by Radclyffe
Mina nodded and they started toward the palace, keeping to darkened alleys and back streets. Ty grasped Mina’s hand as they jogged through the shadows. She told herself the gesture was meant merely to reinforce Mina’s willingness to help, but she needed the contact as well. For some unknown reason, her wolf had chosen this unlikely mate and Ty felt the conflicting desire to protect her, even as she led her to a certain death.
After her initial shock at discovering Mina was Lycan eased, Ty’s conviction that Mina was a traitor diminished as well. If Ty hadn’t seen the purge herself, hadn’t seen her family murdered, would she have been as willing to embrace deception? Would she have believed the comforting lies and promises of a vague future uprising? Ty burned with a desire to show Mina her world, where pack history, values, and traditions were honored and defended. She wanted to introduce Mina to her cadre, teach her Lycan ways, run with her across the barren tundra and sleep with her under the brilliant stars far from the city lights. Since the loss of her family, Ty had lived in solitary companionship with her cadre. In Mina she glimpsed a chance at a new family, short-lived as it was to be. She tightened her grip on Mina’s hand and felt an answering scrape of claws along her wrist.
Getting inside the Royal House was easy with Mina’s help. Mina distracted the guards at the side entrance while Ty slipped into the hall and crouched in a shadowed recess in the public courtroom. One more guard to lure away from his post and Ty was in the interior rooms of the palace. A breathless and pale Mina followed soon after, the strain of her actions evident on her face.
“Leo will be in his dressing room,” Mina said quietly. “He’ll only have one guard with him until he’s ready to go outside. Then he’ll be surrounded and it will be impossible for you to get to him.”
“Then it must be done now,” Ty said. She had returned Mina’s silver sword when they reached the palace. At every step she worried Mina’s resolve would falter and she would alert the other guards to Ty’s presence, but her mate remained steadfast. Ty slipped her fingers through Mina’s hair and pulled her close for one quick, hard kiss of gratitude and sorrow.
Mina led Ty through the winding corridors. They turned the last corner just as the door to Leo’s room opened and three men came into the hall.
“No,” Mina whispered. Ty recognized Leo and the guard with him, but the third, and unexpected, man was older and draped in heavy furs. Ty sniffed as she caught the scent of perfume. Mina’s father.
Ty’s decision was made so quickly she was barely aware of it. She could possibly fight them all, but if she failed then Mina would be killed as a traitor. Instead, she stepped in front of Mina and raised her arms in the air just as the men turned toward them. Her priorities shifted, her mission failed, as she willingly became Mina’s prisoner.
Ty saw Mina’s father react to her scent as his nose twitched and his eyes narrowed. “A Lycan! Excellent work, Mina. Now step away from her, my daughter,” he said, his eyes never leaving Ty. He gestured at the male guard. “Detain her.”
The guard slammed Ty against the stone wall and blood trailed from her temple as he started to bind her wrists. As if breaking free from a spell, Mina unsheathed her sword, her wolf howling in defense of her mate. She slit the guard’s throat, but almost as quickly she stumbled, staring in stunned horror at the hilt of her father’s dagger protruding from her belly. A slow stain of blood spread on her fur cloak.
Mina dropped to her knees, and Ty grabbed her sword as it fell from Mina’s useless hand, screaming in rage as she plunged it into Mina’s father’s chest.
“I have to get Leo,” Ty growled, hovering over Mina. “Shift and your wolf will heal. I’ll be back, love.”
“Can’t…” Mina said weakly as she collapsed next to the two corpses.
“You can. You are Lycan.” Ty shifted, her wolf calling Mina’s. Calling her mate.
*
Deep in the woods, a few miles outside of Varesska, Ty lay on a bed of pine boughs, cradling her dozing mate. After Mina had shifted, Ty had caught Leo and avenged her family. She’d found Mina and followed the limping brown wolf through the ancient maze of tunnels beneath the palace until they had resurfaced on the edge of the city. Once Ty had sealed the heavy wooden door, she’d shifted to join her mate and they’d raced out of Varesska and into the forest beyond.
Ty ran her hand lightly over the healing wound under Mina’s rib cage. Mina stirred and trailed sleepy kisses over Ty’s shoulder before she raised her head and captured Ty’s mouth with her own. Ty rolled Mina onto her back, deepening the kiss, her canines and claws extending to claim her mate. Tomorrow they would rejoin the Resistance. Tonight they would celebrate the solstice together.
The Other Side of the Mirror
Valerie Bronwen
Don’t be afraid.
The words echoed through her mind as Meg sat up in bed with a gasp, her heart racing.
The entire room lit up again with an eerie white light.
The thunder followed almost the instant the light vanished, big glowing dots still in the center of her vision. She shivered, pulling the covers up around her. Rain was beating against the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony outside her bedroom, and she could make out whitecaps on the lake through the gloom. She took another deep, cleansing breath—the way her therapist had told her to. Her heart was racing, and she leaned back against the hard headboard, closing her eyes and trying to clear her mind of the dream she’d been having.
Deep, cleansing breaths. It was just a dream, that’s all. Just a dream I can’t even remember.
She slid out of bed, reaching for her robe where she’d left it on the floor beside the bed. She stood, pulling the silky robe over her bare shoulders. She ran a hand through her dark hair—grown out some from the butchering it got in the hospital, but still shorter than she would prefer. She walked over to the sliding glass doors and flipped on the balcony light with a flick of her fingers on the switch. The grass of the backyard glittered with water in the arc of light before it faded into blackness again. Rain was pelting the glass doors, which also vibrated slightly in the gusting wind. She stood there, looking out, feeling the cold air coming out of the vent in the ceiling just to her left. She shivered and pulled the robe tighter.
The lawn gradually sloped down to the shore of the lake. The light on the dock was dark—since it was always on, the bulb must have burned out.
Lightning lit up the sky again, followed by another loud crack of thunder that shook the house.
She turned away from the window, pulling the curtains shut. The house was cold—too cold, and she debated for a moment or two walking out into the hallway and adjusting the thermostat, but decided not to. She walked back over to the bed, yawning as she let the robe drop from her shoulders. She sat down on the edge of the bed and was about to swing her legs up when she noticed that the room was getting lighter.
Puzzled, she paused. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the source of the light.
She turned her head and inhaled sharply.
I must be dreaming, she thought, closing her eyes and opening them again quickly.
The enormous mirror on the wall was glowing.
She froze momentarily, and shook her head when she realized what it must be. I thought I was getting better. Sighing, she climbed back under the covers—yet kept her eyes on the massive, ornate antique mirror on the wall.
The hallucinations were easier to deal with when she went with them, rather than trying to resist. Resisting led to blurry vision, headaches, nausea—and as crazy as they were, as crazy as they made her feel, it was better to just go with the crazy rather than fight it and make herself really sick.
All a result of the accident—and she might get better.
Someday.
The doctors weren’t really sure—which was frustrating.
She might not ever be normal again.
In one instant, her life changed forever.
She didn’t remember the accident, or anythi
ng else, really, from that morning. Her last memory was from the night before, kissing Julia good night and getting under the covers. She was tired—it had been a long day, the construction guys had been in and out all day, and dealing with them always wore her out—and she just wanted to go to sleep, so she mumbled I love you as her head hit the pillow and she drifted away.
Had she only known…
Traumatic amnesia was what the doctors called it, and they doubted she would ever remember anything from the morning life pulled the rug out from under her. What she did know came from the police report, which she had read so many times she practically had it memorized. She and Julia had been leaving Tulane’s campus in Meg’s Toyota Camry when a student ran a stop sign, demolishing their car and killing Julia instantly.
The student had been texting while driving and escaped with a few cuts and bruises.
Meg lost the baby in the emergency room at Touro Infirmary while still unconscious—which left her feeling empty and sad when she finally woke up. She hadn’t even known the insemination had taken—her follow-up appointment hadn’t been for another week. Julia, at least, had died without knowing the pain of the loss—which was no comfort at all.
At first, she’d just been numb, in shock—unable to feel anything. This new world, of antiseptic smells and her hovering sister, of IV drips and medications, of loss so overwhelming was one she didn’t want—a nightmare she couldn’t seem to wake up from. Each passing day hammered her new reality into her mind. Her love was gone, their child lost. In one fell swoop, she’d lost everything that mattered most to her—all because of a stupid text message some stupid, spoiled college boy was sending to one of his buddies—something that could have waited until he was safely parked somewhere.
When at last she was able to feel again, she’d been overwhelmed with anger and rage—rage at the thoughtless, careless student; at God, life, everything. And the anger burned itself out, with depression rushing in to fill the emotional vacuum.
Her sister Anne had been there to take care of everything. To deal with the doctors, the lawyers, the funeral arrangements—brisk and ruthlessly efficient, Anne had always been good at that type of thing, which was why she was such a great personal assistant.
But Anne couldn’t make the depression go away—nor could she do anything about the hallucinations.
The mirror became brighter, and she sat up in the bed, afraid to look but afraid not to. It’s just a hallucination, she told herself over and over. The accident had damaged a part of her brain—they’d explained it to her, but it was too complicated for her to remember or understand—the bottom line was that every once in a while she might have a hallucination. And face it, girl, she told herself grimly, a glowing mirror is better than seeing a tiger in your backyard, or a pterodactyl swooping down out of the sky to eat someone at the streetcar stop.
She’d been sitting on the front balcony of the now empty-seeming house she’d shared with Julia on St. Charles Avenue when the last had happened. It had been unsettling, as all the hallucinations had been—but all she could do, as her doctor kept telling her, was relax and go with them.
Another part of her new reality that required adjustment.
She reached for her glasses on the nightstand, slipping them on and shivering a little as everything came into clear focus.
She’d never cared for the mirror, but it was one of the few possessions Julia loved—Julia who wouldn’t notice (or care) if she was drinking out of Baccarat crystal or a Flintstones jelly jar. Julia simply never cared about things like that—her work was the most important thing to her. She never seemed to care whether her clothes matched, or if her hair was combed. It was part of her charm, Meg had realized, part of that intrinsic something that made up Dr. Julia Shelby, professor of European history at Tulane University.
When Meg had moved into the huge house on St. Charles Avenue, she’d taken charge—getting rid of junk, rearranging furniture so the big rooms with the high ceilings and hardwood floors became comfortable and livable. You’re just a natural nester—I love it and I love you, Julia had said when it was all finished, sweeping Meg into her arms and kissing her. I can’t wait to see what you can do with the lake house.
Meg recoiled the first time she saw the mirror—she thought it was hideous, with its enormous dark green metal frame with cherubs and roses surrounding the huge reflective glass. It predated her in Julia’s life—with a pang she remembered they’d only had three years together—as had this house on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, near Eden Isles with the twin spans across the lake to New Orleans just visible in the distance. She’d considered taking the mirror down—its greenish metal frame was screwed into the wall, and it did take up a huge space that could have been better utilized, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Julia had loved the mirror—she’d often found Julia staring into it, her hands touching the angels and cherubs shaped into the metal. “My grandmother bought it, in France just before the war,” Julia explained once. “It may have belonged to Catherine de Medici. At least that’s the story.”
As an expert on the French royal house of Valois—particularly the period of Catherine de Medici—the mirror obviously meant a great deal to Julia.
And it was one more reminder that Julia had once lived, had once shared this room with her, that they’d made love in this very bed.
So she’d kept it hanging there, to help her remember.
This was the first hallucination since she’d fled the city a week earlier, hoping that being in a place that wasn’t quite as haunted with memories would make the healing easier.
And of course the first hallucination I have here has to do with that fucking mirror, she thought grimly, gripping her coverlet with both hands.
The light coming out of the mirror began to dim a bit around the edges, and she thought she could make out trees, or foliage. She leaned forward, not willing to get out of bed and get closer.
The center of the glass seemed misty through the light, like headlights on a car piercing through a gray fog, but as she watched, the mist began to swirl and take shape.
The shape of a woman.
Involuntarily, she screamed.
And the light went out.
There was nothing there, just the mirror reflecting the room in its calm surface.
She heard footsteps coming down the hall in a hurry, and she leaned back against her pillows and the headboard, closing her eyes as her bedroom door opened and the room flooded with light.
“Are you okay?” her sister Anne asked, coming over and taking her hand, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was wearing her fuzzy pink robe, her hair sticking up around her head like Medusa’s snakes. “Did you have another nightmare?”
Meg didn’t answer at first, trying to decide what to say, and finally simply nodded in agreement. Better a nightmare than a hallucination—a nightmare won’t mean a trip to the doctor.
“Do you want me to sit with you until you fall asleep?” Anne asked, her voice gentle. “I mean, with that storm out there”—she shivered—“it’s no wonder you had a nightmare.”
As if to emphasize her point, thunder cracked and the entire house shook again. Meg stole a glance over at the mirror, almost daring it to be glowing with light, but all she saw was the back of her sister and the wall opposite the glass. “No, that’s okay,” she murmured, closing her eyes again and sliding down into the bed. “I’ll be okay, really.”
Anne leaned over and kissed the top of her head before padding lightly out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.
Meg opened her eyes and watched the mirror, but the hallucination was over, and in a few more moments she fell asleep.
The next few days passed, and there were no more hallucinations. Meg went for walks in the morning along the road, picking wildflowers and waving at neighbors. She worked on the flower garden behind the back porch, read several books, and resisted the urge to take pills. She also worried about Anne. Her o
lder sister was going through a rather nasty divorce, one that seemed to just get nastier with every passing day. Meg had never liked her brother-in-law Aaron—there was something smarmy about him just below the surface of the good-ole-boy façade he liked to project—and was relieved when Anne finally left him. Anne hadn’t told her what had happened to finally drive her out of their house in Jackson, but Meg figured when she was ready to tell she would. The accident had been conveniently timed, if one wanted to think that way—it gave Anne the out she needed to leave Jackson. They didn’t have any children—Sam and Sara were from his first marriage, and Meg wondered if Anne missed the children she had no claim on. Sometimes, when Anne thought she was alone, or Meg was out of the house, she would cry—muffled heartbroken sobs that pierced through to Meg’s very soul. Whenever she would ask, though, Anne would simply dismiss her concerns with a “my problems are nothing compared to yours.”
As though anyone can compare miseries, Meg always thought, but never tried to force the issue. When Anne was ready, she would talk about her failed marriage and the ugly divorce.
She was dreaming about Anne about a week after the mirror hallucination, a horrible nightmare with Aaron chasing them both, a foolish but frightening grin on his face, a bloody hatchet in his hands. Every time they thought they’d escaped him, gotten away, he popped up with that horrible grin.
She sat up, gasping for air, her heart racing. It seemed so real…
…and then she noticed the mirror was glowing again.
She felt her heartbeat increase, and a cold sweat broke across her brow. She swallowed because her throat had gone dry. There was a glass of water on her nightstand, as always, but she didn’t move. It wasn’t the moon’s reflection—the curtains were closed. A quick flick of her eyes to her right verified that. She blinked a few times, shook her head—but the mirror kept glowing brighter until she had to avert her eyes. Dots changing color quickly danced in front of her eyes as they adjusted to the abrupt change.