by Wendy Knight
"Landon! Landon!"
He whirled in a circle, searching for the voice, the hand he'd seen, anything, but he was alone in the hallway, spinning like a maniac. He heard his parents, could see them in front of him, felt them grab at him and let them pull him close, but it was all from a distance.
"He wasn't feeling well earlier…"
"He was fine at dinner!"
"He doesn't have a fever."
"Landon? Honey?"
When he'd first told them he saw Eiress in the mirror, all those years ago, they'd been terrified. They thought he was seeing things, hallucinating. They'd taken him to a psychologist. They'd made him draw pictures of her and theorized what his lapses in sanity meant. The medications they'd put him on had nasty side effects. He'd finally learned to play along, to pretend she was an imaginary friend.
So, of course, he couldn't tell them now that he was also being stalked by what seemed to be a ghost.
"It is awfully cold in here. Maybe turn the heat up?"
They could feel it, too. It wasn't just him.
"I thought—I thought I saw a spider," he finally had the sense to mumble.
They both froze in their worried examinations of him to stare. "A spider?" his dad asked.
"But—but you killed that one for me yesterday." His mom frowned. "And it was huge."
Landon had always been a horrible liar, but he tried his best. "I—I know. It dropped down right in front of me, but then I lost it, and I was looking for it…"
His voice trailed off while they both scoured the walls and floor, looking for the made-up spider. "I don't see anything," his mom said.
"Maybe it ran into the vent." His dad nodded, laughing uncomfortably. "Just got a week's worth of cardio because you saw a spider."
His mom wasn't convinced. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?" She squinted at him, and despite the fact that he towered over her by almost a foot, he felt like a little kid, lying about a broken window.
He nodded mutely.
"Let's just get you into bed, then." She led him down the hall by the elbow, and tucked him under his covers like she hadn't done in about ten years. Kissing him on the forehead, she backed away, still watching him with worried eyes. "Should I leave the hall light on?"
He felt like the world's biggest coward when he nodded. "Sure."
She turned reluctantly and ducked out, forehead creased. He heard her, in the hall, talking to his dad. "Something's wrong. He hasn't kept the light on since that little imaginary friend he used to have."
"Maybe he caught a scary movie with his friends. He'll be fine."
Yeah. That had to be it. Something scary he'd watched was now attacking his subconscious. He was not losing his mind and/or hearing ghosts cry for help.
"Please."
He swore, jerking upright, covers tumbling to the floor. "That's it. Who are you?" He kept his voice low, but tried to put all the force of a bellow into it. "Stop freaking me the hell out."
The mirror sparked.
Panic gripped him. He leaped out of bed, tripped over the blankets, nearly broke his neck, and ran to the mirror. "Eiress?" he half-shrieked.
Like a little girl.
She wasn't there. Kaida, who was waiting at the door, lifted his silvery head and hissed.
"I can help you help her."
The voice came from behind him, even as the mirror swirled and sparked again.
He spun. "Who are you?"
Finally, finally, she shimmered to life in front of him.
Or…non-life, as it were.
A woman, maybe his mom's age, wafted two feet above the ground between him and the safety of the doorway. His mouth opened—to cry out or shriek again—he wasn't sure. But his voice failed him completely.
"Help her. Please."
She raised a hand and pointed to the mirror. It seemed to take an inhuman amount of energy, and the air around them shook.
"Eiress?" he asked, moving closer to the ghost, wondering where that little bit of courage came from. Eiress. Even the mere thought of her drove him to insanity. "You want me to help Eiress?"
She nodded, a silvery tear snaking its way down her cheek.
"I will. Anything. Just tell me how." He would have grabbed her hand to hold her to him if it were possible. His fear was gone—anything that could help him help Eiress was not something to be feared.
He hoped.
"I am…her mother…"
Landon swore again. Of course. It all made sense now.
She reached past him, touched the mirror again, and Landon turned to see it swirl away from Eiress's empty chambers to an altogether different scene. A woman—the ghost in front of him—but still alive, knelt over the lifeless body of a young girl, maybe twelve years old. Her neck was torn, the ground around her soaked in blood. The woman sobbed as paramedics came, as cops came, as strangers with cameras came. A baby boy screamed on the floor next to her. They asked her questions. They asked her what had happened, and she couldn't answer them. They asked her where her other little girl was. Her sweet little girl.
Eiress.
Where had Eiress gone?
The mirror swirled, time seemed to pass, and the woman sank into despair as she searched for her lost little girl. The funeral, the questions, the constant, never ending search. Someone came and took the baby away.
And then the swirling stopped. In the flashback, the woman stared at the mirror, sobbing, in the darkness.
Eiress appeared in front of her.
Landon recognized her. This was when he'd started seeing her, or soon after.
"Mama, please, I can't stay long." Eiress looked over her shoulder. "Please, stop looking. Please. Where I am—you can't—you can't save me. Please move on, Mama. I love you." Eiress put her hand to the mirror.
The woman cried harder, raised her hand, reaching for Eiress—but Eiress screamed once and then was gone.
"I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't…" The woman raised her head, eyes terrified, yet full of determination. "I can't save her while I'm alive. But I can…" The next image was the woman, standing next to her own dead body.
She'd taken her own life.
The mirror shifted.
Landon, much younger, played at the antique shop while his mother worked. He was drawing faces in the dust of a mirror on his own reflection. The ghost of the woman stood behind him, watching. She reached out, and in horror little Landon started to scream, but her hand passed him and touched the mirror. "Help her."
In the mirror, Eiress's chambers—and little Eiress—swirled to life.
"You! You're the reason I can see her!" Landon gasped, jerking toward her.
She nodded, silver tears soaking her cheeks. "Help her."
"I will. I will. Just tell me how."
Again, she touched the mirror. A sign, painted wood—Welcome to West Haven—and then a cemetery. It zoomed in on a grave with the statue of an angel watching over it.
"Get the key." Eiress's mother whispered, pointing. "Get the key, and call Mary…with the ruby. It will protect you." She was losing substance, as if the energy required to talk to him was quickly dissolving her away. "You won't see me again. But I am here. Always here. Too tired. Too hard to come…"
That was when Landon understood. She'd appeared to him once, and it had taken her all these years to gather the energy to appear to him again.
Before she was gone completely, he turned back to her. "I'll save her. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll save her."
She smiled, broken and yet the most hopeful thing Landon had ever seen. "Thank you."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I have to go to a ball? I'm not leaving this room. This place is horrible. My daddy will figure out how to get me out."
Her name was Brittan. Her soul was black and spoiled. Eiress could see it under the heavy makeup and trendy clothes. She was not a kind soul. Eiress tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but after Brittan's initial fear had faded, she'd become demanding and rude.
&nbs
p; Eiress clenched her teeth. "You have to go to the ball. We usher the damned through the gates. If you don't make an appearance, Mary will let Elizabeth come after you. And she doesn't care if you don't make it past Elizabeth's claws or not."
Brittan paled, the fear in her soul clenching her heart.
Apparently, she'd met Elizabeth.
"Whatever you do, don't dance with the damned. They will return to the living and—"
"Could you please not tell me what to do? No offense, but you're not my mom." Brittan rolled her eyes. Her fake lashes threatened to fall, clinging haphazardly to her eyes.
"No. I'm not your mother. I've just been here for fourteen years, learning how to survive. Don't dance at the ball." Eiress whirled, lifting her skirts out of the way of her chains. She had to change. Mary did not like her princesses to wear the same dress twice, and Eiress, for the life of her, couldn't remember if she'd even bothered to change since last night.
"You're leaving me?" Brittan shrieked, her hands like claws on Eiress's arm. "But—but this place—"
Eiress shook her off. "If you're afraid to be alone, I suggest you get dressed and come with me. I'm not waiting to be fetched by Elizabeth."
"Dressed?"
Eiress nodded toward the massive armoire and crossed her arms over her chest. "Hurry up. My dragon's waiting."
Brittan's blue eyes widened in alarm. "You have a dragon?"
Eiress could have pointed out that her having a dragon was probably the least bizarre thing Brittan would run into today, but she just wanted to go. Brittan was not an ally. Her soul was too dark. Even though she had a body like Mary and Elizabeth, she couldn't hide her soul from Eiress. No one could, not here. Not when reading souls was how Eiress survived.
Although she wasn't sure, if she ever saw a soul too beautiful to be here, that she would have the courage to dance and send herself to hell so she could set the soul free. If the last fourteen years weren't hell, she couldn't imagine how awful it might actually be.
Nor did she want to.
"What is this place, anyway?" Britton asked as she dug through the armoire.
Eiress sighed. "It's the Isle of the Damned. Apparently, when Mary was beheaded, the devil rewarded her with the Isle and the castle for her evil deeds. She has her own court, her own subjects. No one can ever take it away from her."
"Weird." Brittan spent the next fifteen minutes criticizing each beautiful black and gray dress she'd been given.
Black and gray. Everything in this world was colorless. Apparently, Mary wasn't fond of color. Mary, or whoever had created this place for her.
That was why Eiress's bright red hair was such an anomaly. Her only act of defiance.
"Brittan, honestly, if you aren't ready by the time I count to thirty, I'm leaving without you." It didn't matter how long Eiress had been there. She was still terrified of Elizabeth.
Terrified might be an understatement, actually.
"What?" Brittan gasped. "It will take me twenty minutes just to figure out how to get this thing on!"
Eiress glared at her for about five seconds. She snatched up her skirts, stalked across the room, grabbed a dress out of the armoire, and threw it at Brittan. "Get. Dressed."
Brittan glared back, but Eiress didn't care. She whirled away and stalked out the door.
"Wait! I'm coming!" Brittan, clutching the dress, came flying out after her, eyes wide and terrified. Eiress breathed in silent relief.
It took her far longer to make it back to her quarters than it had when she'd raced recklessly through the halls. She had to stop to explain to Brittan twice that she had no idea how the chains worked, or why they seemed to be almost alive, or why they didn't clank and scrape like normal chains. "We all wear them. Elizabeth, Mary, me. You. It's just how it works here. You come through the mirror and the chains clamp on. So we can't escape out of the mirrors. Or," She motioned with her head, "out into the nightmares."
"You've never been out there?" Brittan asked, peering around Eiress into the darkness beyond.
The darkness, which was a blessing and a curse. It hid the nightmares, except for the occasional glowing eyes, but it also hid the nightmares.
"Only a few feet. To rescue my dragon. That was as far as the chains would let me reach." Eiress shuddered.
They made it to her quarters as the bell started to toll. "Kaida, hide." Eiress said, dumping her little dragon off her pillow. He squeaked in protest and then stretched his wings and soared up, into the darkness. The ceilings were so high, and light so weak, that Eiress had never even seen the top half of her room. She raced to her own armoire, yanked out a dress without looking, and flung the one she was wearing to the floor. "Hurry, Brittan," she whispered.
This time, Brittan did as she was asked, changing as quickly as Eiress. Eiress grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room, into the halls as the last toll of the clock sounded. They sprinted silently through the castle, but they weren't fast enough. Rounding the corner, Eiress nearly ran right into Elizabeth Bathory.
The witch would have been beautiful, if Eiress couldn't see her soul. Long, long black hair, pure white skin, perfect bone structure. But her eyes. Her eyes were pure black, swirling with fiery hatred. "You're late."
She didn't wait for an answer. She slid through the shadows around Eiress, to Brittan. Brittan whimpered, clinging to Eiress's hand, turning her face away. "You haven't made a very good first impression, young one." She ran a fingernail along Brittan's cheek, drawing black blood. "Your skin is soft. Your blood is pure." Her other hand reached for Brittan's neck, the nails growing into claws.
"Stop it." Eiress wasn't sure where the voice had come from. She nearly fell over when she realized it was her own. "Stop it, Elizabeth. You can't have her."
Elizabeth jerked upright, whirling to glare at Eiress. "You dare defy me, little princess? Just because Mary fears—"
"We are late, Elizabeth. Mary doesn't like it when we're late, does she? Save your evil little games for another time." Eiress had no idea where the strength in her voice had come from. She glanced up, saw the gilded mirrors running along the length of the ceiling, and felt him. Her friend was here with her. And she was strong.
Pulling Brittan away from Elizabeth, they hurried the rest of the way to the ballroom. Brittan's quiet sobs and Eiress's hitched breathing echoed off the harsh black walls. Behind them, Elizabeth dissolved into the shadows.
Mary's wrath could be felt before they even opened the ballroom doors. Eiress trembled so hard she could barely grip the handle. It swung open at her touch, despite how much she feared the woman on the other side.
Vlad grinned at them, a horrifying grin full of sharp teeth and blood lust. Brittan cried out, clutching at Eiress's back as she cringed away from him. "The Princesses of the Damned, your majesty."
"Stand tall. Don't look her in the eye and whatever you do, don't dance with anyone," Eiress whispered.
Brittan nodded too fast, her head snapping on her neck.
"You will not sit on your thrones this evening." Mary's smile was cruel, and Eiress trembled harder. "You will kneel. There." She pointed one long, clawed finger toward the center of the ballroom. They would be surrounded by the damned.
Eiress felt a terrified sob rise in her throat, and she fought to contain it. Mary loved to see fear. She fed off it. Eiress refused to give her that power. Instead, she nodded, raising her chin, and went to the center of the room. Settling on her knees on the floor, she smoothed her skirts around her, secretly hoping they would protect her from the evilness of the souls. Black chains joined the silver ones, winding around her ankles and her neck, keeping her in place.
Next to her, Brittan sobbed.
And Mary smiled.
As he did every night, Vlad announced them and swung open the doors. The rotting souls swarmed the room, the brave going to Mary and Elizabeth, the weak eagerly surrounded Eiress and Brittan. Eiress squeezed her eyes shut tight and held her breath. Maybe if she didn't breathe, she wouldn't…
But no. They touched her, and every evil thing they'd done, their lust in it, and their madness, invaded her mind, pulling her into their memories. As if she were them. As if she were the one raising the gun, the fist, the knife. As if she were the one raping, murdering, torturing. She heard the screams, the crying and begging. Every so often, through their memories, she'd see a cave in the darkness. A solace they had found in the Isle. They would promise to take her there, and she would shake her head no, and they'd be shoved aside by the next damned in line. Every time a new soul touched her, begging for a dance and another chance at life, she was pulled back under.
Like she was drowning in their memories.
Somewhere, from a distance, she could hear Brittan screaming. She wanted to reach for her, to lend her strength, but her chains held her fast.
Eiress wasn't sure she had any strength to lend, anyway. Still, she fought to raise her hand. Fought, and failed, and Brittan kept screaming.
Hours, years, centuries passed, each soul darker than the one before, and finally Mary raised her voice. "Would you care to dance, little princesses? I give you permission to rise."
The rustle of skirts, and Eiress's eyes flew open. "Brittan, no!" she cried.
"I will dance! Let me go and I will dance! I will dance with them all!" Brittan babbled through her tears.
"Brittan, don't do it. Your soul—you'll lose your soul! Brittan!"
But Brittan wouldn't look at her. Her frantic eyes scanned the souls. "Him. He's hot. I'll dance with him." She pointed at one whose memories would haunt Eiress forever. Hot? How could Brittan not see?
No one sees their souls but me.
That may have been true, but even if Brittan couldn't see what he was, she could feel it. She was pulled into their memories just as Eiress was.
"Brittan, don't do this. Please, Brittan, listen to me—"
"Stop it, Eiress!" Brittan shouted, covering her ears with her hands. "Leave me alone!"
The soul came to her, offered his hand. Brittan smiled through her tears, even batted her eyelashes. Mary and Elizabeth watched, practically giddy.
Brittan took the soul's hand, and her chains fell away.
