The Egyptian Mirror

by Michael Bedard

  “Life itself,” said Cameron.

  Alice Loudon looked at her steadily and long.

  “Yes,” she said at last, “life itself.” The admission cost her dearly. Some vital force in her briefly lost its hold, and for a moment, she seemed a sad, broken thing. But she rallied and went on:

  “I never dreamt it would be so when fate first freed me from the mirror, and I leapt into life. Not the bounded world of that bronze prison, the flat world of reflection. But Life—in three glorious dimensions. Unbounded being. The freedom, the fullness, the bliss of it. The before, behind, above, below of it. The thrill of touch, of solidity, of depth. All of it spread out like untold riches around me.

  “I had known magic, felt its awesome power, commanded it when I could, to heal the sick, to shatter the forces of evil and trample them underfoot. But never had I known magic such as this. I thought it would be mine forever.

  “I left the mirror far behind me, like a prisoner leaves the cell she has fled. I merged seamlessly with the world. I possessed every key, opened every door. Wealth and power were at my command. Others aged about me; the strong grew frail, the high were brought low. The living passed before me like shadows on a wall. But I remained—untouched by time, unchanged, unchangeable.

  “And when suspicion cast its eye upon me, I took flight, and built my nest in a new place. The world in all its splendor was mine. I spread my arms wide and took it in my embrace. Music was my love, then as now. I mastered the piano with ease. My skill opened doors. I played to packed halls, had audiences with royalty. I took no thought of the mirror—where it might have gone, whose hands it may have fallen into. It was of no more use to me than the cast-off slough to the snake that has burst its bonds.

  “But then—slowly at first, so slowly as to be almost imperceptible—mortality found me out, like a hunter its prey. A weariness came upon me where there had been none before. Pain set its hooks in me: an ache that would not pass, a wound that would not heal, a scar that left its lingering stamp.

  “My grip on this world grew weaker day by day. I would fall without warning into the realm of shadows, the flatland of reflection, the land of living death. Suddenly darkness brought terrors. Abysses yawned beneath me.

  “I began to dream. I dreamt ceaselessly of the mirror. Soon I could think of little else. It seemed to me my salvation. If only I found it again, I told myself, all would be well. I would plunge into its pure, bright pool and be made new.

  “I searched far and wide for it, but it eluded me always. And then, some years back, it turned up unexpectedly at auction. I stood so close to it I could stroke it with my hand, lean down and look into its magical depths. But it slipped through my fingers—and was gone.”

  She stopped abruptly, blinked and looked about, suddenly aware of having betrayed more of herself than she meant.

  “But enough of this prattle,” she boomed. “I have found it again. And this time I will have it.” She stamped upon the ground and took another step toward Cameron.

  Again the words that came from Cameron’s mouth were in the ancient tongue as she stooped and described a circle around the place where she stood with the mirror’s edge.

  “Match magic with me, would you?” said Alice Loudon scornfully. “I have filled my belly with magic. Spells spring from my mouth.”

  She reached down and with a touch of her hand released the dog from where it stood spellbound by her side. It let out a horrific growl and lunged with lightning speed across the room. As it neared the spot where Cameron stood, it sprang into the air.

  Cameron held the mirror out before her at arm’s length, bracing it with both hands. Light streamed from it like a second sun. The edge of it caught the beast flush on the throat in mid-flight. For a long moment, it hung suspended in the air, and then it dropped like a stone to the floor.

  It lay there motionless as darkness pooled around it like a shadow. As the life ebbed from it, the shape shifted. Now it was no longer the dog that lay there, but James Loudon, curled on his side as if asleep. Then that shape shifted also, and in its place a small clay figure in the form of a black jackal; a magical protector animated by means of a spell. She brought her foot down on it and crushed it to pieces, destroying its power.

  Alice Loudon looked down at the shattered thing without a trace of emotion. “I have had that a good many years,” she said. “It will cost me pains to replace it. You will pay for this.”

  And she took another step toward her.

  37

  Meanwhile, tucked out of sight behind the mummy case on the far side of the room, two figures had silently observed all. Abbey gazed awestruck as the pool of shadow spread around the fallen dog and the figure of James Loudon appeared in its place. And Simon saw something in Alice Loudon’s face he’d never seen before—a faint flicker of doubt, as if something she had not imagined possible had occurred. In a moment, it was gone.

  As she advanced ever closer toward Cameron, she seemed to swell in size and power. Her eyes were dark pools. Everything that came within their compass was caught as though in the grip of a deadly whirlpool.

  Simon drew his eyes away and peered through the glass of the case at the mummy, sunk in its profound sleep. Once he had found it terrifying, but now her quiet slumber helped calm him. As he crouched behind the case, awaiting their cue, he felt the precious paper in his hand, and the oft-rehearsed words began to sound in his head like the steady beating of a drum.

  Cameron stood her ground by the open case with the mirror in her hand. It shone with a steady inward light that bathed the room in its glow.

  “Give me my mirror,” Alice Loudon demanded again.

  “You will have to take it.”

  “I will drain your life and leave you a shadow.”

  “As you are a shadow,” Cameron replied.

  Alice Loudon’s eyes flashed fire. She took another step, and her toe touched the edge of the magic circle. There was an ominous crackling as it sparked with bridled power.

  “Quite close enough, I think,” said Cameron.

  Holding the mirror before her she began to chant the words of the spell she had crafted from the ancient texts. The air thrummed, and the lights flickered.

  Mereret, I know your name.

  I bind your powers in Magic’s chains.

  Your feet I root into the earth.

  Your limbs grow slack as babes’ at birth.

  Your words I shackle in your mouth,

  By East, by West, by North, by South…

  As the words rained down on her like blows, Alice Loudon recoiled.

  * * *

  Cameron had hoped the spell would so take her by surprise that the full incantation would go uncontested. She had enlisted Simon and Abbey’s aid, teaching them the words of power, to prepare for what might happen if it did not.

  “My magic is a mighty…”

  As she attempted to continue the incantation, her eyes locked with Alice Loudon’s. She felt her adversary’s power surge through her, weakening her resolve and leaving her limp. Suddenly, the weight of the mirror was unbearable. It was all she could do to hold it out before her. As her strength failed, the words of the spell deserted her.

  Alice Loudon watched the panic creep into her eyes.

  “A valiant effort,” she said. “But you will learn to your sorrow that magic is more than words pillaged from the pages of old books. It is life—and power.”

  She boldly breached the magic circle as if it were no more than a chalk figure some child had scrawled on the ground. But as she reached to take the mirror, Cameron stepped back and turned toward the mummy case.

  This was their cue. Simon and Abbey stepped from behind the shelter of the case and showed themselves.

  “You!” said Alice Loudon.

  Simon raised the trembling paper in his hands. Together he and Abbey took up the words of
the spell. Cameron drew renewed strength from them and joined in:

  My Magic is a mighty storm

  That blows you back where you belong.

  Behold the portal, open wide.

  Your home lies on the farther side.

  The eye of Horus shows the way

  From darkness into realms of day.

  The circle flared, and Alice Loudon shrank back outside its bounds. Her gaze flitted back and forth between them, and her hands flew to her ears, attempting to block out the words of the spell. But the very walls seemed to sound with them now.

  The mirror blazed like the desert sun, and a tremor ran through the room, rattling the artifacts in their cases like dishes on a tray.

  She stood rooted to the spot, her slack form swaying to and fro like a tree in a storm.

  By Hekah, Horus, Thoth and Bes,

  By North, by South, by East, by West,

  By all who breathe this mortal breath,

  Begone back to the land of death.

  As the final words were uttered, a strange expression stole over Alice Loudon’s face—part terror and part rapture. And she was lifted up like a thing spun from smoke and shadow, and sucked with a long, keening cry into the mirror.

  It flared briefly and then went dark as a dull green cast flowed over its surface, quenching its light. Cameron dropped it with a clang to the floor and stood rubbing her hands together and blowing into them. Silence settled over the room, a silence so deep they could hear the beating of their hearts.

  Simon and Abbey drifted over to Cameron’s side. The three stood looking mutely down at the mirror. No more was it the object of gleaming bronze that had drawn Simon down into its magical depths, but an ancient artifact like those ranged about it, its face shrouded with corrosion like a pond sheathed in ice.

  All that remained of Alice Loudon was a bronze wand, capped with a cobra’s head, and an ancient necklace that had snapped as it fell and scattered its amulets and beads like seeds across the shadowed floor.

  38

  He was taking dinner to Mr. Hawkins. It was a gorgeous summer day. The smell of lemon pudding cake wafted up from the tray as he crossed the street and started up the Hawkins walk. The garden was vibrant with color, and the wisteria was in bloom. The wind chime tinkled a tune in greeting as he came up the stairs. He gave the bell a twist and heard it trill brightly in the hallway beyond the door.

  “Come in, Simon,” called a faint voice.

  He gave the door a nudge and went in. A vase of fresh roses stood on the table at the foot of the stairs, filling the hall with their scent. The mirrors cradled his reflection as he went by.

  Turning into the front room, he saw the TV table drawn up before the old man’s empty chair. As he set the tray down he noticed differences everywhere. The clutter that had covered the dining room table had disappeared, and the camp cot stood with folded wings in the corner. Where the Egyptian mirror had hung, there was now a print of a ship at sea. The TV had been wheeled forward and turned on, but the blizzard in which the broadcaster always delivered his news had passed, and the picture was clear.

  A sudden thud overhead set the ceiling fixture trembling. He heard the sound of something heavy being hauled along the upstairs hall.

  “Give me a hand with this, will you, Simon? It weighs a ton.”

  Hurrying to the foot of the stairs, he saw Mr. Hawkins standing at the top with the large old suitcase that had stood at the foot of the bed. It bulged like a ripe seedpod with whatever had been crammed inside. Together, they bumped it down the stairs into the hall.

  Mr. Hawkins straightened and ran a hankie over his forehead. “I’ve no idea what Eleanor’s got in there. She packs like she’s never coming back. Perhaps she knows something I don’t,” he said with a laugh.

  Simon got a good look at him now for the first time. He was awestruck. All traces of the old man he knew had vanished, and in their place stood the young man in the photos on the wall, his muscles lean and firm, his face trim and tanned.

  He smiled down at Simon. “I won’t be needing you to bring me dinner anymore,” he said. “I’m off on a new dig. Very exciting. It promises to be a fabulously rich find. Eleanor’s gone on ahead, and I’m to meet her there. No telling when we’ll be back. I trust you’ll look after things here for me while we’re gone.”

  He extended a strong calloused hand to Simon. “Thank you for everything,” he said. “I could never have managed without you.” Hefting the heavy suitcase, he swayed beneath its weight as he walked down the hall.

  He opened the front door, and the hall was flooded with brilliant light.

  “Cab’s waiting,” he said. “ I must be going.”

  He turned to leave, then suddenly turned back. “By the way,” he said, and the light seemed to stream from his silhouetted form as he stood in the doorway. “Be sure to take good care of that book I gave you. It may be worth something someday.” And he drew the door closed behind him, and was gone.

  * * *

  Simon woke with a start in the sunlit room and glanced at the clock. He’d dozed off for a few minutes at most, though the dream had gone on and on. It was with him still—so achingly real he could have reached out and touched it. His heart raced with the strangeness of it, and he was filled with such a sense of peace that he was afraid to stir, lest it fade.

  He lay unmoving on the bed, and his eyes roamed the room. Precarious piles crowned every piece of furniture—the lingering landscape of illness. He was looking for one thing in particular. Something he’d forgotten in the mad whirl of events that followed Mr. Hawkins’ death: the book of prints the old man had sent him as a get-well gift the week before he died. His eye fell on the spine of it now, peeking out from under the pile of old archaeological journals.

  Crossing the room, he eased it carefully out and carried it to his bed. He’d no sooner started to fan through it than it fell open at the print he’d seen hanging on the wall in the dream. Two sheets of folded paper had been tucked in the book at that spot. The moment he opened them, he recognized the old man’s writing.

  It was the missing will.

  * * *

  Max and Babs were buzzing around the dessert table like bees at a picnic. Decked out in their Sunday best, they looked like a pair of angels—but they had mischief on their minds. At the moment, they were off in the corner conspiring, pointing toward the table as they planned their next assault. They’d skipped straight from toddlerhood to juvenile delinquency.

  “Aren’t they just darling?” said a woman in pink with pearl earrings who had clearly never chased children around a dessert table at a social gathering.

  Simon sidled over to Babs. Dipping one corner of his napkin in his tea, he dropped to his haunches and made a quick stab at her chocolatey face before she could dart away. The instant she squirmed free, she made a beeline for the dessert table with her partner in crime.

  He plopped down in one of the rows of folding chairs that had been set up at one end of the small room. It was a Sunday afternoon in May at the museum, and he was on Babs patrol. Six months had passed since the fateful night he’d last set foot in the museum. The circumstances were much different now than then.

  It was the official opening of the Hawkins Collection of Early Mirrors. As he glanced around he saw the many mirrors he’d come to know in the months he carried dinner to Mr. Hawkins, plucked from their accustomed places and set side by side in tall glass cases lining the walls of the room. Each woke a memory, opened a door onto a past still present. He felt that if he were to stand and stare through the glass at any one of them now, he would meet the reflection he’d cast back then, and be transported there again.

  Mom and Dad were on the far side of the room, talking to Cameron. Babs had brought them plunder from the dessert table. According to the provisions of the Hawkins’ will, the mirror collection had been bequeathed to the mus
eum under the care of Dr. Cameron. The old house itself, much to their amazement, had been left to Simon’s family.

  In a note appended to the will, Mr. Hawkins had written:

  I have lived in this house since I was a child. It was passed on to me when my parents died, and it was here Eleanor and I lived throughout our married life. It is a place so steeped in memory that it is almost a living thing. The ghosts of days long gone throng about me. With no children or family to pass it on to, it has troubled me more than I can say to think of it all coming to an end.

  All that changed the day I fell from the ladder and you, dear Jenny, came to my rescue and took me into your care. I am more grateful than I can say for the kindness you and your family have shown me. I am especially grateful to you, Simon, who have made me see how much I have missed, and have helped amend that loss. It is a great joy to be able to share the passion for the things one loves—and to find one so eager to learn is greater still.

  And so I leave this house to you, in memory of those days, so long ago, when two boys sat side by side on the porch steps and dreamt of all the world might hold. It held all of that—and so much more.

  A hush fell over the room as Cameron rose to speak. Babs crawled up on the empty seat next to Mom and nestled up against her. Mom was back to her old self again. Her time with Alice Loudon had taken, on for her, the quality of a dream.

  Slowly, in the weeks and months that had intervened since then, the neighborhood had also revived. The Loudons themselves—from their auspicious arrival on the street to their sudden mysterious disappearance—had already begun to pass into neighborhood lore.

  “Kind friends and colleagues,” said Cameron, “it is with great pleasure that I welcome you today to the official unveiling of the Hawkins Collection of Early Mirrors, a remarkable bequest to the museum by the noted archaeologist Randall Hawkins. Over the years, he and his wife Eleanor patiently assembled the splendid collection you see around you here, a collection that encapsulates the history and development of the mirror down the centuries.