Looking Glass

by Christina Henry

  “I know you don’t have any reason to believe this,” he said. “But I want you to know that I won’t hurt you. I’ll never, ever hurt you.”

  She did look up then, and he saw the tears streaked on her face. “How can you say that? Hurting is what men do. I saw what you did to that man at the match.”

  “He did a little hurting of his own,” Nicholas said, glancing at his broken hand and leg. “But that was different. That was a fight. Any man who’d do something like that to a woman isn’t a man.”

  “I want to believe you,” she said. “I want to.”

  He did take her hand then, but so gently that it was like he was holding the most delicate piece of china. He put her hand against his heart. “I promise. I promise I will never, ever hurt you. I’ll keep you safe. All I want is to see you smile.”

  She stared intently into his eyes for several moments. He felt that all he was and ever had been was laid open for her like a book, and she was reading the truth of his life there.

  “You don’t have to stay with me,” he said again. “I would never make you stay.”

  “And that,” she said, “is why I believe you.”

  And she smiled.

  The long winter was over. Every morning Alice found her eyes lingered longer on the horizon and what might be beyond it.

  She had been safe in this cottage in the woods, and the generosity of the witch who lived there—for she was a witch, and her name was Olivia—had certainly kept her alive. It had even occasionally kept Hatcher alive, when he returned from his wild roaming to see her.

  One night she had a dream, the same dream she’d had more times than she could remember. She stood on the edge of a long clear lake, its water glittering blue in the sunlight. On the opposite side of the lake were high mountains with rocky crags, and the highest peaks were covered in snow.

  But down here in the valley everything was green, and there was a field of wildflowers spread out in riotous color. Behind Alice was a snug little house made of fieldstone, and when she turned she saw Hatcher standing in the doorway. In his arms was a black-haired babe.

  When she woke her face was covered in tears she’d cried while she slept.

  Alice knew two things then. First, it was time to leave the sanctuary of the cottage in the wood.

  And the second thing she knew was that her baby would be born at the end of summer.

  * * *

  Hatcher was not there when Alice said goodbye to Olivia. He hadn’t returned to the cottage for several days, but this wasn’t an unusual thing. She might be inclined to worry more if she hadn’t felt so secure in the vision she’d had in her sleep. Alice knew Hatcher would be with her in the little house by the lake, surrounded by fields of wildflowers.

  Alice wore new trousers and a new shirt, both of them sewed carefully by herself throughout the long cold days. She was inordinately proud of the clothes she’d made, as no one had ever bothered to teach her how to do these tasks when she was young, and it was a fine thing to feel that she could be self-sufficient, to spin and weave and sew.

  Olivia had also showed her how to tend plants, even in winter, so that one could keep small bits of herbs or vegetables that could be grown in pots indoors. She’d explained how to set by the summer crop in jars, and how to salt and dry meat so that you’d have enough until spring.

  All these things had naturally been done in her own house when Alice was young, but they were done by servants, barely noticed by the pampered youngest daughter of the master.

  Now there were no servants, and Alice wouldn’t have wanted them anyway. She liked to do things with her own hands, to feel the glow of accomplishment when a job was well done.

  Olivia had, of course, taught her more than just the care and feeding of a household. She’d taught Alice how to use her magic, how to accept what it could and could not do, how to make it come when she called and lie quiet when she didn’t need it.

  Much of what she taught Alice had seemed like knowledge Alice already had, only it was hidden under the surface of her skin, waiting for her to peer underneath.

  Alice carried one large rucksack with all the things she and Hatcher would need—his clothes and axe included. One thing she’d learned from the debacle in the snow was that it was very difficult for her to carry two packs in heavy weather. Hatcher spent more than half his time as a wolf anyhow, and Alice was stuck lugging an extra pack while he roamed around the woods.

  Alice loaded her pack on her shoulders and turned to Olivia, who stood in the doorway clasping her hands together.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Alice said.

  “There is no need for thanks,” Olivia said. “I was glad for you. Your company made the winter easier to endure.”

  Alice wanted to ask Olivia why she stayed here in this lonely place. She’d wanted to ask this many times, but always decided it was too intrusive a question. If Olivia wanted her to know she would have told Alice, and Olivia never had, so Alice held her tongue now. Besides, if Olivia hadn’t chosen to stay in this lonely place she wouldn’t have been here when Alice needed her.

  Alice went to the other woman then, and embraced her. They held each other for a long time, both trying to say many things without words, and some of those thoughts must have been conveyed, for when they separated each woman turned aside to discreetly mop the tears away from her eyes.

  “Thank you,” Alice said, and Olivia nodded.

  Alice was out the door and partway through the clearing when Olivia called her.

  “Alice!”

  She turned back, wondering what had put that sudden frantic note in the witch’s voice. Olivia rushed from the doorway to grasp Alice’s hands.

  “Alice, there is danger ahead for you. I can feel it.”

  Alice nodded. “Yes, I know it, too. Only I don’t think it’s the kind of danger that can be avoided. There’s a place I’m trying to get to, and something bad is directly in its path.”

  “I can’t see exactly what it is,” Olivia said. “I only know that it’s there. And it’s a threat to not only you but your child.”

  Alice shouldn’t have been surprised that Olivia knew about the baby. She sometimes thought the other woman knew everything there was to know.

  Rather like Cheshire, Alice thought wryly, only considerably less irritating.

  “I will be careful,” Alice promised. “More careful than careful can be.”

  “Don’t show them your power,” Olivia whispered. “Don’t let them see what you are.”

  “That I’m a Magician?” Alice asked.

  “Yes,” Olivia said. “I can’t read it all clearly, and I can’t see from precisely where the threat approaches. I only know that you should be very cautious about using magic in the days ahead.”

  “That’s very annoying. Just when I’ve learned how to use my magic I’m not to be allowed to use it to keep myself out of trouble.”

  “Magic doesn’t fix everything, Alice. I thought you knew that by now.”

  “I do,” Alice said, chastened. “I do. But it would still be nice to be able to smite one’s enemies with a glance.”

  Olivia laughed. “I think you’re still a few steps away from the smiting stage, my dear. Now go, and may all the powers that be protect you and your own.”

  She kissed Alice’s cheek and waved her off, so Alice went.

  The morning was fine and fresh, the sort of morning that made one’s step lighter simply because the sun shone and the woodpeckers scampered on the tree bark and the squirrels chittered at one another.

  Alice felt the shadow somewhere ahead of her, the same shadow that had made Olivia so anxious, but it was too far away to trouble her right now. There wasn’t any way to avoid it, that she knew for certain, but that didn’t mean she had to worry over it every second.

  Besides, Alice thought, I’m not about
to let anyone hurt my baby. Whatever is before me, whatever they want—it doesn’t matter. I’ll never let them harm my child.

  And Hatcher won’t either.

  She smiled a little to herself as she thought this, imagining a horde of faceless enemies confronting Hatcher. Whether he was a man or a wolf there could be only one possible end for them—absolute slaughter.

  Alice walked on, and by midday she needed to stop—not only to eat, but to rest her feet.

  I’ve gotten soft this winter, she thought ruefully as she took her boots off and dunked her feet into the cool water of a thin, trickling stream.

  And she was soft, too, soft all over. The hollows in her ribs had filled out and so had her hips. Her cheekbones were not sharp enough to cut any longer. Four months of sleeping in a bed and having regular meals and not spending the entire day walking had taken the raggedy scarecrow look off her.

  Though Hatcher will always look raggedy, even if he shaves and cuts his hair and wears clean clothes. No matter what he does he can’t shake that air of wildness. It’s in his heart and in his eyes.

  But four months of walking only about the cottage and occasionally into the woods had meant that Alice was not prepared to march all day. She sat for a while, dangling her ankles in the stream, chewing some of the dried meat that Olivia had packed for her.

  After a while her feet felt cold, but she didn’t feel any urgency to continue on. The sun was warm so she leaned back and used the pack as a pillow to rest her head.

  When she woke Hatcher’s mouth was on hers, gentle as the touch of a butterfly. She opened her eyes and found him kneeling beside her, naked and filthy, his face very close to hers.

  “You need a bath,” she said, leaning on her elbows. She kissed him again to take the sting out of her words. “And a haircut and shave while you’re at it. We need to make you look respectable, at least for a while.”

  “I’ll never be respectable,” he said, rubbing his beard on her face and making her laugh and push him away.

  “There’s something coming, or we’re coming to it,” Alice said. “And I have a feeling that it would be better for us if we looked like a nice pair of innocent travelers, and not a Magician and her wild wolf.”

  Hatcher frowned. “You want me to stay human for a while, then?”

  “If you can,” she said. “It would be better.”

  “Only for you, Alice,” he said, and sighed. “Have you any soap?”

  She did, some herb-smelling stuff that Olivia had taught her to make, and Hatcher went into the small stream and splashed himself all over until he was soaking and then scrubbed everything with the soap, even his hair.

  He rinsed off and climbed out and sat in the sun to dry, completely unselfconscious about his body, and while he did that Alice cut his ragged mane into something resembling respectable. Then he went to the stream again and carefully shaved off his beard.

  Once he was as clean as he could be, he dressed in the trousers and shirt that Alice had made for him. He was still a little on the thin side, and his grey eyes seemed more prominent now that the cloud of hair had been removed, but he looked about as respectable as he was going to get.

  “Are you hungry?” Alice asked.

  Hatcher shook his head. “I ate before I found you.”

  He picked up the pack and shouldered its weight easily. “You shouldn’t be carrying this in your condition.”

  Alice stared at him. “How did you know already?”

  Olivia she could understand, but not Hatcher.

  “You smelled different,” he said. “Besides, you forget that the Sight runs in my family. I’ve known that baby was coming for a long time now.”

  She’d had some idea that she would surprise him with the news. But before she did she’d hoped to have some time alone with her baby, time to accustom herself to the idea of being someone’s mother, time to cherish the tiny life inside her.

  Alice had forgotten about the Sight. It had been some time since she’d heard Hatcher make any kind of prediction. When he fell under the influence of his visions he tended to act more than a little strange and uncontrollable. Alice hoped that he wouldn’t have a vision for some time. Olivia had been very sure that it would be a mistake to let anyone know about their magic.

  “Are you happy?” Alice asked. She hadn’t meant to ask it, but the words were out of her mouth before she knew she’d been thinking them.

  “About the baby?”

  Alice nodded. Her fists curled up, clenched. She didn’t know why but she was worried about his answer.

  “Of course,” he said. He glanced from her hands to her face and came to her, wrapping his fingers around her upper arms. “There is nothing in this life that makes me happier than you, Alice. And now that happiness will have a name, a little piece of you and of me.”

  The tension inside her eased but didn’t go away entirely.

  “What if I’m a bad mother?” she whispered. This was something else she hadn’t known she was worried about. “What if he hates me?”

  “How could he ever hate you?” Hatcher whispered. “You’re going to love him more than any child has ever been loved before.”

  She would, yes. But she didn’t know how to be a mother. The only mother Alice had ever known had given her up the moment she was inconveniently assaulted.

  Even before that Alice remembered only moments of affection, moments when her mother or father would kiss or hug or play with her. The rest of the time it was always, “I’m sorry, darling, Mama’s very busy at the moment. Go play in the garden.”

  But I won’t be like that. I won’t be that sort of mother. I’ll be the kind that always says yes when the children ask me to play, because children are only small once, and when they’re grown-up they won’t ask anymore.

  And then she thought, Children. Don’t leap too far ahead of yourself, Alice. You don’t even know yet if you can manage one child, never mind more than one.

  Then something Hatcher said finally penetrated, and she said, “Love him?”

  Hatcher gave her a puzzled look.

  “You said, ‘You’re going to love him more than any child has ever been loved before.’ Was that just a word you used, ‘him’? Or does it mean that you know that it will be a boy?”

  “Do you really want to know the answer?”

  “That means it is a boy,” Alice said, “because you’d never bother being mysterious unless you knew.”

  “Does it really matter?” Hatcher asked. “Are you happier if it’s a boy?”

  “Of course not,” Alice said. “But it will be a nice thing, a very nice thing, to imagine what the baby might look like and how he might be.”

  “If he’s anything like I was, then he’ll be the naughtiest child alive,” Hatcher said.

  “Were you really so terrible?” Alice asked as they started their walk again.

  “Yes,” Hatcher said, without a trace of humor. “I was a very terrible child. I never listened, was never grateful for what I had, was always looking for an excuse to run away or steal or fight. I don’t wonder that Bess despaired of ever making a proper human out of me.”

  And Bess never did, quite, make a proper human, Alice thought, but she didn’t say it out loud because Hatcher might think she minded and she really didn’t. Hatcher was Hatcher, and she wouldn’t love him if he weren’t exactly that way.

  “It might be different for our child, though,” Hatcher said. “He won’t be abandoned by his parents. He won’t grow up in a filthy city with nothing to eat half the time.”

  It was unusual for Hatcher to be this talkative, and Alice wondered at it.

  “Is something troubling you, Hatch?” she asked. “Are you worried about the baby?”

  “No,” he said.

  He didn’t say anything for several moments. Alice didn’t know whether he was collect
ing his thoughts or simply had slipped away somewhere else in his mind, the way that he did sometimes. She didn’t speak, only went along beside him and waited.

  “It’s only that I’ve been thinking lately about when I was young. Some of those thoughts were things I’d forgotten,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m thinking them because you’re going to have a baby, and it’s natural to think on one’s own past when faced with a new future. Or it might be because my mind is, in some ways, clearer now than it’s been in years.”

  Hatcher saw her expression and laughed.

  “I know you don’t always think it, Alice. You think I’m still a wolf in man’s clothing half the time, that my thoughts are wolf-thoughts because I don’t speak them. But it’s only that when I’m a wolf for a long while I forget how to talk, and it can take some effort for me to remember.”

  “I never mind,” Alice said, and touched his arm.

  “I don’t always want to be the mad Hatcher,” he said. “I don’t want to dream of blood. So when I’m a wolf I run as mad and wild as I want, so that when I return to you I’m a more settled thing, so that I can be a better man.”

  She stopped him walking then so she could kiss him. There were many things she wished to say but didn’t know how to, so she put them all into that kiss.

  “I think,” Hatcher said into her mouth, “that we ought to stop here for the night.”

  It was only late afternoon, and a glorious day for walking, but Alice only sighed and said, “Yes.”

  * * *

  The next day wasn’t quite as gloriously perfect, and while they were still happy in each other’s company Alice thought they both felt the shadow ahead, the thing that took the shine off the day. They rarely spoke as their path wove up into the mountains.