by Cate Corvin
Each breath made my chest rise and fall faster as he wafted the bundle around me, the sticky sweetness of the smoke coating my skin. His dark eyes ran over me and felt like a physical caress, the heat of his gaze leaving trails of fire on my skin.
“There. You’re cleansed now.” His voice was gruff. “Quick and dirty, but it’ll take care of any hitchhikers.”
“Can you help me with the bra?” I asked, giving him my most innocent smile. After years of keeping his emotions locked down tighter than a bank vault, it was vindicating to knock him off-guard.
Instead of brushing me off, he nodded, trying and failing to keep his eyes above the line of my shoulders. I pulled the panties back on, wiggling them over my hips, enjoying the sound of his breathing growing strained.
I turned around as I wiggled the jeans back on and slid the bra over my arms. He fastened the hooks for me with the same agonizing slowness he’d used to remove it, his fingers grazing the length of my spine. I held my hair up and out of the way, shivering as his warm breath touched the back of my neck.
Part of me wished he’d just rip the hooks loose again and yank my jeans back down, but I knew it would never happen. They were just fantasies I needed to abandon.
“I noticed you removed the mirror,” I said conversationally. His hand lingered at the back of my neck, and finally fell away. I turned around, combing my fingers through my hair.
He scoffed, relaxing a little now that I was fully clothed. “I didn’t like knowing what might be watching me from the other side.”
I didn’t feel any different after the ritual, besides being worked up from Eric’s obvious arousal. Odds were good nothing had attached itself to me in the first place.
“Besides Bellhallow, because that’s not happening, we need to choose the best spot to mirrorwalk. I’m thinking my apartment, obviously, since she already knows I’m there. My signature is saturating the place.”
Eric’s dark eyes were concerned as he looked down at me. “You’re staying here until we figure this out.”
My fingers caught on a snarl in my hair. Live here? The house was so stark and spare I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel at home in it.
I also wanted to keep a safe amount of distance between Eric and myself in our down time. I needed to be able to breathe, to not feel bitterness and regret. I needed a sanctuary from the closeness of him, especially with the growing tension between us.
“Why? So you can keep a constant eye on me?” I couldn’t help but go on the defensive immediately. “I already promised I wouldn’t mirrorwalk alone.”
He slid his enormous hands over my shoulders, drawing me closer. The guttering fire low in my belly roared back into life.
“Yeah. Because things are picking up lately and I have a bad feeling deep in my gut. I trust you not to do anything suicidal, Morena. But with the covens arriving and a rogue spirit gunning for you, it’s probably best if you have me close at hand. That’s what I’m here for. To keep you safe.”
I was a butterfly pinned on a needle, unable to breathe as I stared up into his eyes that sparkled like dark jewels. His hands were coals on my shoulders, the weight seeming to sink me into the earth. He squeezed gently, trying to soothe me, trying to convince me.
Most witches kept their human vassals close at hand. I’d decided to try and let mine live his own life, if I wasn’t going to be a traditionalist.
“Don’t you want things, Eric?” I asked. My eyes traced the crow’s feet, the smile lines. Even spending his whole life immersed in the occult, he’d had more smiles than frowns. “I’ve given you space to live your own life. You have this whole house. It’s not too late for children, or a career, or whatever else the humans do-”
He rolled his eyes upwards, clearly asking an unseen Someone to grant him patience. “That time is long past. If I wanted a human family, I would’ve chosen that a long time ago. I made my choice when I was young and I regret nothing about it.”
He smelled of cedarwood and sea salt, a heady combination. I was torn between the urge to inhale deeply and the complete paralyzation of my lungs. Instead, I settled for reaching up to touch his short sand-and-pepper beard, running my fingers along his jaw. My body ached to feel that texture of that stubble against my bare skin… preferably against my inner thighs.
“The Shields have always served the Bells. That is what I want, which is why I’d appreciate you using your common sense and staying where I can keep you safe.” He ran his fingers over the ridges of my wet hair, tracing the hollowness at my temples.
I couldn’t help but frown at him, even though my heart squeezed a little at his speech. “I like having my own space.” At the very least I liked having my own space from him. If I lived in his house… I’d never have peace from the old hurt.
He wasn’t helping, his fingers tracing the rim of my ear, following my neck. My lungs were threatening to mutiny again.
“You’re staying here until we figure out what this is. You don’t have to move in permanently. I’ll help you search for Rosalind, if that’s what you want, but I need to be able to keep the covens at bay until, or if, we decide to treat with them.”
Staying in his home would provide me an extra layer of protection, particularly if the Black twins decided I deserved some sort of petty vengeance. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sophia convinced Samara to do something reckless, regardless of their grandfather’s wishes. After all, if I was out of the picture, Blacksea stood to gain a fortune.
And Eric’s firm tone brooked no argument.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I might stay here for a while. But I am going to look for Mom in Death before I bring anything over.”
We stared up at each other for a long moment, and his finger ran over my collarbone, his palm brushing my cleavage and sending tingles through me.
Eric released me in a sudden movement, leaving me both relieved and disappointed. I could breathe again. He looked happier at my acquiescence, though, which cheered me in turn. His black eyes were warm as he jerked his head. “Let’s go, then.”
The wards around my apartment were still intact when we arrived. There was no sign that Joss or the twins had been anywhere near the complex this morning.
I even felt more peaceful, clean and light, as I strapped my sickle to my side and fastened my belt of salt and nails. The tourmaline beads were warm on my chest. There really was nothing like being ready to do what I did best.
Eric stood behind me, solid and warm, as I stared into the dressing table mirror. The carved roses were warm and glowing from a fresh polish, nearly alive in their detail. The whole table was out of place against the plastered walls of my apartment.
He looked at me in the mirror, meeting my green eyes with his black ones. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked softly. I leaned against him, an immovable brick wall, the shield at my back. “It might not be Rosalind.”
“Yes,” I said honestly. “If it is Mom, we need to find out what she wants. Besides, there’s not a lot of places for me to go here. It’ll be a short trip.”
He reached around me with one arm, holding the unlit white candle between myself and the mirror. I swallowed hard, trying not to notice the fluid ripple of muscle in his forearm. His hips moved forward, that enticing bulge in his jeans brushing me, and it took all my willpower to resist arching my back and pressing into him, wanting to elicit that gruff voice and low growl.
I couldn’t be distracted when I had a mission to accomplish.
“Here goes,” I said, and stared into my eyes, falling into Death.
The Past: 7 Years Old
“Today is your seventh birthday, Morena.” Cool hands smoothed back her hair, fastening it with a gold barrette. Rosalind Bell smiled at her daughter, their identical green eyes locked.
“It’s a big day for every witch in our covens,” she whispered, cupping Morena’s cheeks. “Today is the day you get to-”
“Mirrorwalk!” Morena squealed, throwing her arms around her mother’s n
eck. She smelled of comfort, blooming roses, dark tea, and sandalwood. Rosalind gripped her tighter, clasping her daughter to her.
“We’ll be with you the whole time, darling,” Rosalind said. “Until you’re old enough to pass your apprenticeship, you must never go into the deadside alone. Never, understand? Once you are familiar with it, it’s easier to traverse, but even so, it is a dangerous place.”
Morena walked hand in hand with her mother down the halls of Bellhallow, the sconces flickering with warm light. Rosalind pushed open the door to the study, revealing the walls full of books, the enormous desk lit with tapers.
A massive mirror dominated the wall opposite, floor to ceiling, the gilt frame a rococo frenzy of mermaids and nymphs. Morena had played around this mirror for seven years, and she still sometimes thought the frame changed at times. Hadn’t that long-haired siren been in the bottom corner last week?
John Bell and Eric walked in together. Their servitor carried a large white taper candle. “I’m not late, am I?” her father asked. Morena ran to him, throwing her arms around him as he knelt. “Happy birthday, my beautiful little girl.”
She drew back, smiling at him. “I’m only walking with Mom today?” she asked. “Why not you, Dad?” Her father smiled at her, ruffling her dark curls and ruining the careful style Rosalind had created.
“Because your mother wants to be with you for the first walk,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be here, and Eric will be your anchor. You’ll see what it’s like for one of us.”
“Are you ready, Mor?” Eric asked. His skin was dark from the sun, unlike her own unnaturally pale family. Her mother had warned her that her own freckled olive skin would fade the longer she spent in the deadside of the mirror.
Rosalind beckoned her daughter to her. They stood side by side and gripped hands in front of the enormous mirror, barely a breath away from the glass, as Eric lit the taper and stood behind them. Morena was grateful for his warmth at her back with the coldness of the mirror just ahead.
“Look into your own eyes, Morena,” Rosalind said softly. Morena obeyed, staring into her own pupils, watching as they grew and grew…
Fear gripped her, washing away her excitement in a torrent of ice over her skin. She felt her fingers creaking as she gripped her mother’s hand as hard as she could, her knees trembling-
She stepped into the study, still clinging to Rosalind. Morena breathed a sigh of relief and then looked down.
She stood in a thick carpet of dust, the rich colors of the study washed into tones of gray. Cobwebs drifted from the chandelier, the desk was dull with age, and the spines of the books were coated white with age.
“Welcome to the land of the dead, Morena,” Rosalind said, smiling down at her daughter. Her mother was the only color in this place, her chestnut hair vibrant against the graying walls.
Morena clung to her, gazing around at the aged manor with wide eyes. She turned and saw an identical version of the study mirror behind them, the gilt long since flaked away. Morena and Rosalind were reflected back at them, staring frozen-eyed through the mirror, a candle flame flickering between them.
“Can you feel the flame in your chest?” Rosalind asked. “That’s your anchor. You must always have someone you trust on the liveside to guide your spirit back to your body.”
Morena reflected on that, and realized that she could feel the flame, a warm ball of light fluttering in her chest like a caged bird. She smiled back at Eric, knowing he was waiting there even if she couldn’t see him, and took a tentative step further into the study, kicking up clouds of dust.
The deadside was unnaturally silent and dim, her own footsteps muffled. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“There are several rules we have about entering the deadside,” Rosalind said. She moved confidently into the crumbling version of their study, the dust coating her skirt. “It is a privilege to walk in Death. Not all witches can accomplish this or move as far as others. Many of them forget who they are as soon as they enter the mirror. First of all, you must always exit through the mirror you arrived in.”
She pointed to the massive mirror behind Morena, and led her daughter further into Death, into a shadowed hallway. Morena suppressed another shiver, grabbing a handful of her mother’s skirt as they walked. The hallway ended in a window that usually looked out over the manor grounds, but all she could see was a thick layer of mist covering the lawn. Dark shapes flitted through it like fish in a pond.
“Second, you must never open a door or window leading outside the house you are in. The true lands of the dead lay out there, and they are not for us.”
They drifted down a dark hallway, brushing aside spiderwebs that lay in delicate curtains. Rosalind led her daughter to her bedroom. The large bed where her parents slept was grimy, the coverlet beginning to rot and fray. The canopy hung in dreary tatters, giving the room a funereal feel.
Her mother’s dressing table was covered in crusted perfume bottles, the glass dull. Morena gazed into the large mirror over it with a start.
It reflected the bedroom behind her, but it was even darker, the light growing even fainter. The curtains had succumbed to a pale gray mold, the bed stained with dark splotches. She turned and saw the canopy still intact, if dusty. Then she looked again. This new mirror reflected the same grim, desiccated scene.
“And finally, the third rule. You must never walk deeper through another mirror.” Rosalind gazed at the reflected scene sternly. “Death is infinite. The darkness is infinite. Witches who walk past their boundaries do not return, Morena.”
“What’s at the bottom, Mom?” Morena asked. Her whisper seemed to fill the silent room. Rosalind paused thoughtfully, her expression wavering and strange.
“I don’t know,” Rosalind said. “But it’s nothing you ever want to see. Now, let’s practice following the lifeline back to Eric.”
Before she left the room, she saw her mother gazing pensively at the dressing table, her eyes glued to the corrupted scene beyond. A line had appeared between her brows.
Morena followed the flutter in her chest and stepped through the mirror with her mother, studiously not looking at the blackened, flaking frame, and fell into her body.
She gasped as warmth came back to her skin and prickled over her. Eric’s lean strength picked her up, balancing her upright. “How was your first voyage?” he asked, letting her clutch his hands in a painful grip.
Rosalind was brushing herself off, as cool as ever, and John smiled and held his arms out for his daughter. Morena couldn’t show fear in front of her parents, not after the first visit. She wrapped her arms around her father. “It was awesome!” she said, beaming.
Her mother smiled and looked up at the same time as her father. Morena felt a prickle in the wards around the manor, the disturbance they’d sensed. “A new petition must have come in,” John said, eyeing Rosalind. “I’m sorry, Morena. We need to take care of this, but I promise the party is still happening tonight. You did wonderfully.”
Morena waited impatiently for both of her parents to kiss her before they left.
Once their footsteps had retreated down the hallway, Morena tugged Eric down to one knee, settling herself against him. His warmth was a welcome respite from the chill dust of Death. “It was terrifying,” she whispered into his shoulder, as though confessing a sin. “It was awful, everything was gray and rotten-”
To her shame, her eyes filled with tears. She hid her face against his chest, shaking as she fought back a sob.
Eric held her tightly, rubbing her back. “You want to know a secret?” he whispered. Morena peeked up at him, a tear sliding down her cheek.
“I was with your father on his first walk,” Eric said conspiratorially. He brushed back a strand of sweaty hair from her face. “He cried, too.”
Morena started, suppressing a laugh. Her dad had cried? She couldn’t imagine him, stern, black and white like an ink portrait, ever crying over something he did every d
ay. “Really?” she asked. She gripped Eric’s shirt with both hands, still feeling small and afraid, but not quite so alone anymore.
“He did,” Eric whispered back. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Morena sniffled a little, wiping her face on her sleeve. “Eric,” she started, sitting up. She wasn’t quite ready to leave the giant that meant safety, shield, and shelter. “Are you going be my anchor? When I start mirrorwalking alone?”
He rubbed her hair, holding her close. “I will always be your anchor, Mor. I promise.”
7
I climbed onto the dressing table, scattering wood polish and perfume as I crawled through the mirror and landed with a dusty thump on the gray carpet. Dust puffed around my boots as I straightened and surveyed Death in silence.
It was odd seeing an even more rotten version of my apartment on the deadside of the mirror. The crack in the wall had become an entire branching tree, swathes of plaster falling away to reveal the wooden bones of the building. My already-shabby curtains were moth-eaten and worn to holes in places. Mist swirled beyond them, the diffuse and pale light filtering into the apartment.
Goosebumps prickled over my skin as I moved further into the living room. That indefinable weight had returned, the presence that had watched me as I reduced Cecily’s tormentor to ash and dust.
It didn’t feel like Mom at all.
I held the sickle with a tight grip, peering into the kitchenette. It was empty but for dust and shards of broken glass scattered across the dingy tiles.
“Mom?” I asked. “Rosalind?”
My voice didn’t echo, but the flat loudness of it filled the deadside like a shout. I almost flinched at the sound of it. Living voices simply didn’t belong on this side of the mirror.
No one replied. I stared back towards the mirror I had come through, wondering who had been looking into it, leaving their handprints for me to find. There were no tracks in the dusty carpet besides my own, and those would fade very quickly.
