stop once until she reached the ground floor. Trying to look as casual as possible, Olivia hurried over to her mother. In spite of the crowds she had no trouble locating Mrs. Vertigo's bright red coat. She was now busy at the makeup counter. When Olivia reached her mother she found the counter littered with creams, powders, sticks of mascara, brushes, and bottles.
"Mom, we've got to go," said Olivia.
Mrs. Vertigo turned and saw her daughter's anxious face. "Oh, right." She gave the sales clerk a rueful smile. "Sorry, it's not what I want. None of it. Thank you so much."
The clerk glared at the mess on her counter as Olivia tugged her mother away.
"Mission accomplished?" asked Mrs. Vertigo.
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Olivia nodded.
When they emerged onto the street, they walked straight into Miss Chrystal who was, unbelievably, holding Joshua Tilpin by the hand.
"Miss Chrystal, isn't it?" said Mrs. Vertigo in a flamboyant tone. "Aren't the sales fabulous? And who is this?" She smiled at Joshua.
"One of my students," Miss Chrystal said lightly. "His name's Joshua. The school asked me to get him a new shirt."
"An expensive shirt for a little boy!" Mrs. Vertigo remarked, cocking her head at Kingdom's marble pillars.
Miss Chrystal ignored this and hurriedly pulled Joshua into the store.
"Poor little fellow," said Mrs. Vertigo. "He looks so pathetic."
"Don't you believe it, Mom." Olivia linked arms with her mother. "And please hurry."
Charlie was standing on the Vertigos' step when Olivia and her mother arrived at the house. He knew
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the mission had been successful as soon as he saw Olivia's smiling but anxious face.
"We bumped into Joshua and Miss Chrystal," Olivia told Charlie as they stepped into the Vertigos' large foyer. "They might be suspicious, and I think the guard saw me."
"Let's hope he didn't," said Charlie. "Can I see the mirror, Liv?"
"Yes, do. I can hardly wait." Mrs. Vertigo flung her coat on a peg and pushed the children into the living room.
As Olivia drew out the mirror, there was a loud bang on the front door. Immediately two figures appeared outside the French doors.
Mrs. Vertigo screamed.
"It's all right, Mom," said Olivia. "It's Tancred and Lysander. They're here to help."
"And we're going to need them," said Charlie as another loud bang echoed through the house. "It sounds as if you were followed, Liv."
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THE ENCHANTER AND THE ENDOWED
T ancred and Lysander liked nothing better than a challenge. They didn't have to see Mrs. Vertigo's unwelcome visitors to know who they were. The furious barking gave them away.
"Rottweilers," said Lysander.
"Looms!" Tancred grinned in anticipation. Looking into the sky, he raised his arms. The next moment a torrent of water fell from above, as though a floodgate had opened in the clouds.
Olivia unlocked the French doors and Lysander ran inside. The rain continued to pour upon Tancred like a waterfall. In seconds he was standing in an inch of water, while lightning zipped across the Vertigos' smooth lawn in sheets of blinding light.
"He'll be struck!" cried Mrs. Vertigo. "Someone bring him in."
"He can't be struck," Lysander told her. "He's a weather-monger."
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Olivia ran into the kitchen where a small window overlooked the street. Huddled on the step, the Loom brothers were having a hard time controlling their dogs. The frantic creatures were biting their leashes in an effort to escape from the storm.
Cursing their predicament, the brothers finally left the house and stumbled away through the rain, dragged by their hysterical dogs.
Olivia ran back to the living room and announced, "They've gone!"
"Oh, good," said Mrs. Vertigo, who always bounced back from trouble as though it had never happened. "You can call the blond boy in now, and we'll all have some muffins."
"I'm afraid it's not over, Mrs. Vertigo," said Lysander. "The Looms are harmless compared with what might happen next."
"If you're talking about that enchanter thing, he's not going to put me off my tea," said Mrs. Vertigo with remarkable composure. "Come to think of it, we haven't had lunch, have we?"
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"If you don't mind," said Charlie quietly, "I couldn't eat anything at the moment. I just want to see the mirror."
Olivia pulled the mirror out of her pocket with a flourish. "There!"
"Heavens!" exclaimed her mother. "It's utterly, utterly beautiful."
"Awesome." Lysander peered into the glass. "But it's not a mirror. I can't see anything."
"What a relief," said Olivia. "I thought I was a vampire."
"Can I?" Charlie held out his hand.
Olivia gave him the mirror. "What are you going to do with it, Charlie?"
"I hadn't really thought about it, I just wanted to get it away from the count. But now... Charlie looked at the mist that clouded the surface of the glass. "I'd like to be alone with it, for a while."
"Of course, Charlie." Olivia led Charlie up to her bedroom. She left him sitting on her bed and whispered, "Good luck," before she closed the door on him.
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For several seconds Charlie was almost too afraid to look at the mirror again. He closed his eyes and the words from Bartholomew's diary came back to him. "Look into the mirror and the person you wish to see will appear. If you want to find that person, look again, and the mirror will take you to them, wherever they are."
"But I can't remember his face," sighed Charlie. "Help me, someone."
He felt something lightly brush his wrist, and the white moth crawled out of his sleeve. She flew onto the mirror's gold frame and gently beat her silvery wings. The mist on the glassy surface began to clear.
"How am I to remember?" Charlie silently asked the moth.
Remember what you can, came the answer.
Charlie thought back to a time before he had lived in the house on Filbert Street. He remembered a bright kitchen; he was very small because the swirling hem of his mother's skirt came very close to his face. She was humming to the music that came from another room.
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Charlie left the kitchen and walked across a hallway. He pushed open a door and moved toward the elegant legs of a grand piano. White curtains billowed in a breeze from the window. The man sitting at the piano had his back to Charlie. He wore a brown jacket and his thick, black hair touched the top of his collar. His fingers flew over the piano keys, but when Charlie walked around the piano stool, the man stopped playing and looked down. "Hello, Charlie!" he said.
The shock of recognition almost made Charlie lose consciousness. He had seen the man before. Many times. He'd spoken to him only a week ago, never knowing that he was his father. Clinging even tighter to the mirror, Charlie stared into the dark, smiling eyes until he felt himself drifting closer. When his father's face began to recede, Charlie cried, "Take me to him!" And the mirror obeyed. Now he was in another room: It was the music room at Bloor's Academy. But here the piano was silent. For the pianist had folded his arms over the keys and laid his head on them.
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"Dad!" Charlie tapped the man's shoulder. "It's me, Charlie!"
The dark eyes were no longer smiling. They looked blank and heavy.
"Are you still asleep?
You must remember me. I've never stopped thinking of you. Never. Please try to remember. Please say something. Please..." Charlie shook his father's shoulder, this time with some vigor.
Without moving, the man said faintly, "There's nothing left. Go away."
A cry escaped Charlie. A cry that was like no sound he had ever heard. And then he was being dragged away. His father's face began to fade and Charlie spun through the air, now twisting upside-down, now floating on his back. He began to see the mirror again, glinting out of a fog, but the glass was empty. The face that had looked out at Charlie was gone.
With a sudden bump, Charlie landed on a bed. Olivia was standing in front of him, holding the mirror.
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"Charlie, you made a dreadful sound." She peered into his face. "I thought the mirror had frightened you so I took it out of your hands."
Charlie blinked. "I wasn't frightened exactly."
"Did you see your father?"
"Yes. Liv, I think he's almost dead."
Charlie's voice was so weak Olivia couldn't be sure that she'd heard him. "Dead?" she asked. "Did you say dead?"
"Almost."
At that moment a deafening roar caused the whole house to shudder.
"He's here!" Suddenly alert, Charlie rushed to the window.
Tancred was not alone. On the other side of the garden stood a tall stranger in a shimmering green robe. The man's abundant hair was touched with gold and his nose curved like the beak of a hawk.
"He doesn't look like a shadow," Olivia remarked, "but certainly an enchanter."
Before Charlie could reply, Tancred swung his arm
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forward and an arc of lightning flew from his hand toward the man in green. The enchanter caught the band of light and, in a flash, sent it back across the few yards that separated him from the weather-monger. But Tancred had already produced a sheet of pure white light that enveloped the enchanter like a shroud.
Olivia and Charlie watched, helpless, as the count stepped out of his shroud and sent a ribbon of fire snaking over the grass. It began to wind itself around Tancred's body, and he fell to his knees, unable to move his hands or defend himself.
The enchanter advanced, smiling. Charlie turned away from the window, crying, "I can't let this happen!"
But Olivia held him back. "Look! Look out there!" she commanded.
A figure had darted between Tancred and the enchanter. He stood shielding Tancred as the enchanter strode toward them.
"It's Gabriel," said Charlie in disbelief.
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"What's he wearing?" Olivia pressed her head against the windowpane. "Some old cloak."
"The Red King's cloak," breathed Charlie. "It belongs to his family, the Salutatis."
"The enchanter can't touch him. Look at the fire, Charlie."
Every streak of lightning, every ribbon of fire that the enchanter hurled at Gabriel, slid around the cloak and then burned out.
With a roar of fury the count rushed at Gabriel, only to be stopped by an invisible wall, his mouth agape, his hands reaching for the cloak, but unable to touch it.
"He's beaten," Olivia cheered, a little prematurely.
The enchanter glared up at her and, abandoning his attack on Gabriel, rushed at the house. The crash of broken glass sent Charlie and Olivia tearing downstairs. They burst into the living room, where Mrs. Vertigo stood in a trance before the shattered window. From the other side, the enchanter gazed at her with treacherous green eyes.
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"Excuse me, Mrs. Vertigo," said Lysander, swinging her away from the window. Giving her no time to protest, he swept her off her feet and carried her, bodily, into the kitchen. "It's better you stay here." He lowered her to the ground with a bashful smile. "And lock the door, perhaps."
"I've no intention of locking myself away from the action," Mrs. Vertigo protested breathlessly.
There came a second, even louder crash from the living room.
"Then please keep the door closed." Lysander seized Olivia's wrist and thrust her in with her mother.
"Hey. Do you mind?" Olivia cried indignantly.
"You'll be safer in here, Liv," said Charlie. "Safer still without that mirror." He grabbed the mirror as footsteps advanced, crunching over the broken glass.
Charlie could already feel the enchanter's green glare on his back, and the hand that held the mirror trembled violently. "I'm not afraid," he told himself. "I won't let go."
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You are afraid. You will let go. It felt as though the awful voice was deep inside Charlie's head.
"I won't." He turned to face the enchanter.
A dark figure stood at the end of the long tiled hallway. Charlie squinted into the gloom. Was it him? Or had he turned into a shadow again?
"Give it to me and there's no harm done." This was a different voice, gentle and persuasive. "You have no need of it, Charlie. You can travel whenever you wish."
Charlie took a step toward the shadowy figure.
"Don't," hissed Lysander. "It's a trick." He leaped into the center of the hall and began to spin, faster and faster, while he chanted in a strange, musical language. When he came to rest, Charlie could hear a distant drumming that grew louder every second.
"My spirit ancestors," said Lysander.
I don't need help, thought Charlie. I'm strong. I can send this feeble ghost away.
As Charlie stepped closer to the shadow, the drums grew louder until the hall was filled with the sound.
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"What's this?" said the enchanter. "A merry tune to make me dance. You fools!"
A brilliant flash showed Charlie that it was no feeble shadow he was facing. Every detail of the enchanter was thrown into sharp relief: the green robe patterned in gold, the studded leather belt, the sword in its jeweled scabbard, and the mantle of deeper green, edged in pearls.
"Give me the mirror," the enchanter commanded, "before it's too late."
"Never." Charlie held the mirror behind his back.
The drums stopped all at once, and in the sudden silence a troop of dark-skinned men appeared. They wore white robes and carried gleaming weapons: swords, knives, and axes.
"SO!" The enchanter lifted his sword and brought it whistling down onto the tiles. The whole floor shivered, and from between the tiles, razor-sharp spikes appeared. Lysander and Charlie tried in vain to grip the walls, but the floor heaved so violently they were forced onto their knees. Charlie clung to the mirror,
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though he longed to let it go, if only for a second, so that he could pull himself upright.
"Hold on, Charlie," croaked Lysander.
The white-robed warriors were now swinging their weapons across the ground. The floor stopped heaving and the dreadful spikes wilted like dead flowers. Charlie and Lysander got to their feet and steadied themselves against the wall.
The enchanter's second scream was so painful, Charlie had to cover his ears. The mirror slipped out of his hand but Lysander caught it, just in time. And then the battle began in earnest.
The enchanter flung fire and ice at the advancing spirits. He conjured up a storm of scorpions, a cloud of snakes, a monstrous giant, a saber-toothed tiger, and a dragon with two heads, but the spirit ancestors brushed them away as though they were made of paper.
Olivia and her mother couldn't resist opening the kitchen door a crack. The unbelievable battle scene made Mrs. Vertigo wonder if her hall would ever be the same again.
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At length, with a final cry of defiance the enchanter retreated. By the time he vanished, he had become a weak and sh
ivering version of his former self.
"Don't be fooled, Charlie," Lysander warned. "I don't think he's finished."
Their work done, Lysander's ancestors began to fade. The occasional flash of silver was the only hint that, moments ago, the hallway had been bristling with weapons.
When Tancred and Gabriel came in through the broken windows, Mrs. Vertigo decided they should all have spaghetti. Muffins not being quite substantial enough for such a special celebration.
After the meal, the four boys helped to clean up the broken glass. Mrs. Vertigo said she would get a man in to fix the window, though it might be a good idea to tell the police about the violent intruder.
"No point, Mom," said Olivia. "The police wouldn't know how to deal with him. Enchanters aren't on their list."
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Charlie was eager to get the mirror home, though what he would do with it, he wasn't sure. Perhaps he could take it to Skarpo. As long as the count didn't have it, his mother couldn't be taken out of the world.
Charlie thought the mirror was safe, at least for a while. A furious battle had been won, and his elation made him careless. As he left the Vertigos' house the last person he expected to see was Joshua Tilpin.
One minute Charlie was holding the mirror in both hands, the next a magnetic force was dragging it away.
"NO!" cried Charlie, losing his grip.
The other boys ran up behind him but the mirror had flown into the road. There was a loud crack, and Joshua Tilpin bent to retrieve it. Charlie leaped toward him but Miss Chrystal, stepping out of nowhere, barred his way. Fixing him with her cold blue eyes, she hissed, "The Mirror of Amoret will never be yours."
Tancred and Lysander were already chasing Joshua down the road.
"They'll get him," Charlie cried furiously.
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Miss Chrystal shook her head. "I don't think so," she said airily. Then she ambled away with a smile, as though it was all just a silly game.
"You're a witch!" Charlie called after her. "The worst kind."
