by L. L. Muir
Maddy’s mouth gaped for a second. “So I can…” She rolled her eyes and came up to the mirror from the inside. “I don’t want to come out early. You know what it does. Gets us all messed up.”
Mac nodded. “The coffee’s hot. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Now. Tell me everything.”
After she told her sister all about the conversation with Deputy Fife, she could sense Maddy was torn between throwing the fit she wanted to throw and proving Mac’s prediction wrong. In the end, as Mac expected, Maddy bit her tongue.
“He sure didn’t like being called Deputy Fife.”
Maddy laughed. “I think, if he comes around again, I’m just going to have to call him Barney.”
They laughed together, then Mac looked at the clock. “I’ll be back at noon, then.”
“See you at noon.” Maddy wandered back over to the bed and stretched out on it. “And Mac?”
“Yeah. I know. Don’t do it again.”
With noon just an hour away, Mac was tempted to leave the door unlocked. But her sister would have a cow. Rules protected us. Locks protected the mirror. The mirror keeps us safe.
For as long as they wanted to go on…
At noon, Mac returned and lined her hands up with Maddy’s on the mirror and they both willed themselves to the other side. It was the closest thing to a hug they’d had from each other since they were seven years old. And every time Mac looked into a mirror, enchanted or not, she remembered what started it all…
Most often, when twins were born to Muirs—going back for a millennium—those twins were blessed, or cursed, with varying gifts. Those gifts, however, usually didn’t manifest until after puberty. In MacKenzie and Madison’s case, they came much sooner. Their parents realized there was a problem when they were seven, so they tried separating the sisters in an attempt to keep those gifts under control. For six long, tortured months, Mac and their father lived on the west coast while Maddy and their mother lived on the east.
But even apart, Mac still saw visions of the future, and Maddy was able to read the emotions attached to inanimate objects. The frustration of trying to explain what they saw and felt, with only the vocabulary and knowledge of a seven-year-old, was the worst consequence of all.
When it became clear that separating them was doing no good, the sisters were brought back together again, reunited in their old Chicago home, with hopes that their companionship might help them cope. Unfortunately, their parents—Leland and Charity—didn’t fall back into their routines quite as easily, and they divorced. Charity was too overwhelmed by the Muir witch heritage, so she left the girls with her husband, thinking that the Muir family would know what to do with them.
Sadly, she was wrong.
One day, their father left them with his great aunt Augustine, an older woman who had no energy for chasing little girls and didn’t believe their powers were dangerous. She sent them off to play like normal little girls. To their delight, the neighbor had a daughter their own age, and they played well together most of the day. But as often happens with odd-numbers, the sisters fought over their little friend, even after the girl went home.
Still arguing as they entered the house, Mac and Maddy looked up to find themselves standing before their aunt’s magnificent mirror, staring at their own images. Though it was far too long ago to remember which of them came up with the idea first, or whether it happened at the same time, one of them said aloud that she wanted her own twin—a duplicate of herself.
It sounded like a brilliant idea at the time. Mac remembered that much. A perfect cure for their need to have their own special friend—not a sister.
They snuck off to great Aunt Augustine’s private library looking for a spell. At seven years old, it was just a game, of course. Something to do before they would be called to dinner. Since no one ever mentioned the “p word” in front of them, they had no idea they already possessed special powers. Besides, their own gifts seemed natural, not a paranormal talent—an ability that just came to them, like reading.
They found a small book of poetry they could pretend was a spell book and carried it back to the mirror. In it, they found the words to a little song about making wishes come true. So, together, they read the words aloud, then repeated them until it turned, unintentionally, into a song. Over and over they sang it, nudging the tune until it felt quite perfect, then singing it one more time.
When the last note ended, they had almost forgotten their argument and their wish, but the song was too delicious to waste. So they turned to the mirror, placed their hands against the glass, and wished that their reflection could be real. Instead of two more little girls appearing, however, one was taken away, sucked into the mirror, trapped inside the reflection with no way out.
That little girl was Maddy.
Mac’s first instinct was to break the mirror so her sister could escape, and she was just about to shatter the glass surface with a little statue when their aunt appeared. She took one look at Maddy and ripped the statue from Mac’s hand, insisting that, if the mirror broke, her sister might die. So, while the child-Mac was left to guard over the mirror, and Maddy left to worry if she would ever get out again, Aunt Augustine called an emergency family council.
Muirs flew in from all over the place. Scotland, India, Africa. Most of them twins, some of them not. People at the nearby Chicago O’Hare probably thought there was a twin convention in town, there were so many of them.
Meanwhile, back at Augustine’s house, their father returned, coming face to face with the evidence that an incantation had gone horribly wrong. He, too, was warned that breaking the mirror might end Maddy’s life, so he refused to let his Muir relatives inside the house until they knew, for certain, how to free his daughter.
In the days that followed, Maddy learned how to survive on the inside of the mirror. She discovered that, as a reflection, she wasn’t hungry. She never needed to go to the bathroom. She didn’t really get tired, though she slept on and off, out of boredom. After a while, her fear eased, since everything around her grew familiar, and Mac kept her company, entertaining her and playing movies on a small TV. She even slept in the grand entrance so her sister wouldn’t be alone.
At one point, a pair of sober uncles watched over them while the rest of the Muirs had a meeting to discuss ways to save the girl, to put their heads together and come up with a plan.
Since none of them had witnessed the spell, and Mac and Maddy couldn’t remember the song exactly, any attempt to reverse it would have invited catastrophe. The poem had been changed to fit the tune, so they couldn’t trust it. The general consensus, then, was to perform another spell that would change their circumstances. All they had to do was get Maddy out of the mirror and back into the real world.
Sets of Muir twins stood and gave their opinions. And all the while, an old man who claimed to be the great grandfather of the Muir clan considered their suggestions. And in the end, when Leland Muir proved to be too distraught to think clearly, it was Grandfather who decided what was safe to try.
Once again, the girls were instructed to place their hands to the mirror. The old man spoke the words and ordered Maddy to come out of the mirror…
Nothing seemed to have happened, but Mac began jumping up and down, exclaiming that it had worked, that she was out! Only, when she looked into her reflection and saw the horror on her sister’s face, everyone realized the sisters had simply changed places. Maddy was free. But Mac was now caught behind the glass.
After that, Leland allowed very few attempts to break the spell. It was consolation enough to be able to hold one daughter at a time, knowing that both of them at least lived. They learned quickly that they could change places at will, as long as both girls wished it, and a schedule was made to eliminate fighting.
Their teenage years were difficult, but seemed even harder on Leland, and he frequently found excuses to stay away from Augustine’s house. By the time the twins were eighteen, they’d already made plans to a
ttend college, which required them to move away and take the mirror with them.
Eventually, they learned that small town life would be much safer for them and their precious mirror, which is how they ended up buying a lovely Victorian house just outside the city limits of Dinkville, Idaho.
On Sundays, Mac and her sister usually stayed in the mirror room together, reading or playing games. As a rule, they kept business stuff to the five working days and did what they could to have fun on the weekends. But anything done away from the house was lonely business.
Except for the compact.
Long after the Muirs had given up trying to find a way to separate them from the mirror, and the mirror was moved to its own room for safety’s sake, a kind old Muir woman showed up on their doorstep and insisted they accept a gift from her. It was the compact—ornate, Victorian, priceless. She’d lost her twin sister over a decade before, so she had no more use for the enchanted trinket. Once she handed the compact over to the twins, MacKenzie and Madison could see each other in the little mirror nestled inside. Augustine was able to enchant it further so the sisters would summon each other with the trinket, making it vibrate like a cell phone if they concentrated.
It worked in both directions, for the sister holding it, or the sister stuck at home.
It saved their lives.
Even though they couldn’t do things together in person, they no longer felt so alone when they left the house. They were still careful to keep interactions with normal folks to a minimum. But they could finally speak to each other outside of the mirror room.
Living with such a curse was obviously more than normal people could endure, but it was not much easier on two young witches. The compact was a godsend, just as, years later, the internet opened up new possibilities for their restricted lives. But they both knew, without saying a word, that one day—by accident or intention—that mirror would break.
4
With the weather a little warmer than usual for autumn in Idaho, Maddy decided to drive out to the lake and get some fresh air. Though it was Sunday, and their usual Together Day, Mac was excited to see her go, claiming she wanted the house to herself. She insisted that it wouldn’t matter if Maddy went over her time, considering the dirty trick she’d pulled on her earlier.
So Maddy went.
Though it was liberating to pretend she might, Maddy had no intention of coming home late, of course. She had no intentions at all. A breath of fresh air, a change of pace. A chance to forget about mirrors and sisters for just an hour or two. It was all she wanted. And running into Barney Fife was definitely not on that list.
Typically, Maddy would see flashing lights or police cars and head in the other direction. Keeping a low profile was as important as breathing. But that afternoon, when she saw the police tape, marking the crime scene, she couldn’t get herself to turn around.
She’d parked in the south overflow parking lot and taken a stroll along the footpath, admiring cabins brimming with happy families and grassy lawns full of laughing children. And though she’d never have kids of her own, it gave her a kind of hope, knowing that the world was filled with happy people, if only on Sunday afternoons.
When she saw the crime scene tape on the big dock, she couldn’t help herself. She had to get closer. If she was going to be suspected of murder, she wanted to know just what specifics she was being accused of.
A crowd of six stood at the land-end of the dock watching the officers picking up after themselves. Apparently, they had all they needed, and were ready to open it up to the public again.
It suddenly occurred to Maddy that the reason she couldn’t resist the crime scene was because she was expecting to see Deputy Fife poking around. She wasn’t wishing to see him—she was clear on that—just expecting to.
She and Mac would never be in a position to marry, or have kids, so there was no sense tempting fate. Love interests were for other people. They just had to find satisfaction in other things. And for Maddy, she found it in solving riddles.
She scooted in close to the little cluster of looky-loos and acted casual. “What happened out there?”
Three women turned toward her, eager to answer. “That lawyer was killed out here, somewhere—”
“This is where they pulled her out—”
“I don’t think they know where she went in, but she drifted into the marina!”
“Half-naked. Probably raped,” offered the first woman. Just the word rape sent a couple of the men on their way.
“I don’t know about that,” the third one said as she scanned the cabins on the hillside behind them. “Her underwear was still on. Maybe she was wearing something skimpy that tore off easily. She could have drowned herself, you know. Or got drugged up and fell off her boat.”
“They haven’t found an empty boat, though, have they? I mean,” said the first one, “it’s been two days, and it’s not Coeur d’Alene, is it?” She was referring to the second largest lake in Idaho, up at the top of the state, next to the Washington border.
Maddy wanted to keep them talking. “So this isn’t where she was murdered, then?”
“I don’t think so. Just where they pulled her out.”
She nodded and took a step back to let the cops parade off the dock. As casually as she could, she wandered over to the corner piling, pulled off her driving glove, and leaned against the wood.
Excitement. Those who had touched it most recently had been excited.
She shifted her hand and got a lot of stress. Someone who didn’t feel well, who had to play along and pretend they felt fine. But they were far from fine. Heart problems, as opposed to problems of the heart. She was fairly certain.
She let her hand slide down absently. Nothing new. Excitement and the pressure to have a good time. No fear, hate, or menace.
She put one foot behind her and spun on her heel—only to come face to face with Deputy Darro, Special Investigator who was still investigating her.
“Oh, hello, Barney,” she said almost pleasantly.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said. He was far too happy to see her. She didn’t even have to touch him to know that. At the reminder that she did not, in fact, want to touch him, she pulled her glove out of her pocket and pulled it on.
“Leaving so soon?”
She shrugged and looked out at the water. “I just came out to get some fresh air. I didn’t know I’d be stumbling into your crime scene.”
He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, then looked off at the water, too. “First of all, this isn’t the crime scene. But you already know that.”
She nodded toward the other women, but they’d gone inside the café. “Thanks to a gaggle of chatty women, I do. They said this is where you guys pulled the body out.”
“Mn hmn.”
“Oh! You think I’ve returned to the scene of the crime.”
He shook his head.
“Then what has you looking like the cat who caught the parakeet?”
“You said you didn’t know you’d be stumbling into my crime scene.”
“And?”
“I thought you could see the future. You should have known you’d be stumbling...into me, too!” He was far too pleased with himself, so she had to bring him down a peg.
“I assure you, had I known you would be nosing around, I would have driven up to Alturas for my fresh air today.”
“Oh. There she is.” He ducked down to look into her eyes. “Don’t tell me. Now you’d like to be called Maddy?”
She was caught off guard by his acuity and silently cursed her sister for whatever information she’d given the man. Had she confessed there were two of them? Or had she stuck with their usual Plan A and given him the multiple personality bit?
If he knew they were sisters, though, he would have asked which one she was.
“I don’t want you calling me at all, actually.” She gave him a pinched smile and started to walk around him. He stepped into her path and she had to either stop, or retrea
t onto the dock again.
“I won’t call you, Maddy,” he said, his voice low and sexy. “When I’m ready for you…I’ll come get you.”
5
The offices of Newbold & Turner were open and ready for Tripp at seven a.m. on Monday morning. Whittaker’s assistant had taken him into the offices Saturday morning to see if there were any signs of struggle there, or anything that might clearly have something to do with the murder. But they found nothing out of order. Nothing on her schedule except the Thursday appointment with M. Muir.
Now he was back to interview the staff. When Tripp was done there, he planned to drive to Boise to talk to the husband Whittaker was separated from.
Saturday morning, the assistant had been in shock. Today, she was a weepy mess as she unlocked her boss’ office. Tripp signed his name on the seal, broke it with the edge of his car keys, then opened the door. Nothing looked different, but he hadn’t expected it to.
“Come in and sit down. Rhonda Thorne, isn’t it?”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head and she looked nervously down the hall before stepping inside and doing as he suggested. Maybe she was afraid she’d get into trouble for sitting down when there was work to do.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he began. “How long had you worked for Ms. Whittaker?”
“Four years.” She sniffed. “I’m going to miss her kids. I helped take care of them a lot after she and Josh separated.”
“Forgive me. I know you’re upset, but... I was under the impression she wasn’t easy to work for?”
“Oh, no. She wasn’t. I would have looked for another job, but I couldn’t just leave those kids... You know.”
“You couldn’t leave the kids with her?”
“No. I couldn’t leave her with no backup. Boise is a long way when you’re sick and need someone to pick you up from the school. If I hadn’t been here, who knows who she might have sent.”
“So, you’re saying she wasn’t Mother of the Year,” he said, then wrote those exact words in his notebook. “The father resent her for that?”