Mirror Magic

by Claire Fayers

  Lord Skinner inclined his head. His eyes were rimmed with red and shadow. Beside Howell, Ava stood like stone. ‘But the mirrors were dying in seventeen ten,’ she said. ‘You can’t be that old.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ Lord Skinner asked. He gestured to the door behind him. ‘Please.’

  Howell followed as Lord Skinner led them through a huge dining room into a kitchen that was five times the size of Ava’s. The back door stood open and thin threads of mist crawled through, tangling around the pans on the kitchen wall. One of the pans began to twist, trying to escape from its hook.

  ‘The gravestone . . .’ Howell began.

  ‘My parents. I was their only child. I was very fond of them though it was a long time ago.’ Lord Skinner sat down, making the chair creak. ‘Kitchens are such comforting places, don’t you find?’ His voice wavered. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be hungry – constantly, awfully hungry and no amount of food can fill the space inside you?’

  Howell tried to imagine it. The closest he could come up with was his own lack of magic, but that seemed like nothing compared with the terrible emptiness in Lord Skinner’s eyes.

  ‘How?’ he asked, fascinated and repulsed. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘I discovered a way of drawing magic out of mirrors.’ Lord Skinner’s gaze drifted. ‘The first time I did it, it felt like I’d been reborn. I thought once would be enough, but it wasn’t. I did it again, and again. Finally, the mirrors started running out until there were only a handful left. I preserved them here, keeping watch over the conjurors who use them. I hid my own mirror and used it to bring magical goods from Unwyse. Those scraps of magic have been just enough to keep me alive.’

  The pans on the wall hung still again, seeming too afraid to move.

  An unnerving smile stretched Lord Skinner’s lips. ‘But now you can change everything. You can bring mirrors back to life. I will have unlimited connections to feed off, as much magic as I could ever need. And in return, Miss Harcourt, I will order Mr Bones to return your brother to you. I do have the power to do that.’

  Howell shuddered. He didn’t need The Book to tell him what would happen if they gave Lord Skinner what he wanted. There would be no end to it – Lord Skinner’s hunger might be satisfied for a little while, but it would grow again until it consumed everything – not just Wyse and Unwyse but the whole world and Unworld with them. He curled his hands into fists. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We won’t do it.’

  Lord Skinner’s gaze snapped round to him. ‘I’m afraid you must. Miss Harcourt, you already owe me your life. I remember the day your father came to me, needing more powerful magic than he could summon with his mirror. I gave him the books he needed, told him what to ask for. All I wanted in return was an occasional message passed through his mirror.’

  Ava shook her head, her face drawn tight.

  ‘What magic?’ Howell asked her, extending his hand to her.

  She pushed it away. ‘There’s no magic. My parents moved to get away from magic. Father told me to stay away from mirrors. It was the last thing he said before he died.’

  Ava’s parents were dead? ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, the words sticking in his throat. ‘I thought they were travelling or something, like mine.’ No wonder she looked so sad sometimes. He reached out to her again but she shrugged him away without looking at him.

  ‘I lost my parents when I was a child too,’ Lord Skinner said softly. ‘Cholera. Very few people survived. I know what it’s like to grow up alone, with only myself for company. You and I are similar in many ways, Miss Harcourt.’

  Ava shook her head. ‘I’m not alone. I have Matthew.’

  ‘And what does Matthew think about that?’ Lord Skinner asked.

  Ava didn’t answer, but her cheeks reddened.

  Strands of mist drifted across Howell’s vision. He waved them away, his thoughts in turmoil. Thousands of enchantments from Waxing Gibbous sent through the mirror to feed Lord Skinner’s hunger. Mr Bones must know. Yes, of course Mr Bones knew, and so he wanted to change the covenant.

  The smell of magic grew stronger, like something long dead. Lord Skinner and Mr Bones were at war, Howell thought helplessly, and he and Ava were stuck in the middle of it.

  Lord Skinner’s gaze hovered somewhere between Howell and Ava. ‘When your parents died, Miss Harcourt,’ he said, ‘I took the opportunity to bring you back to Wyse. I didn’t know what your connection with the Unworld would do, but, I hoped, after the magic your father used . . .’ He tailed off, struggling for words. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘one must always hope. I’m glad you are here. Now we can fight Mr Bones together.’

  Ava’s shoulders slumped.

  She was going to agree, Howell thought.

  He shook her. ‘Ava, don’t listen.’

  ‘You don’t want me around you,’ she said dully. ‘I’ve caused enough trouble. Mr Bones has got Matthew. What else can we do?’

  ‘You can run,’ Lunette said. Her voice sounded strange. She pointed at the open back door.

  Howell turned to look, and a cry rose in his chest. Something moved in the darkness outside: a long, thin shape with limbs that swung in odd, jerky motions, and every time the thing moved he heard it rattle.

  CHAPTER 27

  A skeleton is stalking you. Do you . . .

  (a) run,

  (b) order the skeleton to stop,

  (c) hide, or

  (d) do something else?

  The correct answer is (e): do whatever you like: nothing will help. But I thought you might like a little quiz to pass the time while waiting for the inevitable.

  The Book

  The skeleton stepped over the kitchen threshold and paused, turning from side to side to look at them all. Howell’s chest ached as if his heart had stopped beating.

  ‘No!’ Lord Skinner gasped, staggering back. ‘He can’t do this.’

  The skeleton flexed its fingers.

  If Mr Bones sent a skeleton after you, it didn’t matter where you ran – it would hunt you down. Strangely, Howell felt almost relieved. Now he didn’t have to keep constantly worrying, waiting for the rattle of bones.

  Lunette thrust something into Howell’s hand. He looked down and saw The Book.

  ‘Run,’ she said. ‘The Book has told you where.’

  She threw a hat at the skeleton. It exploded into a rainbow shower of bright light, filling the kitchen with a multicoloured blur.

  ‘You’re the guardians,’ Lunette said. ‘Both of you. Go – you can do it.’

  The colours started to clear from the air. The skeleton lunged at them. Lunette grabbed a pan from the table and swung it.

  Howell dragged Ava back out of the way. He caught a glimpse of the skeleton’s dark outline reaching out, and Lunette clinging on to it, then he reached the door to the banqueting hall and kicked it shut behind him.

  Ava wrenched her arm free. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘It doesn’t want Lunette. It wants The Book – it wants us. It’ll come after us.’

  As if to confirm his words, something thumped on the door, forcing it open a crack. Howell heard Lord Skinner shouting. ‘Get out of my house! Take her and go!’ Then a louder thump and Lord Skinner yelling in pain. Howell hoped Lunette had hit him.

  He ran through the banqueting hall towards the gleaming mirrors in the entrance hall, pulling Ava behind him. Another crash from the kitchen. He winced.

  Ava overtook him at the door. The mirrors waited. Two long rows of doors into the Unworld, all of them locked. Howell’s palms prickled with sweat. Reflected in the nearest glass, he saw the skeleton burst through the door into the banqueting hall. It paused, shaking away bits of broken wood. Then it turned slowly from side to side and started across the room towards them. It wasn’t in any hurry – why should it be when they were trapped?

  Ava pressed her hands against the nearest mirror. Howell joined her, willing the glass to change but, as before, it remained flat and cold.

  ‘Come on,’ Howell breathe
d.

  The skeleton was almost at the door. Lunette raced out of the kitchen and threw a saucepan at it. It batted the pan aside and kept coming. Howell tried to tear his gaze off the reflection in the glass, but he couldn’t.

  Ava gripped his hand painfully tight. ‘This isn’t working.’

  It had to work. Think! What had he been doing when he’d opened mirror seventy-seven? He’d been cleaning it. And . . . and thinking about how he had no magic, and it was like a big emptiness inside him.

  Howell didn’t feel empty any more.

  The skeleton stepped into the entrance hall. And the mirror turned misty. The reflection of the room and the skeleton bulged, distorted and disappeared. Howell heard the click of bones but he didn’t turn round – he didn’t dare.

  Lunette shouted something, but her voice seemed far away and he couldn’t make out what she’d said. The weight of The Book dragged him into the mist.

  Howell felt his hand separate from Ava’s.

  ‘Ava,’ he said, remembering in time. ‘Come through.’

  He stepped forward and the world turned silver.

  And then he was stepping out of the mirror. A sheet caught around his face and he couldn’t see a thing, but he felt the pressure of Ava’s hand again, squeezed it reassuringly and pushed the sheet aside.

  ‘Hello, Will,’ he said.

  Will leaped up from Master Tudur’s chair with a scream of fright. Howell almost laughed at the sight of him, but then he saw the state of the gallery and he gasped in alarm. At least half the mirrors were uncovered, the dust sheets thrown in heaps on the floor. And the mist. It flowed in shimmering strands, filling the floor and heaping up over the one mirror that still stood covered. Mirror seventy-seven, Howell supposed.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ he asked. ‘Where’s Master Tudur?’

  Will spluttered and stammered, trying to get words out. ‘You’ve brought a human through. How? That mirror shouldn’t be working.’

  Howell let go of Ava’s hand. ‘It is now. Will, please calm down. I can explain.’

  ‘Explain what? Mr Bones is looking for you. He said you’re an anti-humanist, and the station guards are patrolling the streets looking for traitors. They’ve taken Master Tudur to Waxing Gibbous. Mr Bones left me here to keep watch.’

  In case anyone came through a mirror here, Howell thought. It was strange – either he’d grown taller in the past few days or Will had shrunk.

  ‘I’m not an anti-humanist,’ he said. ‘Mr Bones lied to you. I think he’s been lying to everyone. Ava is my friend.’

  ‘Your friend?’ Ava and Will both echoed, Ava with a worried frown and Will with a look of horror.

  Howell nodded firmly. ‘My friend. That’s mirror seventy-seven, isn’t it?’ he asked, nodding at the covered shape surrounded by mist. ‘It’s letting magic into the human world. We need to smash it.’

  ‘Mr Bones said not to touch it,’ Will said. The whining note in his voice was starting to annoy Howell.

  ‘You’re a coward,’ Howell said. ‘I bet you didn’t even try to help Master Tudur, did you? You only thought about saving yourself.’

  Will’s eyes flashed with rage. ‘I’m not a coward.’

  ‘Prove it. Disobey Mr Bones. Break the mirror.’

  Will swung at him.

  The blow connected and Howell’s vision turned bright with specks of light. He struck back without thinking.

  ‘Stop!’ Ava snapped. Her voice shocked them both into silence.

  Will stepped back, his face flushed and angry. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘Actually, I can,’ Ava said. ‘I’m human – that means I can order you to do anything and you have to obey.’

  Will clenched his fists. ‘Not on this side of the mirror.’ But Howell saw doubt in his eyes.

  ‘Do you want to try it?’ Ava asked. ‘Shall I order you to stand on your head or take off all your clothes?’ Her gaze hardened. ‘Or shall I make you do something more dangerous, like telling Mr Bones that you are a traitor and he should lock you up in Waxing Gibbous?’

  She looked small and ordinary in her grey dress with smudges of dirt on her hands and face, but the look in her eyes was as hard as iron. Howell would have hugged her if he’d dared, but she seemed more in a mood for hitting people than hugging them.

  Will’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m just following orders. It’s not my fault.’

  That was what Luel had said – just following orders.

  Howell walked to the door. ‘We’re leaving, and you’d better not tell anyone you saw us or Ava will come back for you. You can tidy the gallery up too.’

  He opened the door and looked out. Mist swirled in familiar patterns, smelling of roses and old tea. Home. Howell was quite surprised to find he’d missed it.

  CHAPTER 28

  58 Victoria Road, Wyse. Mist coils in through a broken window and settles over a table where supper is spread. The family come in and find that the tablecloth has turned into a snake and is swallowing the sandwiches.

  And at the theatre . . . No, you don’t want to know what’s going to happen at the theatre. But it involves carnivorous seats and lots of screaming.

  The Book

  Charles sat in the empty bedroom, his case notes spread out around him. Mr Bones, he wrote, underlining it twice, and then Lord Skinner. Empty cups lay on the floor – he’d drunk all the milk; it seemed a shame to waste it. His sisters had long since gone to bed and he’d heard his parents come up the stairs about an hour ago. Charles still couldn’t sleep. He wished he’d argued more with Ava and Howell. He should have insisted on going with them.

  Lord Skinner wants Ava and Howell to open the mirrors. Why? To give himself more power over Wyse? And why was Ava behaving so strangely? What secret is she hiding?

  Too many questions and no answers. He was supposed to be investigating, not sitting here scribbling notes.

  The church clock struck eleven. Lord Skinner would have returned to Waning Crescent hours ago, wondering where Ava and Howell were, no doubt.

  Mrs Footer started to howl.

  This was no good, Charles thought. He couldn’t sit and do nothing. Anything could be happening at Waning Crescent.

  He put down his papers and crept on to the landing, past his sisters’ room to his parents’ bedroom door.

  He always hated owning up to things he’d done because his mother always looked so disappointed. Tonight, however, neither parent wasted time scolding him once he’d explained.

  They got up quickly, reaching for their clothes.

  ‘You should have come to us straight away,’ his father said. ‘If you’d told us earlier, I could have gone to Constable Blackson for help.’

  ‘Constable Blackson can’t help,’ Charles said. ‘He doesn’t know anything about the Unworld. We’re not dealing with normal people. This is fairy magic – proper fairy magic, not the stuff put on for tourists.’

  ‘And how do you propose fighting magic?’ His mother heaved a sigh. ‘No, don’t even think about that – I don’t want you fighting magic at all. You stay here with your sisters. Your father and I will round up Freedom for Fair Folk and we’ll fetch Constable Blackson. Then we’ll go to Waning Crescent and see what Lord Skinner has to say for himself.’ She paused, buttoning up her shoes, and her gaze drifted away from Charles. ‘I’m sure there’s just been a misunderstanding. Lord Skinner is a fine gentleman. He’ll sort it all out.’

  They only had to say his name to start thinking he was wonderful.

  Charles pulled his mother round to face him. ‘Listen to yourself. It’s like he’s put an enchantment on everyone to make us all like him. Do you like him, really?’

  His mother started to push him away, but then stopped. ‘I don’t know. I suppose . . .’

  ‘Lord Skinner’s always done his best for us,’ Charles’s father said, but he didn’t look entirely certain now either. ‘You go to bed, Charles. I’m sure everything will be fine, but we’ll be safe enough going
in a crowd together.’

  He’d started them wondering: that was the best he could do for now. Charles went back to his room and waited. Soon he heard voices, and then the front door opened and closed.

  His parents had told him to go back to bed, but they hadn’t made him promise. He wouldn’t be breaking his word if he disobeyed.

  Charles buttoned up his jacket. ‘Do you want to come out?’ he asked Mrs Footer.

  To his surprise, the dog jumped up.

  Outside, mist coated everything, blurring all the houses into the same dark mass. The air smelled of smoke and roses and damp earth. A single street lamp outside the church struggled against the gloom. Charles’s clothes stuck damply to him as he walked. He held a hand up in front of his face and waggled his fingers. He could barely see them. He could walk right past someone in this and they’d never know he was there.

  Carriages blocked the main street: holidaymakers deciding they couldn’t spend one more night in this place.

  ‘This is why we don’t have magic in England,’ one woman complained loudly as Charles passed. ‘We never get this sort of trouble in Bath.’

  Her voice was swallowed up by screaming as people streamed out of the theatre. A lot of the ladies’ skirts were in tatters, and the men’s trousers too. Charles stopped to stare as one man ran right by him, wearing a top hat and evening jacket and only a few rags left below his waist.

  ‘My chair just tried to eat me,’ the man shouted. He plunged on into the mist.

  Charles bent to pick up a fallen advertising board.

  Mr Radcot, gentleman conjuror. All wishes guaranteed.

  Mr Edmund Footer, conjuror by royal appointment to Queen Victoria. Private audiences granted Monday–Friday.

  Langhile and Gaddesby, conjurors. Children’s parties a speciality (ask about our summer offers).

  Conjurors could summon the Fair Folk into mirrors and command them to do anything, Charles thought. How do you propose fighting magic? Mum had asked. That was easy: with more magic.