Leah put her hand on the ice. “Look into the mirror,” she murmured. She pushed harder. Find a mirror.
It almost worked.
Holly started to come into focus, but black stripes crisscrossed her face. Sudden pain made Leah cry out; matching lines had been scored into her palm.
“As I feared, the mirrors are warded,” Qeturah said, unsurprised.
Leah glared. “You could’ve warned me!” Blood dripped from her fingers.
“I’m warning you now,” Qeturah said coolly. “Don’t ever try to take over someone through a warded mirror. You’ll be sliced to bits.” While she spoke, she produced a glass bottle containing a firewasp.
“Keep Calling,” Qeturah snapped, uncorking the bottle. She grabbed Leah’s hand and smeared blood across the rim, then pressed the mouth of the bottle to the ice. “Let’s see if we can weaken her ward.” Qeturah bared her teeth.
Leah blinked, amazement blocking the pain as the firewasp melted its way through the ice—to Water. Qeturah removed the bottle, and Leah saw the ice had already reformed behind the wasp’s passage.
Sabra had been right. “People can travel through mirrors,” Leah murmured. She wondered if the blood was important. The heat of her hand never melted the ice.
“No, they can’t,” Qeturah said sharply. “People are much bigger than firewasps. Try again,” she urged.
Swallowing the urge to argue, Leah Called—
More cuts opened on her palm. Wincing, she pulled back. She and Qeturah waited, but nothing happened that they could see. The ward remained in place.
Scowling, Qeturah swept out of the room, leaving Leah cradling her bloody hand.
The pain passed, but the next time Leah tried to Call, she discovered Holly’s personal mirror warded, too. Qeturah’s otherself must have taught her the trick.
Chapter Twelve
Nimue
Sweat made Holly’s hands slip on the steering wheel as she oh-so-carefully drove onto the ferry. When she’d let Ryan talk her into meeting his mom, she’d forgotten that he lived on an island.
“Are you going to be okay?” Ryan asked.
“I’m fine,” Holly snapped. It was nothing like the yacht she’d had her accident on. Except, as ferries went, this one was tiny. The Honda’s bumper almost touched the rail.
Ryan got out of the car. Holly hesitated. “Come on. It’s too hot to stay in the car. I promise I’ll dive in and save you if you fall overboard.”
Holly glared at him.
The ferryman’s arrival halted their argument. The hefty, bald man studied them with open curiosity as Ryan paid the fare. “Going over for a picnic?”
“Yes,” Ryan lied.
The ferryman nodded. “I mostly get local traffic.”
But Ryan was local traffic. Puzzled, Holly turned to Ryan. Why didn’t the ferryman know him?
Oh. Oh!
Holly flashed on Ryan’s waterproof homework bag. She waited until the ferryman moved away then whispered, “You swim to school? Every day?”
His ears turned red, and he gave a small nod.
Vancouver Island had some of the mildest weather in Canada, but— “What about when it’s stormy? Or cold?”
Ryan shrugged.
Was he embarrassed? Did he swim to save money? As she cautiously joined him at the rail, inquisitiveness prompted her to ask one last question. “How long does it take you to swim across?”
Ryan smirked. “Thirty minutes.”
Holly tried not to show how impressed she was.
Although Holly’s car was the only one on board, the ferryman started up the engines. Her stomach tightened as the water gap between them and land widened. Waves knocked at the hull.
“Before we get there, I should tell you a bit more about my mom,” Ryan said, then fell silent.
Shannon says she’s wacko. Holly bit her lip to keep from jumping in with some questions. Ryan was going to have to work hard to sell her on this.
“The last doctor said she’s schizophrenic. She has drugs to help her shut out the voices, but she doesn’t like taking them.” He brooded out at the waves. The reflected sunlight on the water brought out the navy undertone to his dark hair. Not that she cared.
“She spends a lot of time in a fantasy world. This morning, I told her there was someone I wanted her to meet, but I have no idea whether she’ll still be tracking by the time we arrive.”
Holly felt an unwilling twinge of sympathy. “I’m guessing your mom has trouble holding down a job?”
He gave a short laugh. “You could definitely say that.”
So Ryan’s grocery job was supporting them both. It still didn’t excuse what he’d done. Did it?
“We’ll know as soon as we get to the house what to expect,” Ryan said. “On bad days she closes the curtains. But even if she’s having a good day, she still has a number of…superstitions. It’s easier to just go along with them and not argue.”
“Gotcha.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, do you usually have to warn people that one of her delusions is thinking her son is a merman?”
Ryan snorted. “I used to. But about six years ago, she started to get paranoid about it.”
“Let me guess. Government conspiracies, scientists who want to study you?”
“Actually, those are some of the tamer ones,” Ryan said. “You’ll see.”
…
Black curtains shrouded the windows of the small house. Shack. Ryan had told her he was poor, but the muddy driveway and the weathered building at the end of it still shocked Holly.
Ryan opened the door. “Mom? I’m home. I’ve brought Holly with me.” He toed off his shoes and stepped inside. Holly followed his example.
The front door opened straight into the house with the living room on the left and the kitchen on the right. The dining table was squished into one corner.
Two doors presumably hid a bathroom and bedroom. Ryan tapped on the right-hand one. “Mom? Please come out.”
The door opened a crack, and Mrs. Sullivan whispered through it to her son.
Holly politely pretended she didn’t notice, wandering into the cubicle-sized living room. A folded afghan and a sheet peeking out from under one cushion made her suspect the couch doubled as a bed for Ryan. The TV screen was surprisingly big but an old-fashioned cube. A hand-me-down from someone upgrading to a flat screen?
Finally, Ryan’s mother emerged from the bedroom. Mrs. Sullivan was dressed normally enough, in jeans and a blue sweatshirt. Her long hair had a lot of silver mixed in with the brown strands, but again, did not shout “crazy woman,” having obviously been washed and combed recently.
“Holly, this is my mother, Natalie Sullivan—”
Mrs. Sullivan went up on tiptoe to whisper into her tall son’s ear.
Ryan cleared his throat. “She’d like you to call her Nimue. Mom, this is Holly Beecher.”
“Nice to meet you.” Holly stuck out her hand.
Nimue stared at Holly’s left ear and murmured, “Hello.”
Holly was determined not to look to Ryan for help. “Did you make the blue afghan on the couch? It’s beautiful.”
Face blank, Nimue turned to her son. “You were careful on the way here?” Her fingers plucked at his sleeve.
“Of course,” Ryan said gently.
“You didn’t look in the water?”
“No, Mom.”
“Or into anyone’s bumper? Some of those chrome ones are real shiny.”
“I was careful,” Ryan said, still without even a hint of impatience in his voice. “Why don’t you sit on the couch while I get supper started?” He steered Nimue into the living room.
“Can I help?” Holly asked brightly. Anything to avoid making chitchat with his mother.
Ryan obligingly asked her to wash up some carrots, which entailed trotting out to the garden and digging them up. By the time she returned, Ryan had some fish frying up in a cast-iron skillet on the woodstove.
Holly wondered if Nimue stared dream
ily into space while her son made supper every day.
Crap. Ryan’s problems made her own look tiny. So he’d Voiced Ms. Prempeh into casting her as Gwendolen. Could she really blame him? Maybe not. But she wasn’t sure she could forgive him, either.
Once Holly had scrubbed up the carrots, Ryan asked her to set the table. She located the plates and cups in the ugly brown cupboard, but the drawer full of plastic cutlery took her aback.
“We have the regular stuff,” Ryan murmured as he put out a tub of margarine. “But it’s too shiny.”
Holly’s curiosity bubbled up. Why didn’t Nimue like shiny things?
Supper was plain but filling. And quiet.
Holly couldn’t bear the silence. “So, did Ryan tell you we’re in a play together?” As soon as she asked the question she felt lame: of course Ryan would have told—
Nimue’s green eyes rounded with alarm. “Not a musical? Tell me you’re not in a musical!”
“No, Mom,” Ryan soothed. “It’s not a musical.”
“Good.” Calming, Nimue looked directly at Holly for the first time that evening. “Ryan has a special gift from his father, and I don’t want to alert his enemies.”
Holly ignored the mention of enemies. “Is singing part of his siren ability?”
Nimue’s hand stilled on her plastic fork. “What do you know about that?”
Ryan shook his head, but Holly figured it was already too late. “I know Ryan’s a merman.”
Nimue shoved back from the table and stood. Her chair overturned with a crash. “You told her your secret?” she accused Ryan.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ryan said, standing, too. “Holly won’t tell anyone.”
Nimue moaned as if in pain. “She’ll betray you—can’t you see that?” She acted as if Holly wasn’t in the room.
“Holly’s a good person,” Ryan told his mother. “Come on. Please sit back down.”
After a moment, Nimue’s outrage leaked away, and her eyes grew abstracted. She let Ryan seat her again.
They all resumed eating. Holly was chewing her last mouthful when Nimue made a plaintive sound. “We’re out of carrots.”
Ryan leaped to his feet. “I’ll get some more.”
Surprise, surprise, once Ryan disappeared out the door, Nimue turned to Holly, smiling benevolently. “You seem nice. I hope my son is right about you. Because if he isn’t—” Nimue’s hand moved in a blur. She stabbed her plastic fork into the back of Holly’s hand.
The plastic shattered, leaving a red gouge. Holly yelped and shook her hand as if the pain were an insect that could be brushed off.
“If you betray him, I’ll do that with a real knife.” Nimue bit into her bun while Holly stared in disbelief.
The door banged open. “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked.
He’d heard her cry out. Holly didn’t know what to say.
(find a mirror)
She stood up, hiding her bloody hand from view. “Sorry. I just—bit my tongue. Excuse me.” She locked herself in the bathroom with the hook-and-eye latch, then ran cold water over her hand in the rusty sink. The gouge wasn’t very deep, but—God! Holly’s heart was pounding like a drum. Should she tell Ryan what his mother had done?
No. He had enough burdens as it was, and it had been less an attack than a warning. Since Holly would never betray Ryan’s secret, no matter how mad she was at him, it was moot.
Holly forced a shaky smile. She tried to judge her effort in the mirror over the sink—and nearly screamed again.
Black lines covered her face— No, black lines covered the surface of the mirror. Yarn, woven to resemble a spider’s web. Despite the date, Holly doubted it was a Halloween decoration. The design had a purpose, probably tying into Nimue’s delusions.
Holly’s breath caught. What if Nimue wasn’t afraid of shiny things? What if Nimue was afraid of mirrors?
(look deep)
Holly’s eyes met those of her reflection’s. She had a muddled impression of a girl who looked just like her but had plain brown hair. The other girl reached out—
Pain lanced through her temples. Holly staggered and caught herself on the edge of the sink.
Oh, crap, what had just happened?
She stared at her reflection, but the pink streak was back in her hair. It was just her, only her, but her body shook because for a moment it hadn’t been her at all.
It had been just a moment, right? Holly checked her watch. Six forty-four p.m. Good, she hadn’t lost any time.
Something small and orange flew out of the mirror.
A spark. No, a wasp-size insect.
The orange wasp-bug thingy buzzed around her head, trapped in the small confines of the bathroom. She ducked, then swatted at it when it flew by.
She hit it out of the air and into the sink. Her palm burned. Had it bitten her?
The wasp buzzed again, but she’d damaged one wing, and it couldn’t fly away. Holly disliked insects, but this one wasn’t like any she’d ever seen—alien—and the need to know more pulled her closer. The bright orange glow in its abdomen faded, and smoke drifted up like an extinguished candle. Bizarre.
A knock on the door made her jump. “Holly, is everything okay?” Ryan asked.
“Yes. I had to kill a—bug.” Holly used some toilet paper to pick up the insect corpse. It felt hot. Not wanting to risk a fire in the wastebasket, she threw the whole wad in the toilet.
The second she flushed it, she realized she should’ve shown it to Ryan. If it was some kind of alien species, she could’ve used it as proof that it had flown out of the mirror. Crap.
Taking a deep breath, she went back out and smiled at Ryan’s crazy, plastic fork–stabbing mother, pretending that everything was just fine.
After supper, Ryan insisted she and Nimue sit in the living room while he rinsed off the dishes. Holly seized the chance. “Why don’t you like shiny reflections?”
Nimue looked around carefully, as if searching for eavesdroppers. “People live on the other side of the mirror,” she whispered. “If you’re not careful, they’ll come through and take over your body.”
Holly dug her fingernails into her palms as she remembered the bowls of water from the overflowing sink and the missing chunk of time on the yacht. “And the yarn stops them?”
“It breaks up the reflection. If she tries to come through, she’ll be cut to pieces.” Nimue bared her teeth.
She looked insane, but, God help her, Holly was starting to think there might be something to her delusions. Either that or Holly was going crazy, too.
And then it was time to catch the last ferry. Ryan saw her out to her car.
“Well?” Tension vibrated in his voice.
Holly let out a sigh. “You win. I won’t tell my dad to cancel. But,” she added sternly, “if I catch you trying to Voice him, all bets are off. And you have to keep coaching me, so I don’t make an utter fool of myself onstage.”
“Done. Thank you. You won’t regret this, I swear.” He put his hands on her hips and dipped his head.
Her pulse spiked, but she stepped back, avoiding his kiss. “I’m still mad at you.”
He looked frustrated, but he nodded. “I get it. But be warned—I’m going to earn your trust back.”
It took all her willpower not to melt right there.
…
When Holly got home that night, she used a red lipstick to draw a heart with an arrow piercing it on her bathroom mirror. And felt safer.
Chapter Thirteen
The Dragon
Leah woke in the middle of the night. Sweating, she plucked at her nightgown’s neckline, trying to cool herself. Did she have a fever? But she didn’t feel ill, only hot like—
Gideon.
Her veins throbbed, and she knew he needed her. Had the dragon hurt him? Sharp anxiety sent her scrambling out of bed. The faint glow from the hypocaust guided her down the hall to the stairs.
Once she gained the second floor, she threaded her way to the corner alcove. Silv
ery moonlight bounced off the Four Worlds mirror as she squirmed underneath.
Fear for Gideon’s safety spurred her to attempt the ladder climb in the dark. Her foot slipped once, but she hauled herself over the lip of rock.
Breath laboring, she unbarred the door. Heat rolled over her when it swung open.
“Gideon?”
In the dark, she saw the great diamond eyes first, then the gleam of black scales. Even with its wings folded, it filled the fifteen-foot window.
“Where’s Gideon?” she asked.
The dragon tilted its wedge-shaped head and opened its jaws, as if trying to speak. Wet steam bathed her face.
Madness overcame her. “Where’s Gideon?” She stabbed a finger at his empty bed. “Gideon. Where is he? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll kill you,” she vowed.
The huge beast ducked its head as if chastened. One corner of her mind wondered why it hadn’t scorched her already, but she kept on. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” She dashed away tears.
The dragon moaned.
Staring into its eyes, Leah had the strangest conviction that it wanted something from her beyond bones to crunch.
“What is it?” she asked in a more reasonable voice. “Is something wrong with Gideon? Do you need my help?”
In answer, it touched the base of its long neck with one front claw.
Incredulity filled Leah. “You want me to ride on your back?”
The dragon stared at her with unblinking eyes, but Leah felt a pulse of heat that seemed to mean yes.
Gideon needed her. As if in a dream, she set her hand on the dragon’s side. Up close she could see that its scales were overlapping triangles. They felt hard and slippery, but her bare feet found enough friction to ascend its leg to the shoulder. She swung one leg over the knobby ridge of its spine, then adjusted her nightgown in a vain effort to get more comfortable. A dragon wasn’t at all like a mule.
The dragon shifted under her like an earthquake, turning in the cramped room. Leah slipped—
The dragon stopped.
She righted herself, but her perch felt precarious.
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