“How? You should be sixty, older.”
“I am, it’s a long story. Can we sit?”
She wordlessly led him to the living room where there were half a dozen candles already lit in proper holders. Marion turned and watched him casually sit down, smiling up at her. It was so eerie, that smile brought back a rush of memories. It was a vision, a dream, a phantasm but she’d touched his face. He was there, right in front of her. The older brother she’d lost to a heart attack when he was only thirty one.
“You should sit,” he laughed quietly.
She sat down mechanically on the sofa, candle still in hand, staring in disbelief, her gaze frozen to his face. The guttering flame went out, Marion didn’t notice.
“I found my way back. It’s complicated, but through determination I’m here, stronger than ever, ready to live the bright life.”
“It’s really you,” she whispered, watching his larger than life mannerisms. The rain didn’t seem to have gotten to him somehow, but he still brushed the finish of his black hat as he rested it on the arm of the chair. He crossed his legs and charmed with a grin like some movie star from the black and white era. The tears fell, her sobs were unstoppable.
“Oh, no. You mustn’t,” he crossed the room and took her into his arms as he sat down beside her.
Marion dropped the candle and gripped his lapel with one hand as her other arm went around him. “I missed you,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “It was so sudden, no one could believe.”
“It’s all right, your big brother’s back. It’s time to look ahead,” he Marion as sobs quaked and rattled her.
They subsided after several moments and she released his lapel to give him a great big hug.
“That’s more like it.”
“I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Ha! I have trouble believing myself sometimes!” He laughed.
She looked over his shoulder into a mirror that ran across one wall above her armchair. It was real, he wasn’t some kind of mythical vampire that couldn’t be seen in reflections. Her eye caught the quick movement of a shadow between the wall and the armchair. She knew nothing else in the room was moving, it had to be a trick of the candle light.
Zachary kissed her forehead and held her out at arm’s length. “Oop, seems we’ve made a mess,” he laughed. “You should go freshen up.”
She fixed him with a quizzical expression. “Okay,” she replied hesitantly. “Not planning on running while I’m out of sight?”
“I’ll be right here when you get back,” he grinned.
Her eyes searched his face and looked him over one more time before standing and carefully picking up her fallen candle. She reignited it from another. “There’s hot water in the kitchen if you’d like to make us some tea.”
Zachary stood, his attention drawn to a scarf that had fallen from the arm of the sofa. “Where do you keep these?”
“Oh, just leave that out. It’s Tracy’s, a friend from work.”
He folded it carefully and put it in the center of the coffee table.
Marion felt like she was drifting, half numb as she made her way to the bathroom and stepped inside. She left the door a crack open and set the candle down on the back of the toilet. Something in the mirror moved suddenly, she caught sight of it just in the corner of her eye. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she whirled to look directly at it. The person looking back at her was unknown. A young, sallow girl with a grin that filled half her face and manic, piercing light gray eyes. She was clad in a long white silk gown, the shape of her was nothing short of wasted, anorexic. Her hips and ribs showed through the dress that hung loosely from her bony shoulders. She was half hidden between the toilet and the wall. It wasn’t possible, there was less than an inch between the toilet tank and the drywall, but then, there she was.
Marion opened her mouth to scream but it wouldn’t come.
The face in the mirror twitched, leered, and jerked as though the figure was afflicted by some terrible involuntary tick. “Look at meeeee,” it whispered musically, drawing out the sound of the words until a violent twitch interrupted her. Her voice sounded like a sharpening stone and steel scraping, echoing through a long chamber.
“This is my little sister, a worthy sacrifice?” her brother said in Marion’s ear. She hadn’t seen him come in. His hands settled on her hips.
“She is innocent if old. You loooove her,” crooned the face twisted painfully in an over expression of glee.
“Yes. This is the highest offering I can make.”
“Then it will be done. You will have three of us.”
“Three? How is that even near what I’m offering.”
Marion tried to shake her gaze away from the gaunt visage before her, to turn and run, to question Zachary but she couldn’t move her mouth, her feet, or turn her head. A tear rolled down her cheek, her lips quivered.
“Oh, you’re going to a far better place, Marion. You’ll be able to watch me build a kingdom beyond your wildest dreams from paradise.”
“He liiieees,” sung the impossible being in the mirror. “You will be one of us, a shaaadow siiiren.”
“Spoiler, nasty of you to poke holes in my shallow comforts,” Zachary scolded the mirror bound image. “You’ll give me three now and when I find more hosts you’ll serve me in your full number. I want legions,” Zachary demanded firmly.
“Niiiiine huuuundred niiiiinety niiiiine.”
“Done.”
The eyes in the mirror lit up and it smiled open mouthed so gleefully it looked as though the thing’s jaw was about to become unhinged. The shadow siren’s gaze burned into Marion.
A pressure started to build in her head, her heart hammered at her ribcage. She could feel herself breathing faster, faster, until she was panting desperately. Her efforts to break free of her involuntary fixation, to blink, to scream as the pressure in her mind built doubled and redoubled. Urine ran down her thighs as she managed a whimper.
“It’ll all be over momentarily,” whispered Zachary in her ear, kissing her tear streaked cheek.
The gleeful spirit’s hands reached out, its long, bony fingers gripped the sides of her face. That grin, those eyes loomed closer, closer. Marion wished she could die, that she could somehow deny the creature.
The pressure in her mind, the feeling of her desperately pulsating heart and frantic breathing all disappeared. It took a moment before Marion realized she was staring out of the mirror, looking to where the spirit who had taken her body used it like a living suit.
“Guide me to another,” she watched her own face grin. The blood and flesh she’d been born into wasn’t her own, where she was and what it meant was a sudden and terrifying mystery, yet she couldn’t look away from Zachary and her possessed body.
Zachary held up Tracy’s scarf and handed it to her hijacked form. “Send a sister to this one.”
Marion tried to scream, to shatter the barrier between her and the bathroom but she was ignored. A feeling of being drawn away, as though by an unseen current overwhelmed her. There was a presence, a devouring thing that challenged her will to remain near her bathroom mirror. At first her efforts to strain against the presence, against the draw of whatever had taken hold of her were enough. Suddenly, as though caught by a great wave the force of the dark grip on her overcame her and the living world disappeared from sight. There was no sound to her scream as she fell into utter darkness.
Part III: Cinnamon Girl
Art was happening in the middle of the mall coffee shop. Angela poked small holes in an overturned Styrofoam cup with a half straightened paper clip. At first it was the Leaning Tower of Pizza, but half way through it became the lower three quarters of the Eiffel Tower.
She blew a curl of brown hair out of her face as she worked out a crossbeam. She’d never seen the landmark, but somehow she’d managed to get the arch right.
“Can I take anything for you?” Asked Scott, the tall shop owner as he regarded the three empty cu
ps, used teabag and stir sticks on her table.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Just about to leave, I’ll clean up when I go,” she replied, knowing that he was doing his regular rounds to ensure all the patrons had something warm at their table. It was a mantra at the Cuppa coffee shop; buy or fly. She presented him with her finely perforated cup. “For you.”
“I always feel bad about tossing these. Eiffel tower this time, nice,” He smiled at her artful garbage, genuinely amused. “Too bad you drink tea, otherwise you might have had room for the top.”
“I’m glad you recognize it.” A sound like thousands of pebbles striking the skylight over the main concourse just outside the threshold that divided the coffee shop from the mall proper interrupted them. It had been raining hard, but the rush of hail was new.
“I knew I’d get soaked through on my way to the car tonight, but I didn’t expect to get knocked out,” Scott muttered as he looked to the darkening sky and hard rain. Tiny specs of white were mixed in with the fat drops. “I could get you some hot water you know, extend the life of your teabag so you can wait it out for another twenty minutes. It’s dead in here anyway.”
“That’s okay, I was supposed to meet Christie. She’s late again.” A shiver prompted her to pull a shawl from her bag and wrap it around her shoulders. “I’ll give her a few more minutes before checking for her at Books and Blessings.”
“No problem, she probably lost track of time making scented candles. I’m surprised she does anything else in that store. Just don’t tell anyone else you dodged the dreaded drink every twenty minute law,” Scott winked as he efficiently piled the cups and stir sticks onto his tray and wiped her table with a rag. He left her used teabag on a cup lid..
She watched him move off. It took a lot to frustrate him, but she’d seen him get flustered when crowds of junior high schoolers took up space without buying anything. A smile came to her lips at the memory of overhearing him complain behind the counter, calling them seagulls, threatening to throw a hand full of fries from the food court at them just to see if they’d pinwheel and devour the fried tubers.
Hunger Strike, her favorite Temple of the Dog tune came on over the sound system. Scott had it installed so their patrons wouldn’t be dulled to death by the mall musack, something anyone who spent enough time there was thankful for. Angela crossed her arms on the table and laid her head down on her cotton sleeves. Scott was right, the place was dead.
The yellow-brown tiles on the floor showed the passage of dozens of business people and students alike. But they were long gone. His customers ran him ragged during the day and their absence made the evenings long. She lived downtown, it was her regular hangout outside of the Blessings and Books shop where her best friend worked.
They’d both be graduating in two weeks and had planned to take a year off before college to make some extra money. Her idea, and her father didn’t argue. He wouldn’t be able to afford anything other than tuition and a couple of books anyway, she’d have to take out loans. Christie’s parents were less enthusiastic about her spending a year outside of school but they eventually relented.
There were a pair of business people gossiping, someone had photocopied something they shouldn’t have and faxed it off to head office anonymously. A man in a woman’s pantsuit fussed with his long blond hair. At least she was pretty sure it was a man, best not to stare long enough to be certain.
Angela caught her reflection in a mirrored pillar and looked into her own bored brown eyes. She wasn’t slender, or particularly tall, but she still drew some attention because of the way she dressed. It was a cross between medieval fair and late 60’s hippie, with a long loose gypsy skirt and peasant blouse. Her sixteen hole Doc Martin’s were a constant source of frustration to her aunt, who was adamant on the point of wearing the right shoes with the right dress. She’d bought her a pair of zip up, four inch heel boots that crushed her toes. They were a monstrosity and spent all their time right where monsters should – in the back of the closet. Her eyelids drooped for a moment. With a sharp inhale she refused to fall asleep in the middle of the Cuppa. She swore something moved in the mirror as she opened her eyes. It was just over her shoulder, but when she turned to look behind there was nothing to see but an empty table and matching chairs.
With a sigh she faced forward and shook her head. Angela’s gaze moved on across the identical brown and green tables. A woman was applying lipstick while looking into her compact. She was in her late twenties, dressed for a casual evening in a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeved shirt. She didn’t merit much attention. Angela closed the top of her backpack and was about to stand when she had the urge to look back at the woman. She hadn’t moved.
Her gaze was locked on her own reflection, the tube of lipstick frozen mid sweep on her upper lip. Angela couldn’t resist but lean a little so she could see into the mirror. A face looked at her, grinning, black toothed and wild eyed. Even in the small oval Angela could see it plainly, it was a female face, but half rotten. It looked back to the still woman and thrashed wildly against the mirror as though it were a glass barrier.
Angela watched mutely, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide. In her mind’s eye the mirror broke, even though she knew that the surface was still intact. In the gaunt, gray face burst forth in a flash of light and took up residence in the still woman’s body. The only signs that anything unusual had occurred were the dropping of the tube of lipstick and a great gasp.
Angela slung the worn canvas backpack over her shoulder and stood to leave but was stuck to the spot as the casually dressed woman smiled painfully wide. Her head turned mechanically to look at her, blue eyes too gleeful to be natural.
Scott noticed something strange was going on and turned around from where he was cleaning a table. “Everything okay?” he asked politely.
The woman’s attention focused on him in a flash, her head whipping around. In a smooth, swift series of movements she stood, took up her chair in one hand and threw it at him. His tray went flying, he lost his balance and slipped, crashing hip first to the floor and shattering the mirrored pole behind him.
Angela saw an aura like black and white steam rise from the attacking woman as she rushed to the shards of glass and picked a particularly pointed, jagged one up. Scott’s hands went up to fend her off. The business men were on their feet, running for their lives. The pantsuit wearing man did the same after gawking for a moment.
The crazed woman slashed at Scott, cutting his hands deeply. Blood ran down his arms. He tried to kick her off. One of his feet caught her ankle, sending her leg out from under her.
She came down on top of him, burying the mirror shard in his chest. The frenzied woman picked up another and slashed at his face, his throat.
Angela willed herself to run, guilt nagging at leaving Scott behind, fear driving her away. “Help! Someone’s killing him!” Her voice echoed down the empty halls, half the store spaces were empty and most shops closed at five so there were few people walking around. Her only hope was to find a security guard or Bernie at Books and Blessings.
She rounded a corner and faced a mirrored wall. In the reflection of the darkened shop windows behind were watching faces in shade as though they’d been trapped in the empty business space. Their eager eyes were fixed on her, watching her every motion. Some of the gaunt, gray images screamed mutely while others leered in eager fascination. Dark, pale and piercing eyes all beckoned her, chilled her and she began to hear their frantic, desperate screams and maniacal laughter.
With an effort that left her sweating, gasping for air she tore her eyes away from the sight and she ran, looking for somewhere without mirrors. Angela didn’t know why, but she turned down the narrower hallway that led to the public bathrooms and came to a sliding stop at the ladies room door. As soon as she was through Angela saw the error of her ways. She was faced with a broad bank of mirrors. Like a fearful child she squealed, averted her eyes and ducked into a stall, winded, gasping for air.
She closed her eyes and tried to calm down. There was a solid steel stall door between her and the mirrors, there was no way she would become another victim. With a quick sweep of the back of her hand she freed her eyes of tears and tried to center herself, deepening her breathing. “Gaea guard my sight and guide my heart.” she breathed to herself. It was a prayer she’d spoken before exams, when Derek had broken up with her the summer before but she’d never said it with such desperation. “Huntsman show me through the great wilderness and protect those I love.”
“Angela,” called a gentle voice from outside the stall. “Come, it’s safe,” the woman’s voice reassured.
The bathroom door hadn’t opened, she was certain. It couldn’t have been the madwoman who slashed at Scott.
Angela steeled herself and opened the stall door. The only thing in the mirror was her own reflection. It wasn’t coming out of the stall as she was. It stood there as though she were facing away from the sinks in front of her.
Looking away, Angela said; “The only power you have over me is what I give you through fear and self doubt.” It was meant to be a warding, a warning but it sounded thin, tense.
“Impressive! You’re a good little book witch, aren’t you? I’m sure I’d find a whole collection of volumes from Gardner, Starhawk, Conway, maybe even something a little riskier tucked into the corner, an out of print spell book? Never thought you’d get to see through the veil so explicitly, did you?”
Angela couldn’t help but look at the independent image of herself. It was smiling. Not eager, rotten or over zealous like the others but knowingly. It was her, but the eyes were different, the bearing was wrong, too self assured. “This is wrong,” it was half question, half statement.
“Yes. The rules have changed, mankind has taken one more staggering step away from the garden and the faithless pay the price tonight. We’ll get to the priests and the rest of you tentative believers later.”
Dark Arts: Rising Page 2