“In the pyramid workers’ town, the men spent much of their time away at the pyramid site, so the day-to-day running of the town fell largely to the women. I’ve long believed these things belonged to a female magician. They would have been used in the rituals she was called upon to perform: casting protective spells against disease, and physical dangers such as snakebites, scorpion stings, and against the constant threat of wild animals. But especially against the dangerous forces that threatened young children, and women in childbirth.
“Is it possible that the mummy who was buried with this mirror might in fact be the magician who wore that mask? Was it perhaps by force of magic that she was so well preserved?”
Simon had listened with rapt attention to every word she spoke, thinking and wondering all the while.
“Then the mirror would have been home to the magician’s double in the tomb, wouldn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Cameron.
“Then what happened to it when the mirror was stolen?” asked Abbey.
Simon stared down at the mirror. He thought of Babs and her mirror friend, and again of his own double, who’d slipped from the mirror when he was sick and wandered free. He remembered the vision in the mirror of the man running through the desert in the night, and the figure flowing out of the mirror he carried. He looked at Cameron, who looked back and slowly nodded. And he summoned the courage to say what till then he’d only dared to think.
“It escaped from the mirror,” he said and sat silent as the weight of it settled upon them. “And maybe when it did, the mirror returned to the way it had appeared in ancient times, when the double first went into it.”
“Then you’re saying that Alice Loudon is—what? The magician’s double?” said Abbey.
“Yes,” he said.
“But if she somehow managed to get free of the mirror, why would she be seeking it so desperately now?”
“When the double was tied to the tomb, it took the form of a shadow,” said Cameron. “Perhaps when it was loosed into the world, it became a creature of flesh and blood. But because it was immortal—”
“It didn’t need to eat or drink,” said Simon, suddenly understanding.
“And it wouldn’t have aged,” said Abbey. “That would explain that photo you found, Simon, where she looked exactly the same eighty years ago.”
He took the photo from his pocket and handed it to Cameron. She studied it intently and set it down on the desk.
“But then, for some reason, things began to change,” she said. “She began to change, to age. And perhaps she realized she was linked to the mirror after all—that her life depended upon it somehow. So she began to seek it out. When Hawkins came into possession of it, he became the object of her pursuit, as the dealer Winstanley had before. And as you have now that it’s come into your hands.
“There’s something I’d like you to see.” She turned in her chair and switched on a small monitor sitting on one of the bookshelves behind her. “Another mystery surrounding the recent thefts. All this talk of shadows made me think of it.”
An image flickered onto the screen.
“This is the footage from a security camera in the gallery at the time of the most recent theft,” she said. “I won’t tell you how many times I’ve watched it, searching for some clue as to how that necklace could possibly have disappeared.”
People came and went, drifting briefly onto the screen, drifting away. For long periods the gallery stood empty. She fast-forwarded the tape; the time highlighted on the image sped by. Suddenly she stopped.
“Now look closely,” she said. “There, in the background, a figure appears at the entrance to the room. Do you see?”
They saw a blurry figure pause briefly in the doorway without entering the room and then walk on by, beyond the range of the camera.
“Now watch,” said Cameron. She sped up the tape again. Minutes flew by on the monitor. The same figure paused and passed by several times. She returned the tape to normal speed as the figure appeared again in the doorway. But now as it passed, a shadow suddenly appeared on the floor near the entrance to the room.
“Do you see that?” said Cameron.
“Yes,” said Simon. As he watched the shadow drift slowly across the floor he pictured the shadow slipping down the porch stairs and along the side of the house with Caesar in pursuit. The shadow on the monitor fell briefly over the display case and moved on.
“When I first saw it, I couldn’t make any sense of it,” said Cameron. “I thought it must be the shadow of a passing cloud or plane outside. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Abbey had her nose pressed close to the screen. “Wait,” she said. “Did you see that glint on the glass of the case? Can you go back and pause it there?”
Cameron slowly rewound the tape.
“There. Right there,” said Abbey. “Can you zoom in on that?”
Cameron zoomed in on the image fixed on the screen. It was blurry, and it distorted as it draped over the edge of the case. But there, reflected in the glass, was a face. The face of Alice Loudon.
They stood dumbfounded, staring at the frozen image, till Cameron reached out and switched off the monitor. She walked back to her desk and sat down. For a long while, she looked down at the mirror, lost in thought.
“Supposing Alice Loudon is who we imagine her to be,” she said at last. “Why would she want these things that have gone missing?”
“To make magic with,” said Simon.
“In order to get hold of the mirror,” added Abbey.
“I may be mad, but I think you’re right,” said Cameron. “What she intends to do with it, I don’t know. But I fear her power, with it in her possession. Now, I’m no magician, but I’ve studied Egyptian magic for many years, and there’s one thing I know for certain—the only way to meet magic is with magic.
“Normally, we’d be no match for her. But she is in a weakened state, and she’s not expecting to be opposed—certainly not by magic. Now, Egyptian magic is a very complex art. It depends on combining exactly the right words, with the right actions and the right materials, at the right time. If any of these is lacking, the spell will not work.
“The first thing I need to do is go back over the ancient texts to see if I can find a spell to suit our purposes, or else craft a new one. It will take me a little time, but it’s important that we move cautiously, for I expect we’ll have just one chance. I’ll call you when I’m done, and we can plan our next move.
“In the meantime, I’ll keep the mirror here with me. I want you both to be very careful. I’m not convinced Alice Loudon is evil, but she is certainly desperate—and dangerous because of that. She seems to be biding her time at the moment. But if anything happens, anything at all, you can reach me at this number.” She gave them her card. “You should probably be going. The building will be closing soon. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”
They wound their way through the maze of flickering passageways. Cameron called the elevator down and Simon and Abbey stepped in. They left her standing alone in the dim hallway as the doors closed and they ascended to the upper world.
* * *
The visit had totally drained Simon. He was so tired it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. Abbey insisted on walking him safely home. They came in by the back way, along the lane, to avoid being seen.
The lane was lined with old garages separated by high wooden fences. Some were still being used for cars, but others, like his own, had been put to other purposes. Several had been abandoned and were waiting for a strong wind to blow them down. As they passed the slumping shell of one of these, Simon glanced up the lane and froze.
Caesar was nosing around the double doors of his garage. It was no longer the frisky pup Abbey had petted in the park, but the fearsome creature he’d seen from the study window. As though catchi
ng wind of his fear, the dog suddenly stopped what it was doing and turned to face them. It fixed them with a glare, and the hackles bristled on the back of its neck. Though it was halfway down the lane, Simon heard the menacing growl that started up in its throat as clearly as he had when it sounded from the bushes that day in the Hawkins yard.
“Don’t run,” said Abbey. “Back away—slowly.”
They began to back up on trembling legs, their feet slipping on the gravelly ground. The dog let out two sharp barks and sank into a crouch. Simon scanned the yards to either side, searching for an escape.
But then, as if in response to some inaudible command, the dog suddenly sat down on its haunches in front of the garage doors and was utterly still. Only its great eyes moved, fixed on their every step as they backed slowly away.
There was a muffled sound of breaking glass that seemed to come from inside the garage. They watched in amazement as a large, dark splotch began to seep out from under the garage doors and creep slowly along the ground till it reached the spot where the dog sat.
Immediately it stood up. With one last look their way, it turned and started off in the opposite direction down the lane. The black shape slid along in front of it, stretching out like pulled toffee into a lean, distended head and two spindly arms and legs—a shadow with a human shape, gliding before the dog as it bounded down the lane, crossed the road, and loped up the walk to the Loudon house.
They stood watching until it was out of sight. Then, with a quick goodbye, Abbey took off along the lane, while Simon hurried toward the back gate of the house.
He slipped into the yard and opened the garage door. It was darker than night inside. As he groped around for the light switch in the dark he felt the telling crunch of shattered glass underfoot. He pictured a scene of devastation around him—things pulled down from their perches, boxes torn open and overturned, the floor strewn with scattered books and papers.
He was far too tired to face it now. He locked the garage behind him and let himself into the house by the back door. Dragging himself up the stairs to his room, he dropped into bed. In moments, he was asleep.
34
Most mornings, they met in the park and walked together to school. No matter how grim he felt, it was better than staying home, staring uneasily across the street as they waited for Cameron’s call. At lunch, they huddled together at a corner table in the cafeteria, talking in hushed tones.
With the weather growing cooler, Alice Loudon had abandoned the porch. The car had disappeared from the drive, the dog from the yard. Simon had seen no sign of James Loudon for weeks. The house sat dark and still. Were it not for the steady trickle of students to the door, he would have sworn it was empty.
One Saturday, late in September, Mom was called in to sub for a sick cashier, and Simon was left to babysit Babs. After her afternoon nap, he zipped her into her fall jacket and took her out to the backyard to play while he cut the grass.
His gaze wandered repeatedly to the door of the garage as he worked. He remembered the scene that had met him inside, the day after the trip to the museum. He had expected to encounter devastation, but aside from the wind chime having been knocked down from its nail, shattering several of its chimes on the hard dirt floor, everything was as it had been.
Yet there was an unsettling sense of intrusion to the place, the eerie feeling that something had passed secretly over things, slipped silently down through the gaps between boxes, and slid inside each one.
Babs had brought two of her dolls out with her. She walked them up and down the yard in their toy stroller while he raked and bagged the grass clippings. As the sun sank lower in the sky their shadows stretched long and lean across the lawn. And he thought of other shadows—the one that had seeped out from under the garage door, the one that eased slowly across the museum floor. Suddenly, every shadow took on human shape.
“Let’s go in, Babs,” he said. “Mama will be home soon.”
It had grown chillier since the shadows claimed the yard, and Babs put up little fuss over going in. She scooped up her dolls, and they headed back inside the house.
Omens of autumn were in the air. The dark came down earlier now. The nights were cool, and some of the trees had begun to turn. With the chill came the old ache of illness, the bitter taste on the tongue, the fog in the brain—like a memory stored in the bones. His sleep was shallow, his dreams vivid and strange. He said nothing to anyone, but Abbey knew it was back.
* * *
One night the following week, he was up in his room when the doorbell rang. A few minutes later, Mom came to the foot of the stairs and called him down. He heard the piano being played in the background. His breath came short and his heart began to pound. Mom had to call up a second time before he worked up the courage to go down.
“Ah, there you are, Simon,” she said as he slunk into the living room. Dad’s cigarette was still smoldering in the ashtray. The door to the kitchen was closed. Alice Loudon was seated at the piano, playing.
“Mrs. Loudon has just dropped by to show us the poster she printed up for the fall recital.”
Fall recital? It was the first he’d heard of it. Alarm bells began to sound inside him. Alice Loudon glanced up from the piano and gave him a smile.
“Hello, Simon,” she said, without a hint in her voice of what lurked just below the surface between them.
She rose to greet him, offering him her gloved hand. As he took it in his he felt bone and sinew strung beneath the cloth—with shocking voids between, where his fingers closed on nothingness. Instinctively, he drew back his hand.
They stood face to face. She wore a jacket with the collar turned up, a silk scarf tied loosely about her neck, a long skirt, high boots. He felt it was no accident that there was not a trace of exposed skin save for her face, which was powdered an ashen white. Her sunglasses perched unsteadily on the bridge of her nose. Her mouth was pulled thin and taut. The flush of her over-painted lips was frightening. When he plumbed the dark glasses for her eyes, all he saw were still, dark pools.
She reached down and took a handful of posters from a small pile sitting on the coffee table and handed them to him. They were printed in bright fall colors. The old piano that appeared on her business card was scattered now with leaves of brilliant red and burnished gold. Fall Recital, it read across the top of the poster. The location and time were printed below.
“Perhaps you could pass some of these around to your friends,” she said. “That nice girl I’ve seen you with. Oh, what’s her name?”
“Abbey,” offered Mom, when he failed to provide the name.
“Yes, of course—Abbey. Perhaps you and Abbey could post a few at school. Everyone is welcome.”
“I’m just a bundle of nerves,” said Mom. “I’ve never played in public before. Not like Simon. He’s an old pro. Aren’t you, dear?”
“No, not really,” he said.
“Nonsense. You’re just being modest. He won that cup there on the mantel.”
“Mom,” he said.
“There are still a couple of openings for our little recital,” said Alice Loudon. “Perhaps we could entice you to come out of retirement.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“He’s very good,” said Mom. “A natural—like my dad. He puts me to shame.”
“Mustn’t hide your light beneath a bushel, Simon,” said Mrs. Loudon. “I’d love to hear you. Perhaps you could play a little something for me now.”
“I haven’t played in ages,” he said as Alice Loudon steered him toward the piano with the light pressure of her hand. “I don’t have any music.”
“Why don’t you play that little Bach piece Granddad used to play,” said Mom, who knew he had the piece by heart. “I’ll just be in the kitchen.” And off she went.
He sat down reluctantly at the keyboard. It had been more than two years, and he w
as sure he’d forgotten everything. But with the gentle pressure of Alice Loudon’s gloved hand on his shoulder, it was as if a sluice opened inside him. The music flowed freely through him. He had never played so well. He found himself in a place beyond all thought, beyond all doubt and hesitation. His fingers found the keys by themselves.
He felt her hand tighten on his shoulder, felt the power flow from her to him, from him to her, in a steady stream until, by the time the last note sounded, he had lost all sense of self.
“That was splendid,” said Mrs. Loudon. “Absolutely splendid.” There was a flush of color in her pallid cheeks, a flare of fire in the dark of her eyes. “I do hope you’ll play for me again.”
Mom reappeared from the kitchen. He was so drained it was all he could do to say his goodbyes and stumble up the stairs to his room.
His sleep that night was full of strange dreams. He saw a masked figure whirling beneath the moon in the Loudons’ yard. Come morning, he could still feel Alice Loudon’s grip on his shoulder. When he looked in the mirror, the bruised skin bore the imprint of her hand.
* * *
He found himself seated at the piano. He had no idea how he got there or how long he’d been playing. Off in the distance a doorbell was ringing. He had a vague feeling it had been ringing for some time. He went to answer it, thinking it might be her. But it was only Abbey.
Abbey took one look at him and knew something was wrong. Hustling him into the kitchen, she splashed cold water on his face. There was still some coffee in the pot Mom had made that morning. Abbey poured him a cup. It was bitter and strong but he bolted it down and it brought him around.
“What’s going on, Simon?” she said. “What’s happened to you?”
He told her about Alice Loudon’s visit, how wonderful it had been playing for her, how incredibly at one with her he’d felt while he played. He told her about the dream of the masked figure dancing beneath the moon.
“Listen to me, Simon,” she said, giving him a shake. “You can’t let her in here when you’re alone. Do you understand?”
The Egyptian Mirror Page 18