by Gemma Holden
“I’m glad to see you’re back, Raiden.” A tiny voice broke Raiden out of her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed Miss Meek coming down the stairs. The fairy wore the same brown dress she had worn yesterday. Tendrils of her brown hair had escaped from her bun and her glasses were slipping down her nose. She paused in the air, hovering above Raiden’s head. “I was worried you might not be back in time for the dance,” the fairy said.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Raiden said, trying to feign enthusiasm. “Miss Meek, my cousin may call for me tomorrow. It’s a family matter. I may need to leave the school for a few hours.” Miss Meek wouldn’t know Aren had been disinherited.
“Oh, yes, I see. Of course, if it’s a family matter.” She pushed her glasses further up her nose. “I hope nothing is wrong.”
“No, nothing is wrong. There’s just something I have to do.”
The fairy fluttered away and Raiden continued up the stairs. Blaize’s floor was deserted; no sound came from any of the bedrooms. They must be getting ready for the party in a different part of the school. She ran up the tiny stone steps to her floor. There was still an hour before she had to start getting ready for the party. She could finish the book she was reading or maybe she would take a bath if there was enough hot water.
She tried to open the door to her bedroom, but something stopped her. She put her shoulder against the door and forced it open. Her clothes had been pulled out of the wardrobe and flung around the room. Her books lay scattered across the floor, the pages ripped out. A bottle of black ink had been knocked over on the dressing table and had dripped down to form a puddle on the floor. Porcelain crunched under her feet. A sob caught in her throat as she realised what the broken china was. Her music box was in pieces. The ballerina’s head was broken off. Her dark eyes were open, staring vacantly ahead and her chest was no longer moving. The tiny furred creature that had played the music inside lay still among the shards.
Raiden pushed her way to the middle of the room and looked around at the devastation. She wanted to cry. Instead, she took a deep breath and began to clear up the mess. She picked up the book where the newspaper cuttings were hidden; they were still tucked safely inside. She put it back on the shelf and set her chair upright.
There was a knock on the door. “Raiden...” Cassade began as she opened the door. She broke off when she saw the mess. “What happened to your room?”
Raiden didn’t look up. “I don’t know. It was like this when I got back.”
Cassade waded through the mess. “Do you think it was Blaize?”
Raiden picked up an armful of clothes and threw them onto the bed. “Can you think of anyone else who would do this?”
“I’ve been studying in my room all afternoon. I never heard anyone go by.” Cassade knelt down. “Raiden, your music box.” She gathered up the fragments and tried to piece them back together. “We can get it repaired.”
“No, we can’t. The ballerina has stopped breathing. She can’t be mended.”
Raiden wrapped the tiny creature from the music box in her handkerchief. It looked like a hairy black caterpillar, only much thicker, with tiny human like hands. They were bred to play the music in music boxes. They only lived for ten years and then they had to be replaced, but she had only got him last Christmas. He should have lived for a long time yet.
A scratching noise came from the other side of the bed. They both froze. It came again. Raiden grabbed the poker from the fireplace and rounded the bed, Cassade behind her. A small green-skinned creature was busy tearing out the pages of one of her books. It froze when it noticed her. “Uh oh,” it said.
She brandished the poker. “Don’t move.” The green-skinned creature had long spindly arms and legs and a little protruding pot belly. He had four stubby fingers on each hand and small black eyes like currants. Long pointed ears marked it as a demon.
“It’s an imp,” Cassade said.
The imp opened its mouth revealing small, sharp teeth. It seemed to be smiling. Slowly, it picked up the pages on the floor and started placing them back into the book.
“How did he get in?” Cassade asked.
Her window was still shut tight. “Someone put him here.” There was only one person she could think of who would do that to her.
“The Inferre family are known for keeping imps,” Cassade said. “What are you going to do with him? If Grumble sees him, she will be furious.”
Imps were little better than rats. If there was one, more would follow. They could wreak havoc on the school. If Miss Grimble saw him she might think there was an infestation of imps and the school would have to be shut.
“Maybe she will stop me going to the dance tonight,” Raiden said hopefully.
Cassade frowned. “If I have to go, then so do you.”
The imp stared up at them. She reached out, but he cowered away and covered his head with his arms, his small body trembling.
“I won’t hurt you,” Raiden said, “but what you did was very bad.”
He peeked at her from under his arm. “Bad,” he said in a strange croaky voice.
“He can talk,” Cassade said, kneeling down beside her. “I didn’t know imps could speak.”
He pressed against the wall, his eyes wide with fear. Raiden gently picked him up around his stomach. His skin felt cold and clammy.
“You could summon Peters and have him take him away,” Cassade suggested.
“No,” Raiden said. She had a better idea. “I’m going to put him in Blaize’s room.”
Cassade’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “If she catches you…”
“I’ll be quick.”
“I’ll take the creature outside and bury him in the courtyard.” Cassade gently took the handkerchief the creature was wrapped in.
Raiden held the imp around his stomach. Fortunately, Blaize’s floor was still deserted. She knew which one was Blaize’s room, although she had never been inside. She pressed her ear against the door. There was no sound coming from inside the room. She expected the door to be locked, but the handle turned easily. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Blaize’s room had red and gold wallpaper and a lush deep carpet. Her own room was always cold no matter what time of the year it was, the wallpaper was faded and the furniture hundreds of years old. Here, red velvet drapes hung on the bed and an enormous fire burned in the hearth. On the wall next to the wardrobe hung the full length mirror that Raiden had seen the coachmen carry in.
She had to get out quickly; Blaize could come back at any moment. She gently set the imp down on the floor. “You have to stay here.” He stared up at her. “Stay,” she told him.
A rustling sound came from behind her. Raiden turned, sure there was someone else in the room, but there was no one there. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her reflection smiled back at her. Raiden frowned. Goose bumps ran along her arms. She wasn’t smiling.
In the mirror the girl’s eyes weren’t green; they were black.
“Who are you?” Raiden asked.
The girl in the mirror slowly put her hands to her neck and placed them around her throat. She smiled as she began to squeeze.
Raiden gasped as invisible hands wrapped around her throat and began to tighten. She clawed at her throat, but she couldn’t stop the invisible hands. She fell to her knees. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were transfixed on her reflection. In the mirror, the girl’s eyes were full of satisfaction.
She tried desperately to draw breath. She slumped to the floor as everything started to go black.
The pressure left her throat suddenly as the mirror crashed to the floor and shattered. She lay on the floor gasping for air. She looked around. Everything seemed blurry, but she thought she saw the imp standing among the pieces. Dizziness washed over her as she pushed herself to her hands and knees. She stumbled to the door, glass crunching under her feet. In the shards, her reflection was reflected back to her over and over again.
The girl was angry.
****
Back in her room, she stumbled to the dressing table and sank down on the chair. She examined her neck in the mirror. Angry red marks the shape of fingers ringed her throat, and there were deep scratches where she had tried to make the girl stop. She hadn’t imagined it. She spun around when she heard a noise behind her. The imp peeked out from the foot of the bed. He had broken the mirror. He had saved her life.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice raw.
“Dega,” the imp said, in his strange little voice.
She covered the mirror with the heavy black fabric, her hands shaking. She felt safer once it was covered. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her throat. Someone was on the other side of the mirror, but who? And why would they want to attack her?
Cassade came in. “I buried the creature in the courtyard.” She frowned when she saw the imp sitting on the floor. “I thought you were going to put him in Blaize’s room.”
“I did,” Raiden said, keeping her back to her friend.
“Then why is he still here?”
Raiden didn’t answer her.
“Raiden?” Cassade asked, coming up to her. “What happened to your neck?” She came closer to inspect it. “They look like finger marks.” Raiden winced as she gently touched her neck. “Did Blaize do this to you?”
“No. She wasn’t there.”
Cassade didn’t look convinced. She disappeared out of the room. Raiden half expected her to return with Mrs Lynch, but instead she came back with a damp washcloth which she gently pressed to Raiden’s throat. “Tell me what happened, dearest.”
Raiden winced as the cloth touched her sore neck. “There was someone watching me through Blaize’s mirror. It looked like my reflection, but the girl’s eyes were black. She put her hands to her throat and she started to strangle me.”
“I didn’t think it was possible to use a magic mirror in that way.”
Raiden didn’t think it was possible either. It was more than a coincidence the same thing had happened at Matherson’s house. Someone was on the other side of the mirror, but who?
“How did you get out of the room?” Cassade asked. She pressed the cloth to the other side of Raiden’s neck.
“The imp broke the mirror.”
“He broke a magic mirror?”
Magic mirrors cost a small fortune, especially such a large one. “When Blaize finds out…” Raiden trailed off. She didn’t know what Blaize would do to her, but it wouldn't be pleasant.
“I knew it was a bad idea. I should never have let you go.” Cassade set the washcloth down on the dressing table. “We’re going to tell Lynch what happened. She may not like us, but she’s fair and she will listen.”
“We can’t. Blaize will deny she put the imp in my room. She will say I went into her room and deliberately broke her mirror.”
If it were anyone else, she could offer to pay for it to be repaired. But Blaize wouldn't be reasonable. She now had an excuse to hate Raiden even more. If her life was intolerable before, she couldn’t imagine how it would be now.
“You won’t be facing her alone,” Cassade said, reading her mind.
It was easy for Cassade to say that; she was never the intended target. She didn’t know what it was like to have that malice directed at her.
Cassade rose. “If you won’t go and see Lynch then we should start getting ready for the party.”
“So we can go and stand in the corner all night?”
“We only have to stay for a few hours and then we can leave.”
“Thank you for helping me tidy up,” Raiden said.
Cassade nodded, her forehead creased with worry. “Just be careful, dearest.”
****
At any moment Raiden half expected Blaize to burst into her room and accuse her of breaking her mirror. The imp sat on the dressing table, his small green hands in his lap. She had to get rid of him before Grumble saw him, but it was too late to do anything with him tonight.
Marielle appeared through the wall. She was smiling; she always loved helping Raiden get ready for a party. She opened the wardrobe and looked in dismay at the state of Raiden’s dresses.
“There was an accident,” Raiden said. It was the second time Marielle would have to press her dresses in less than two days. “I’m sorry.”
Marielle shook her head as if to say it didn’t matter. She laid out the dress for the party on the bed. It was one of the few the imp hadn’t pulled out of her wardrobe. Raiden unbuttoned her dress and stripped it off and, in her petticoats and corset, went to wash her face and hands in the bathroom while Marielle laid out everything she would need on the dressing table. The heavy iron tools the ghost laid out for her hair looked similar to those used by the Inquisition as torture implements.
Raiden raised her arms and Marielle lifted the dress over her head. The bodice was made from black wyvern scale. Wyvern hide was in fashion at the moment. It looked like dragon hide, but real dragon hide was impossible to get since dragons were extinct. Black wyvern hide was extremely rare as black wyverns could only be found in a handful of places in Africa. The hide couldn’t be dyed, so you were stuck with whatever colour the wyvern had been. Blaize had an entire dress made from red wyvern scale, but red wyverns were much more common.
The metallic hide shimmered in the light, like oil in water. Full black silk skirts billowed out from the bodice. Raiden braced herself on the bed frame while Marielle pulled the laces tight. She hated being primped and fussed over. What would she do when she was presented to society? Then there would be balls and parties every night and she would have to change her dress several times a day.
She sat down in front of her dressing table so Marielle could do her hair. Raiden winced as her hair was brushed and then curled with hot irons, and then as pins dug painfully into her head. In the mirror, Raiden could see Marielle looking at the marks on her neck. For once, she was glad Marielle couldn’t speak and ask her about them. Satisfied with her work, the ghost disappeared and came back with half a dozen black rosebuds. She cut them off at the stem and wove them into Raiden’s hair. Marielle clapped her hands together and gestured toward the mirror. Raiden stood up and looked at her reflection. Her golden blonde hair contrasted with the black dress. A few loose tendrils brushed her bare shoulders. The bodice was cut modestly, but laced tightly. Raiden smiled at Marielle in thanks. If only she knew it was a waste of time and that Raiden would spend the evening standing by the refreshment table.
Marielle disappeared through the wall to help the other girls get ready. Raiden opened a small box. Inside were fairy paints; they were small blocks of colour to paint her eyes. She used the tiny brush to smudge black around her eyes and over her eyelids. She retrieved her bottle of perfume from under the chair where the imp had thrown it. It was made from black roses. Xan always bought her a bottle for Christmas. There was only a small amount left now; she would have to make it last a few more months. She pulled the stopper out and trailed the dark liquid along her throat and wrists.
She tied a black lace choker with tiny black pearls around her throat to cover the red marks. Last, she slipped the heavy ring off her finger and pulled on long black silk gloves that reached just past her elbow. She kept her black ankle boots on. Marielle wasn’t here to stop her wearing them and her dress reached to the floor, so no one would see them.
She felt self-conscious with her shoulders bare. She paced the room, trying to calm herself, a feeling of dread in her stomach. What if Blaize accused her of breaking her mirror in front of everyone?
“I thought I might find you pacing,” Cassade said.
Raiden jumped as Cassade appeared behind her. She was wearing a black silk dress with tiny cap sleeves and long white gloves. Pearled silver combs held her golden brown hair up. There were more pearls at her throat and in her ears. She seemed calm and composed. She didn’t show any sign of being worried about tonight.
“Heather is meeting us in the hall. We should go down before Grumble co
mes looking for us and escorts us in personally.” Cassade tugged her gloves further up her arm; she was nervous.
“Do we have to?” Raiden asked.
“The sooner we go, the sooner we can leave.”
Raiden followed Cassade out of the room. She felt tense. She wasn’t afraid of zombies, or ghosts or even dead bodies. But Blaize was another matter.
Chapter Seven
The hall had been transformed for the night. The chandelier had actually been lit and fires blazed in the two fireplaces. The spiders that had previously been hidden were now visible. Their webs completely covered the dark wooden beams and hung like silver nets stretched across the ceiling. The tables had been removed, except for one to serve as a refreshment table. There were no chairs. Grumble may have prevented them from sitting in the corner all night, but she couldn’t prevent them from standing in the corner.
Blaize stood in the centre of the hall, her dress a low-cut deep red gown that gradually darkened to black as it went down. Glacia stood by her side. Jewels glinted in Glacia’s white hair - not jewels, icicles. A bracelet of solid ice encased her wrist and there was frost in her white lashes and over her eyelids. Her dress was made entirely from black leather. The two of them looked bored. They seemed unimpressed with the party. A group of girls was gathered around them, standing as close as they dared. They weren’t friends with Blaize; they just wanted to seem as if they were. The few boys Raiden could see looked uncomfortable; they were vastly outnumbered by the girls. Blaize looked over as they entered. Her gaze swept over Raiden’s dress and then she turned her back to them, dismissing them as insignificant. Raiden was relieved. Blaize hadn’t stormed over and accused her of breaking her mirror.
The hall was a swirl of black. There were dresses made from fabric and the skins of creatures Raiden couldn’t identify. She passed a girl from the year below her. The girl’s dress was sheer, like spun silver. It had a strange pattern, like tiny shapes stitched together. She realised they were the wings of fireflies. It must have taken hundreds of them to make the dress and hours for someone to piece them all together. Three black winged butterflies were pinned to the girl’s hair. Their dark wings opened and closed, trying to escape, but the pins held them fast. Another girl wore a dress which looked as if it was spun from spider webs. A huge silver spider wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet, its legs locked together.