Mirror Magic

by Claire Fayers

  People didn’t like to think they’d been taken in by lies, Charles thought, especially the lies of someone who was rich and respected, like Lord Skinner. Mr Footer wasn’t the only one who’d been taken in, though – and Charles wasn’t the only one who wanted answers. As they reached Waning Crescent, Charles saw figures through the mist.

  Around twenty people were crowded together at Lord Skinner’s front steps. The mist was too heavy for him to recognize them at first, but as Charles drew nearer he saw his parents, along with Reverend Stowe and all the other members of Freedom for Fair Folk. Reverend Stowe held a placard on a stick, which he waved in a vaguely embarrassed fashion.

  Other townspeople had joined the group and were watching with interest. Charles spotted Constable Blackson wearing his policeman’s uniform, and two of the other Wyse conjurors, as well – Mr Langhile and Mr Gaddesby.

  A flurry of mist lifted Charles’s cap off his head and whisked it away. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. Several people turned.

  ‘Charles!’ his mother said. ‘I told you to stay at home.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He chased after his cap and retrieved it. ‘I’ve brought Mr Footer. And . . .’ He almost said ‘Mrs Footer’ and caught himself. ‘And the dog,’ he added.

  ‘Go home to your sisters, Charles,’ his father said sternly.

  Charles stared at him innocently. ‘What? In this weather, at this time of night, all by myself?’

  A carriage dashed by. Quite an ordinary-looking one, except that it was barely twelve inches tall and it was drawn by a team of blue-furred mice. Mrs Footer pounced at it, but it disappeared along the crescent. Several ladies shrieked as it passed.

  Mr Footer shook his coat back. ‘This is too much. Where is Lord Skinner? Taking our mirrors, letting magic infect our town. It’s time he did something about it.’

  The conjurors, Mr Langhile and Mr Gaddesby, muttered agreement. Reverend Stowe brandished his placard. ‘What do we want? Answers! When do we want them?’

  ‘Soon, if you please!’ someone shouted back.

  Charles waited. His parents gazed at him, then his father sighed and shook his head. ‘Just stay out of trouble.’

  Charles grinned and joined the back of the crowd. Pity he didn’t have a placard to wave, but Reverend Stowe’s was the only one. The whole group stood politely, everyone looking at everyone else and nobody making a move towards Lord Skinner’s front doors and the bell pull.

  ‘I don’t think he’s there,’ Mr Footer said uncertainly.

  ‘Of course he is.’ Lord Skinner wouldn’t still be waiting in the churchyard. But if he was home, he must have noticed them all outside. Why hadn’t he opened the door already?

  Mrs Footer nipped Charles’s ankle. He looked down at her. ‘You think I should . . . ?’ He didn’t want to be the one to ring the bell.

  Mrs Footer growled, and then, surprisingly, she nodded and tugged on her lead.

  ‘Charles, what are you doing?’ his mother asked as he squeezed through the crowd. He grasped the bell rope and pulled it. The bell clanged harshly, echoing across the crescent. Charles held his breath.

  Nothing happened. But now that Charles had made the first move, others joined in.

  Mr Footer reached across his shoulder and rang the bell again. ‘Skinner, we know you’re in there. Open the doors.’

  Charles scrambled over the railing and peered through a window. ‘I can see lights inside.’ He climbed back, took the bell pull and tugged it, ringing the bell again and again until the noised echoed all the way along the crescent. ‘We won’t go until you come out,’ he shouted. ‘We’ll break the windows to get in if we have to.’

  ‘Charles!’ Mrs Brunel scolded.

  ‘He doesn’t know we don’t mean it,’ Charles said. He reached over the railing and banged on the nearest window.

  ‘Freedom for Fair Folk!’ Reverend Stowe shouted, and began knocking the door enthusiastically with his placard. A few other people joined in, shouting and banging on the door and windows.

  And then, at last, the door flew open.

  Everyone fell silent. Reverend Stowe tried to hide his placard behind his back.

  Charles was used to the sight of Lord Skinner dressed as a lord – expensive suits and tall silk hats, polished boots. He was not used to the sight of Lord Skinner in a vast gold dressing gown and red slippers, his hair flattened over his scalp, not quite covering the folds of skin beneath.

  ‘Yes?’ Lord Skinner said. ‘Can I help you?’ The hand he rested on the door frame didn’t seem to belong to him – it was far too thin and covered in brown age spots.

  People shuffled back.

  ‘We want to know what’s going on,’ Charles’s father said. ‘Um, that is, if you don’t mind.’

  Lord Skinner tucked his dressing gown tighter around his bulk. ‘As you can see, I have retired for the night. Maybe you’d care to leave a card and we can arrange a time for you to continue this little protest tomorrow.’

  Protesters didn’t leave calling cards, Charles thought. Around him people shuffled their feet and some of them started to edge back down the steps. They were still under Lord Skinner’s spell, doing everything he said.

  Mrs Footer flattened herself to the ground and growled. A patch of mist drifted by and Charles found himself looking at Lord Skinner through it. He gaped. For a second he saw Lord Skinner’s face drooping in grey-blue folds from his eyes to his chin, as if there was no flesh underneath but just air slowly escaping. His faded blue eyes appeared bloodshot and his gaze never rested but darted back and forth, as if afraid of what he might see.

  ‘What have you done with Ava and Howell?’ Charles asked loudly.

  The mist cleared around Lord Skinner and he looked more like himself again. ‘Howell? I don’t know anyone called Howell.’ He gripped the door frame harder. ‘As for the Harcourts, I haven’t seen either of them since this morning. I expect they’ve run away. The Harcourts always were a strange family.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Mr Langhile agreed.

  Charles noticed a slight shimmer to the mist and smelled burning. ‘It’s not true at all. You’re just believing it because Lord Skinner says so. He’s enchanting us – he’s been doing it all along.’ It was so obvious now that he couldn’t understand why everyone else didn’t see it.

  Charles turned to Mr Footer, who was watching strands of mist coil into dog shapes. ‘You wanted to ask Lord Skinner about your mirror, remember?’

  Mr Footer jumped out of his reverie. ‘So I did.’ He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. ‘Well, what about it, Lord Skinner? That mirror was my property, purchased fair and square, and you had no right to take it. What are these investigations you’re doing with it, anyway?’

  ‘The investigations are a matter of government security,’ Lord Skinner snapped back. ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss them. I have already told you that, you should stay in your homes until this situation is resolved. I am far too busy to talk right now.’

  ‘Busy?’ Charles said. ‘Didn’t you say you were in bed?’

  Mrs Footer snarled agreement.

  Lord Skinner started to close the doors, but Mr Footer put his hand against one. ‘We’re not going until we have answers.’

  ‘When exactly will we be permitted to leave our homes?’ Reverend Stowe asked. ‘I had to cancel all my visits today, and the mist is getting worse, not better.’

  Charles doubted that anyone had ever spoken back to Lord Skinner before. Other people were murmuring now, as well.

  ‘I don’t believe you’re a fine gentleman at all,’ Mr Footer said suddenly. His voice and his eyebrows rose in matching surprise at his own daring. ‘What’s your game, Skinner?’

  Lord Skinner deflated even more. Whatever confidence he’d managed to summon was draining out of him and, with it, his control over the situation.

  Mrs Footer broke free from her lead and darted between Lord Skinner’s legs into Waning Crescent. Charles made a grab for her and missed.<
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  Then, before Lord Skinner could stop it, before Charles himself realized what was happening, the whole group was pushing through the doors, placard and all.

  Lord Skinner put out his arms. ‘Stop!’

  They ignored him. The people at the front shoved him backwards and so many other people were crowding behind that they all kept going, pushing and shoving past Charles, until they were all inside Waning Crescent and he was standing alone on the doorstep. He took out his notebook – a good policeman should always be ready to record evidence – and followed them inside.

  CHAPTER 32

  The factory of Waxing Gibbous is old. As old as bones. Although, as a single year spent within its walls feels like seven, it’s hard to keep track of time once you’re in there.

  The Book

  Another knock. Heavier this time and repeating until the thudding seemed to go right through to Ava’s bones. She supposed they ought to do something but her mind was a blank space. All she could think about was the awful truth: she’d taken all of Howell’s magic, spoiled his life. She should have died of measles, then Howell would still have magic and Matthew would be free to do whatever he wanted without having to worry about her.

  Bang!

  Madame Brille got to her feet and pulled a bag out from under a cushion. ‘That will keep The Book safe,’ she said, giving it to Howell, or rather, dropping it in his lap because he still sat as if turned to stone.

  ‘Is it enchanted?’ Ava asked.

  ‘No – just a bag.’ She took two pairs of wire-rimmed spectacles out of the box. ‘These are my mind-your-own-business glasses. They won’t quite make you invisible but they’ll stop people from noticing you. I had to make them in a hurry and they won’t last long, but they’ll get you to Waxing Gibbous.’

  A voice shouted downstairs. ‘Open this door!’

  Ava hooked the glasses over her ears with trembling fingers. The flimsy wire felt as if it would break at any minute. She’d expected the room to look different through the lenses, but everything was exactly the same: the fire in the grate, Madame Brille, Howell looking at her with wide eyes.

  Howell put his glasses on. ‘I can still see Ava.’

  ‘That’s because Ava is your business. Don’t worry.’ She crossed the room and threw open the window. ‘Go away!’ she cried out. ‘I’m a harmless old widow and I was fast asleep.’

  She didn’t look harmless. She looked as if she was considering dropping something heavy out of the window. Ava edged closer to Howell.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Mr Bones says you are harbouring traitors,’ one of the guards shouted up. ‘Open this door or we’ll break it down.’

  Madame Brille heaved a sigh. ‘Give me a moment.’

  She slammed the window shut and turned back to Ava and Howell. ‘Stay behind me,’ she said quietly. ‘When I open the door, you can slip out.’

  Ava curled her fingers into her palms and blew out a breath. ‘Howell, if this goes wrong, you have to leave me behind and run.’ He’d already spent all his magic saving her life once; she couldn’t let him be captured because of her.

  Howell shook his head and started to say something, but Madame Brille cut him off. ‘Get ready,’ she said, and she opened the door.

  Four guards rushed in. The first two seized Madame Brille and pinned her to the wall. ‘You’re under arrest,’ one of them said. All four of them ignored Ava and Howell completely.

  Madame Brille flapped her hands weakly. ‘I’m a poor old grandmother. I’ll come quietly – just don’t go upstairs.’

  The guards rushed straight up the stairs.

  ‘Don’t touch my spectacles,’ Madame Brille shouted, stamping after them.

  Ava turned her head and met Howell’s gaze. They both stood frozen for a second, then, together, they nodded and slipped out unseen into the misty lane.

  The streets were almost empty – the guards had said something about a curfew, Ava remembered – and the few people who passed by did so without even looking her way. It felt odd, almost as if she wasn’t there at all.

  ‘Let me take The Book for a while,’ she said, catching up with Howell. He shrugged her away, but she took the bag from his shoulder anyway. ‘Howell, I’m really sorry. If I knew how to give your magic back to you, I would.’

  He finally paused and looked at her properly. She couldn’t work out the expression on his face.

  ‘Howell?’

  He dropped his gaze. ‘We need to rescue Matthew and Lunette,’ he said. ‘Everything else can wait.’ He turned and pointed to a pair of long chimneys looming out of the mist a little way behind the Mirror Station. ‘There. Waxing Gibbous.’

  The chimney belched out a cloud of black smoke. Ava’s stomach cramped as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. The crescent on her cheek burned, but when she rubbed her hand over her face, her skin felt icy cold. Matthew and Lunette were trapped in there. With Mr Bones. Ava felt a shudder go through her. She pushed the bag up on her shoulder and tried to smile, though her face felt rigid.

  ‘Come on, then.’

  Close up, Waxing Gibbous appeared even worse than Ava had imagined. The featureless walls were so filthy with grime, soot and slimy green moss that it was impossible to tell what colour they’d been to start with. There were no windows, just one square door where the guards stood. Even the mist was grey here, more like smoke.

  Men, women and children stood around in small groups, none of them talking. They all looked as if they were almost asleep standing up.

  ‘Break-time,’ Howell said. ‘They let people out every eight hours to get some fresh air.’ He grimaced. ‘If you can call it fresh.’

  Ava paused, trying to catch her breath. ‘Why is it so ugly?’

  Howell shrugged. ‘Mr Bones built it. He doesn’t like to waste time on making things look pretty. Anyway, when you’re inside, you stop noticing.’

  It sounded horrendous. ‘Why don’t people run away?’

  ‘Some of them are prisoners, and Mr Bones put enchantments on them so they can’t. Other people just need the work. The kids are all on apprenticeships. You have to do a year’s work here to qualify for any other job in Unwyse.’ He shook his head, staring at the dark walls. ‘Some people enjoy the work, believe it or not. They discover magical talents they didn’t know they had.’

  ‘But you never did,’ said Ava, ‘because I’d already taken your magic.’

  Howell frowned. ‘Will you stop going on about that?’

  A bell clanged. Ava looked up to see all the people shuffling into a line.

  ‘Come on,’ Howell whispered, moving to join them. ‘Keep your head down and walk slowly. Getting into Waxing Gibbous is easy – no one would ever go through the doors unless they had to, so nobody checks. Getting out again will probably be harder,’ he added.

  The factory doors swung back with a noise that hurt Ava’s ears. She pulled her bonnet forward, suddenly aware of how out of place she would look if anyone noticed her, with her plain brown human hair. But no one paid her any attention. Madame Brille’s glasses were still working, it seemed.

  A guard came down the line, handing out packets of food wrapped in brown paper. Ava slipped past him, keeping The Book gripped to her side. The people in front of her, were opening their packets and stuffing food into their mouths.

  ‘You only get two meals a day in here,’ Howell said. ‘Small meals. Mr Bones thinks people work better if they’re a bit hungry.’

  Mr Bones was the very opposite of Lord Skinner, Ava thought, remembering Matthew complaining about the heavy lunches. She summoned up a smile. ‘Mr Bones is friends with skeletons. I don’t think I’d listen to him about food.’

  Then she took a deep breath and stepped through the doors into Waxing Gibbous.

  The noise hit her like a solid thing: clanks and rattles like a hundred carriages, people shouting, great gusts of steam hissing into the air. There were vast, dark machines
with bits that went up and down, constantly slamming and rebounding. One half of the factory was entirely taken up with metal tables, and the tabletops moved, squealing constantly around in impossible loops.

  The air itself felt heavy here, and Ava battled to walk, feeling as if she was wading through water. Howell pulled her between long benches where people were gluing dead leaves on to sticks. Ava put her hand on one and it came away covered in glue and blue fluff. How had Howell survived a whole year in this place? She knew it was late and she hadn’t slept in ages, but she felt too tired to talk, or even to think properly.

  ‘Ava!’ Howell said.

  The sudden tremor in his voice cut through her tiredness. She turned to look and stifled a gasp of panic. People in red uniforms were making their way between the tables, and with them Ava saw a tall, thin man in a dark suit. People scattered out of his path as he walked.

  Ava’s mouth turned paper dry. She already knew who the man was, even before Howell whispered.

  ‘Mr Bones. He’s here.’

  CHAPTER 33

  Feeling scared yet? Try looking in a mirror and imagine all that nasty, sick worry passing from you to your reflection. Put it in the mirror and you won’t feel so bad. Better now? Warning: may not work with common mirrors. Fairy enchantments are never guaranteed and results may not be as expected.

  The Book

  The throng of people spread out all along the hall of Waning Crescent. Charles gaped as he saw the mirrors, and he wasn’t the only one. He could easily tell the people who, like him, had never been inside Waning Crescent before, because their mouths were all open.

  Their reflections bounced from mirror to mirror, floor to ceiling, all the way along the grand hallway. Candlelight flickered around him – the huge chandeliers overhead were all fully lit and other candles burned in holders on the walls, filling the air with the scent of dripping wax.

  Lord Skinner stood in the middle, waving his arms. ‘This is my home and you are all intruding. Please leave now.’

  ‘Not until you tell us what’s going on here,’ Mr Footer said. ‘What is this mist? Where’s my mirror? And where is my mother?’ He pushed through the crowd and stood face to face with Lord Skinner.