Mirror Magic

by Claire Fayers

  To reveal a person’s true nature.

  Warning – this item is not a toy. Handle with care.

  Howell sniffed the packet suspiciously. It smelled mainly of lavender. ‘You know Mad Brille?’

  ‘She’s my aunt,’ Lunette said.

  Howell’s cheeks flared. ‘Sorry. It’s just that everyone says . . .’

  ‘She’s odd, I know. She’s very nice, though, when you get to know her. She made that enchantment as soon as I told her you’d want it.’

  But he’d only talked to Ava a few minutes ago, Howell thought. There was no way Lunette could have known.

  The hat-wielding niece of the madwoman glanced about. ‘Would you mind if we get out of the cold? There’s a teashop nearby. I can explain everything there.’

  She appeared so sure Howell would say yes that he found himself nodding. Although, come to think of it, explanations would be pretty good right now.

  ‘My master is expecting me back,’ he said as he followed Lunette back down the lane, just to let her know that he’d be missed if he didn’t return. ‘Who told you I wanted that enchantment?’

  Lunette shook her head, making her tiger hat wobble. ‘Not out here. The mist has ears. And it’s not a who, it’s a what.’

  CHAPTER 11

  Well, I tried to warn you. That’s the trouble with being a book. You can use your very biggest print and nobody listens. Not even if you’re a magic book of prophecy.

  The Book

  Ava slapped the mirror frame in frustration. Outside, the sun was still shining. Moonrise was hours away, and she was supposed to finish work in twenty minutes. How was she supposed to get back here at moonrise?

  Mrs Footer opened the door and scowled to see Ava standing there. ‘Whatever are you doing? You should have finished in here by now.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ava said. ‘Would you like me to stay late today?’

  ‘No, I would not. I would like you to do your work on time.’

  Ava supposed it had been too much to hope that Mrs Footer would agree. She picked up a vase to dust under it.

  ‘Careful with that,’ Mrs Footer snapped. ‘You’ll break it.’

  Ava set it down a little harder than she meant to. ‘Why do you dislike me so much?’

  The words came out before she could stop them.

  Mrs Footer’s cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘My son and I have gone out of our way to help you. We gave you a position here. I’ve tolerated all your mistakes. You should be repaying us by working hard, and instead you stand about dreaming.’

  Ava knew she should be quiet, apologize and let this drop, but she couldn’t. Nothing was right in this town and she was tired of it all.

  ‘You’re my aunt,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what my father did to annoy you, but it has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Your father was an irresponsible man,’ Mrs Footer said. ‘He made a great many mistakes.’

  Including her, she meant, Ava thought. She put her hand to the crescent mark on her cheek.

  Mrs Footer looked away from her. ‘I don’t have time to stand talking. Mr Footer is appearing at the theatre tonight and I need to help him prepare. You can leave now.’

  In the room off the kitchen, Ava collected her coat and bonnet in resentful silence. She imagined Howell waiting for her at moonrise, wondering where she was. And tomorrow was Sunday and she wouldn’t be at work. She wouldn’t get another chance to see him until Monday afternoon.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Mrs Footer snapped from the doorway.

  Ava tied the ribbons on her bonnet. ‘Coming.’

  She dropped her gaze to the window. It was open at the bottom: a gap barely wide enough to put her fingers into.

  Ava couldn’t face going back home yet. Instead she walked to the high street and looked in the shop windows. The shopkeeper in the Wyse Emporium of Souvenirs saw her, and she waved at him cheekily.

  Walking on, she spotted a small tourist office: Maps, Books, Information. Gifts for Sale.

  Information: that was what she needed. Ava went inside.

  The office was small and empty apart from a young woman sitting at a table. She looked up, frowned and went back to the book she was reading. Ava browsed the shelf of teapots and replica mirrors, then moved on to the guidebooks.

  The magic mirrors control the fairy world, she read. The process is perfectly safe. Fairy people are confined to the mirrors and may only come through into our world if ordered to do so by the conjuror. Such orders are rarely given. The six conjurors in Wyse are carefully monitored by our government minister, Lord Skinner, to ensure the magic mirrors are all operated safely.

  ‘Are you buying that?’ the lady behind the table asked.

  Ava shook her head and turned another page. Just a description of how conjurors supposedly kept their mirrors locked to stop magic leaking out.

  ‘Do you know why magic mirrors stopped working?’ Ava asked.

  The lady put down the book she was reading. ‘You’re the Harcourt girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ava saw how she looked away quickly from the mark on her cheek. ‘Did you know my parents?’ she asked.

  ‘Not personally, no. I’ve heard people mention them.’

  She’d heard the gossip, she meant, Ava thought. ‘What about the mirrors? Why did they stop working? Do any of these books say?’

  ‘They just stopped,’ the lady said. ‘No one knows why. There’s no record of when the first one failed. I don’t expect anyone thought it would be the start of all of them dying.’ Her voice became almost mechanical. ‘The first record we have is from seventeen ten, by which time fifty-three mirrors had ceased working.’

  ‘And now we only have six left,’ Ava said.

  The lady rested her elbows on the table. ‘Six is plenty. Some of the history books say it was quite chaotic before, with hundreds of working mirrors all over the country, and you never knew what you’d see when you looked into one. The system we have here is much better – everything properly controlled.’

  Ava slid the book back on to the shelf. ‘Do you know how long Lord Skinner has lived in Wyse?’

  Did the lady’s eyes glaze slightly? Ava wasn’t sure. ‘You should ask him,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll tell you. He’s a fine gentleman.’

  A fine gentleman. She was still no closer to finding out the truth. Ava went back to the main street and paused outside the theatre, reading the posters. Then, as she turned in the direction of home, she spotted a figure she recognized: small and round, wearing a cap and carrying a basket of bread.

  ‘Charles!’ Ava called.

  He slowed when he heard her, and crossed the road to her. ‘Hello, Ava. Did Mrs Footer send you out for something?’

  ‘No, she sent me home early. Mr Footer’s performing in the theatre tonight.’

  Charles nodded. ‘They take turns, all the conjurors.’ He shifted his basket from arm to arm. ‘You can walk with me if you like,’ he offered. ‘I’ve got two more deliveries left.’

  Ava strolled along beside him, squinting in the sunlight. ‘Do you know the other conjurors?’

  ‘I deliver bread to them sometimes. There’s Mr Radcot – he lives across town. Then Mr Langhile and Mr Gaddesby, who are neighbours and work together. Mr Footer, of course. Then Mr Price, who is planning to retire and hand over to his son this year, and Mr Powell, who got married last year. His wife is expecting a baby.’

  Six conjurors in the town and she had to get stuck with the Footers. Ava kicked a stone along as she walked. She had to get back into the Footers’ house at moonrise.

  Charles was still chattering about conjurors and magic.

  ‘Charles,’ Ava said, interrupting him. ‘You know you said I could ask you for help if I needed it? Did you mean it?’

  CHAPTER 12

  Mirrors, like rules, are made to be broken. Well, both of them will cause a bit of a mess if you do, but it happens anyway. By the way, you might want to close your eyes in a page or two. Things are about to ge
t unpleasant.

  The Book

  Lunette stopped outside a little shop with a red teapot sign over the door. Another sign read Self-service: Please Come In. It was well past teatime and the shop was empty. Lunette pulled a chair out at the nearest table and sat. A pot of tea, a china cup and a plate bearing a slice of strawberry cake appeared in front of her.

  Howell remained in the doorway. The walk, although short, had cleared his mind and given him time to gather his courage.

  ‘What is this about?’ he asked. ‘Mr Bones said you’re an anti-humanist – is that true? Why shouldn’t I trust him?’

  ‘It’s a little complicated.’ Lunette set her bag on the floor. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘You won’t tell your hat to eat me?’

  ‘This?’ She pulled it off. ‘It’s only an illusion. I’m not an anti-humanist. I’m a hat-maker. I come from Unlyme on the west coast. It’s a nice town, not much magic there now, but quiet and pleasant.’

  That didn’t explain anything. ‘And Mr Bones?’

  ‘Have you noticed that he never leaves Unwyse?’ Lunette stirred sugar into her tea. ‘I wonder why not. He’s been around for ages too. At least a hundred years, probably much longer. You’d think he might have grown tired of Unwyse by now.’

  ‘Maybe he’s busy with Waxing Gibbous and the Mirror Station,’ Howell said, wondering why it mattered where Mr Bones chose to live. He didn’t trust Mr Bones, but it still felt slightly treasonous to be talking about him. ‘Why do you care so much about him anyway?’

  Lunette glanced up at him. ‘I don’t. But he wants something that is in my care.’

  She bent and opened her bag.

  Howell’s feet carried him half a step forward, his insides a roiling mix of curiosity, worry and confusion, as Lunette reached into the bag, produced several hats and then a book.

  That was all: an ordinary book, leather-bound and tattered at the edges, the cover plain apart from a pair of overlapping circles in the centre.

  Mr Bones wanted a book? Everything inside Howell deflated.

  ‘This isn’t just any book,’ Lunette said as if she’d read his thoughts. ‘It’s The Book. Capital T, capital B.’ She opened it. The pages were all as blank as the cover. ‘Book, this is Master Howell Fletcher.’

  The Book’s pages ruffled as if a breeze had passed over them, though Howell didn’t feel anything. He walked closer, watching curiously as a dark spot squirmed to life right in the centre of the left-hand page, gradually spreading and forming words.

  Lunette will speak with Master Fletcher, and they will leave quickly to the house with all the mirrors.

  ‘What is this?’ Howell breathed.

  Letters blurred and rearranged themselves.

  Made of paper, pages, spine, cover. I don’t know what you think, but I’d say I’m a book. The Book, in fact. The Book of Unwyse Magic. I can tell you everything that is happening at this moment, and everything that will happen in every moment to come. Ask me a question.

  Howell dragged his gaze off the page. ‘Why are you called The Book of Unwyse Magic when you come from Unlyme?’

  I don’t come from Unlyme. I come from everywhere. The telephone will be invented in 1876, if 1876 ever happens, which is currently questionable.

  Lunette sighed. ‘The Book’s been getting erratic lately, which is worrying. But when it makes sense you should pay attention.’

  I am not an elephant, The Book wrote. I mean erratic. Hello, Howell. You should sit down. Your future is looking interesting, by the way. Though, possibly, not very long.

  Howell sat: his legs seemed to want to. A teapot appeared and poured a stream of pale blue liquid into a cup. A tea party. None of this made any sense.

  None of this makes sense to Howell, The Book echoed. The electric oven won’t be invented until 1890, probably later. The automobile will be invented around then as well. If there’s anyone left to invent them.

  ‘What’s an electric oven and an automobile?’ Howell asked.

  Lunette shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. The Book does this from time to time – making random predictions full of words I don’t understand. It used to happen if I asked a question it couldn’t answer, but it’s been happening more often. I think it might be sickening from something.’

  That was ridiculous: books didn’t fall ill. But books didn’t write things at you either. Howell shifted his weight in his chair. ‘All right. You’ve got a talking book that tells the future, and Mr Bones wants it. What’s this got to do with me?’

  Lunette sipped her tea, frowning. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. All I know is The Book told me I’d come to Unwyse and find you. It was a big risk, knowing that Mr Bones was hunting us, but, as I said, when The Book makes a prediction like that, you should pay attention and do as it says.’

  The mirrors are dying – the future is in danger. Everything depends on you.

  Howell swallowed a mouthful of salty tea, almost choking on it. ‘What? But I’ve never even heard of The Book.’

  Of course you haven’t. I’m a secret. Don’t travel on the Titanic in 1912.

  ‘You’re not a very useful book, you know,’ Howell said.

  Hey, you try foretelling the future and see how you get on. Oh dear.

  The Book’s pages turned blank, then two more words formed, squirming across the page in a hurry: Leave. NOW.

  The words had such an urgency that Howell started to his feet. Outside, the light was fading. The moon would soon be rising.

  Lunette stuffed The Book back into her bag. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  The House of Forgotten Mirrors was in darkness when they arrived. Howell opened the door a crack and peered inside. There was no one about.

  ‘Come on in,’ he whispered to Lunette, creeping inside. A faint glow of light started up from the ceiling, making the mirrors look more ghostly than ever. Across the room, he thought he saw something move and he jumped, then choked out a laugh. It was only a sheet, flapping in the draught from the door.

  ‘Howell,’ Lunette said quietly.

  ‘It’s safe.’ Of course it was safe. Stupid book – and he was even stupider for believing it. Howell turned around, scanning the gallery. He’d been looking into mirror seventy-seven when he’d seen Ava. The mirror right over there.

  The one that was uncovered with the sheet heaped on the floor beside it.

  Something in Howell’s chest jumped. It was fine, he told himself. He hadn’t put the sheet back properly earlier and it had slid off, that was all.

  Then he saw other sheets lying on the floor. A whole section of mirrors uncovered.

  No, this wasn’t fine. Master Tudur would never have left the mirrors like this, and Will was too lazy to bother messing them up. Howell took a step back towards the door. Where was Will?

  It was then that he heard the noise.

  It came softly at first, a rattling like fingernails skittering over glass. Then it grew louder and each click became more distinct. A hundred sharp claws tapping in a rhythm that made Howell think of . . .

  Bones.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lunette and Howell will go to the House of Forgotten mirrors and . . . Oh dear. Can somebody else take over foreseeing the future here for a while? I’m going to see what’s happening in the human world.

  The Book

  ‘Are you quite sure we won’t get into trouble?’ Charles asked. ‘I want to be a policeman, remember. You’re asking me to break the law.’

  They stood a few houses down from the Footers’, hiding behind a hedge. It was still light but the fairy lanterns were already beginning to glow dimly, making the air around them judder. Ava rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t sure about this at all. ‘It’s not breaking the law,’ she said. ‘It’s . . . investigating. All you have to do is knock on the door and keep Mrs Footer talking for a few minutes.’

  ‘While you do what exactly?’

  ‘It’s a secret.’ It was bad enough that she had to involve him in this.
If he got into trouble, it would be her fault. ‘It’s to do with Freedom for Fair Folk,’ she said. ‘Please, just trust me.’

  Charles shook his head, frowning. ‘All right,’ he agreed at last, balling his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll ask her if she’s seen my dog.’

  ‘Do you have a dog?’ Ava asked.

  ‘No, but Mrs Footer doesn’t know that.’

  Ava sighed. It would do. ‘Give me a minute, then knock on the door.’

  She ran round the side of the house and made her way to the room at the back with the window that wouldn’t close. She felt slightly ill, her hands so damp with sweat that her fingers stuck together. She wouldn’t let herself think about what she was doing or she’d lose her nerve and run.

  She squeezed her fingers into the gap under the window and heaved, edging the window open a little at a time, then she tucked her skirt up and climbed through.

  Nobody screamed. Nobody came running, threatening to call the policeman. Ava let out a careful breath and tiptoed through the kitchen to the door.

  What if Mrs Footer was entertaining friends in the parlour tonight? Ava froze, listening. She hadn’t really thought past sneaking into the parlour, grabbing the enchantment off Howell and running before anyone saw her. It really was an awful idea, with any number of things that could go wrong.

  Ava’s hands shook. She dug her fingers into her skirt. Bad idea or not, she was here now, so she might as well try it.

  The doorbell rang. Ava heard footsteps, and then voices.

  ‘I haven’t seen any dog,’ Mrs Footer said.

  ‘I think he may be trapped in your garden,’ Charles replied. ‘If you could just come while I look.’ He said something else, too quiet for Ava to hear, and Mrs Footer sighed heavily.

  ‘Oh, very well.’ The front door closed.

  Ava took a deep breath, then flung open the kitchen door and dashed along the hall to the parlour. It was empty. Her vision swam with relief as she closed the door behind her and faced the mirror.

  ‘Come on, Howell,’ she murmured. ‘I’m here. Where are you?’