“Scylla?”
Trudy shrugs. “Sometimes I geek out over Greek myths. And ghosts. And hot archaeologists who live in haunted houses. Know any?”
I smile at her as I slide into the passenger seat and fasten my seat belt. “Are you sure this thing is fit for the road?” I ask, tapping the window with my knuckles. “It feels as if it's made of plastic.”
“It is made of plastic. The best things in life are made out of plastic. Tupperware. Creepy dolls. Monopoly hotels.” Trudy begins to back out, glancing over her shoulder. “And good old Scylla. Don't worry. She may not be Ecto-1, but she'll get us to V. Rex as well as any snooty non-plastic car could. No, better! Because she's adorable.”
“So are you,” I laugh, sliding my hand onto her knee. And then, tires screeching through puddles, we're on our way...
Chapter Nine
Cordelia is sitting on the doorstep when we pull up to the house, a sleeping Jack lying across her lap. She waves weakly at us, attempts a smile, but her eyes are shadowed, and when she coughs into her hand, she sounds sick, hoarse. I take in her bitten-off nails, her red, swollen face...
Panicked, I close my car door and hurry to her side, seating myself on the concrete beside her. “Cord. We got here as quickly as we could. Can you tell me what happened now? Do you want us to take you somewhere else? A hotel?” I rest a hand on her shoulder and peer closely at her, worry wrinkling my brow. “What do you need?”
Cordelia whispers, “A hammer.”
“A hammer?” I frown and cast Trudy an anxious glance. She bites her lip, taking a step closer. “What do you need a hammer for?”
“We have to smash the mirrors. All of them.” My sister turns to me, her green eyes flashing yellow beneath the newly installed porch light. “He's in the mirrors. I think...he's been watching us through the mirrors.”
I don't know how to react to that, so I remain frozen by her side, trying—or, rather, struggling—to absorb her words. Frankly, I don't want to absorb her words. The hairs on the back of my neck have begun to rise. “He?” I ask quietly. “You mean Xavier.” Speaking the name aloud triggers a dormant memory in me: where have I heard it before? I think hard but can't summon the answer, though I can feel it on the edge of my consciousness, poised to break through...
Agitated, Cordelia looks away from me, says, “I think there's a hammer in the kitchen. I used it last night to fix that wobbly shelf in the pantry.”
“Okay.” I swallow, patting her softly on the back, and then smoothing a loose strand of brown hair out of her eyes. “Listen, you and Jack stay here. Trudy and I will take care of this. Just stay here, Cord. You'll be safe here.”
“Alex.” She looks at me with a slanted frown, outwardly calm—though her eyes are as wide as moons. “I may be acting weird right now, but don't worry. I'm not in shock or anything. It's just...remember that movie we watched when you were in fourth grade? Mom got so mad at me for letting you see it. It was about some dead guy who came out of people's mirrors to attack them.”
I bow my head, smile mirthlessly. “Yeah. I remember. I refused to brush my teeth in front of a mirror for a week after we saw it.”
“Me, too. And now I might have to give up mirrors altogether.” Her voice breaks on her final words. She exhales heavily and combs her fingers through Jack's unruly curls, and when she glances back up at me, her eyes are brimming with tears. “He knew my name. Jack's name. Your name. He's been here all along.”
“Oh, my God,” Trudy whispers, cupping her hands around her face. She's standing a few feet away from us; her pink jumpsuit seems to glow in the dark, but her cheeks are pale, drained. I watch as she swallows and draws in a deep breath. “Alex, should I call the others?”
I shake my head, shrugging. “Do you think they could help? I mean, have you ever dealt with anything like this before?”
“No. Never.”
“Right.” I nod, exhaling through my nose as I rise—shakily—to my feet. “Then there's no reason to wake them up. Two women are perfectly capable of smashing some mirrors,” I assert, with one hundred—no, two hundred—percent more confidence than I feel. Instinctively, I begin to count up the mirrors in the house, multiplying them by seven years' bad luck each...
God, stop. I'm not superstitious, and I need a clear mind to confront this...man, ghost, dark spirit—whatever it is—head on.
Leaving Cordelia and Jack outside, Trudy and I, hand in hand, walk into the house and close the door soundly behind us, making a beeline for the kitchen—where, luckily, there's aren't any mirrors at all. I stick my head into the pantry and find Cordelia's hammer on the floor, while Trudy grabs a log from the basket by the fireplace.
“Should we split up?” she asks. “I could break the mirror in the bathroom while you smash the one in your bedroom. Then we'll tackle the smaller ones together.”
“Wow, this really is a horror movie, isn't it?” I smile weakly, leaning against the brick wall. The exhaustion has finally hit me—at exactly the wrong time and place. I have to be alert and quick on my feet, not spaghetti-limbed and slouchy. I sigh, straighten, but my breaths are still ragged, and my muscles ache. “It's never a good idea when the characters split up in horror movies,” I begin quietly, “but I think you're right. The faster we can contain this guy, the better. Who knows what he's capable of?”
Trudy shivers, clutching her mirror-breaking log with white fingers. “I don't want to know.”
“Me, either. Okay. We can do this. Right?”
“I... Sure? Sure. I think. Maybe?”
“Come on. I'll race you upstairs.”
But we don't race so much as amble, climbing the staircase in slow, reluctant steps, two women loath to face off with an invasive, supernatural Peeping Tom. I muse, distractedly, that there aren't any mirrors in the entryway of the house, so at least this Xavier couldn't have watched Trudy and me having sex...
Probably.
I hope.
My mouth, my throat are as dry as sand.
We walk the length of the hallway, our heels clip-clopping over the floorboards, and then we pause on the thresholds of our adjacent rooms. Both doors are open, but the lights are off.
“Let's count to five,” Trudy says, nodding at me as she draws in a gulp of air. “One, two...”
“...three, four...”
“Five,” we say together—and I plunge into the darkness of the bedroom, fumbling for the light switch...and immediately regretting turning on the overhead chandelier.
Elizabeth is here.
She looks afraid, petrified.
And she's not alone.
All I can make sense of at first is Elizabeth's shape, sheathed in her usual black dress, and a detached pair of arms—reaching for her, grabbing for her. The arms aren't connected to a body; they're nearly transparent, and they're extending out of the vanity mirror. I flash-back to that awful movie Cordelia and I watched when we were kids. Wasn't there a scene just like this? A pair of arms came through a mirror and tried to strangle a woman who was standing nearby...
I edge along the wall, backing up toward my bed, in order to get a better view of the drama before me. And I can see him—Xavier—behind the mirror, though only his arms have materialized in three dimensions. Cordelia's description of him was accurate enough, I guess: he looks to be tall, with dark hair, black eyes, and his features could be construed as handsome. Could be...if he weren't wearing that vile expression—forehead creased, eyes squinting, teeth clenched but bared between his lips. He intends violence, and Elizabeth is struggling against him. Somehow, without touching her, he's pulling her closer, despite her frantic efforts to escape. Now his fingers are mere inches from her throat...
“Stop!” I shout, startling myself and Elizabeth, though the man in the mirror doesn't pause in his endeavor, only sneers slightly and whispers, “Hello, Alex.”
My blood runs cold.
I can't move.
I can scarcely breathe.
This isn't fear; this is re
al: Xavier is doing something to me, disabling me, holding me off. A low growl builds in my throat, and I concentrate all of my will on moving. I have to move. I have to help Elizabeth—
And suddenly, I stumble forward, banging my knee against the poster of the bed. But I keep running, lifting the hammer high above my head and hitting it against Xavier's face with a deafening crack.
He winks out, like a television that's just been turned off. All that remains in the antique frame are broken shards, broken reflections of my face, Elizabeth's face.
I turn toward her, step closer to her, but she's sobbing, shaking her head, growing dimmer with each passing second. “Who is Xavier?” I ask her desperately, dropping the hammer to the floor. “Is he hurting you? Is he the one keeping you trapped here? And Victoria, too?”
Elizabeth, fully see-through now, focuses on me, nods her dark head once, twice.
“If we smash the mirrors, will he go away? Is that all we have to do?”
“He—” Elizabeth begins, sounding distant and pained. She opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can utter another word, her form dissipates, comes apart, vanishes. And that's when I feel Trudy by my side.
Without even glancing at her, I reach for her hand, grateful for the warmth of her presence; my bedroom is so cold, and the air crackles with ozone, with emotion, with tension. I can't help looking toward the mirror again, terrified that a pair of black eyes might be staring out at us through the remaining shards.
But the mirror is empty. The room is empty.
Silent, Trudy and I step out into the hallway, where I collapse in her arms.
- - -
I feel as if I might never sleep again.
When I was only sharing the house with the ghosts of Elizabeth Patton and Victoria Richards, I felt, for the most part, at ease and unafraid. Somehow, I knew that there was nothing to fear from either of them, and Cordelia told me that she felt the same way.
But the presence of Xavier changes everything.
Now we're creeped out if we have to venture anywhere in the house alone—including the bathroom, even though Trudy broke that mirror into atom-size pieces. We smashed all of the mirrors in the house—the one over the fireplace in the salon, the cheap full-length mirror from Target in Cordelia and Jack's bedroom, the compact mirror in Trudy's purse. We even disconnected the light fixture in the master bedroom because it used tiny dangling mirrors as decorative elements. It's currently sitting out on the curb with a FREE sign lying beside it.
Now, at nine o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, Trudy, Cordelia and I are still wide awake, seated around the kitchen table and downing inky cups of coffee from Bean Power. Jack is playing in the backyard. He saw Xavier last night, too, but—blessed with the unworried brain of a child—he seems to have forgotten about it, or at least moved on to more interesting topics. He's become convinced that there's treasure buried somewhere around the house, so he's digging up the yard with his trowel. I need to have landscapers create a new lawn back there, anyway, so I told him he's free to dig as much as he likes. Besides, the three of us are far too rattled; I'd rather he were outside, apart from us, than subjected to our insomnia-producing fears.
I take a bitter sip of my coffee, glance at Cordelia, then at Trudy, and—resigned—nod my head. “Remember when you suggested a séance yesterday, Cord?” I ask her huskily, rubbing a hand over my eyes.
My sister stares at me above the rim of her mug. “What are you thinking, Alex?” Her voice is thin, strained.
“When I bought this place, my agent—Marie—mentioned having gone to a séance. It was only in passing, but I could call her, ask her for some advice. She told me to get in touch if I had any problems with the house...and I'd say this qualifies as a problem.” I smile faintly, and Trudy places her hand on top of mine.
“In the meantime,” Trudy offers, “I'll go over the Ghost Team's reports myself. We...kind of neglected to do that last night.” She smiles at me, a smile that sneaks past my tensed nerves and spikes my heart rate. I blush; Cordelia rolls her eyes. “And I'll give everyone a call, see if they have any ideas, or if they might have had a run-in with Xavier themselves without realizing it.”
I duck my head, staring at our fingers entwined. “Sure you want to call Ruby so soon?”
Lifting a brow, Trudy squares her shoulders and offers me another knee-melting smile. Even though her hair is messy, her jumpsuit is wrinkled, and she is just as sleep-deprived as Cordelia and me, she looks beautiful—not to mention strong and brave, two qualities I'm floundering to hold onto. “I'm team leader,” she says, “and Ruby's part of the team. We've got to learn to work together all over again. Might as well start now. Besides, with her psychic gifts, she might have had some impression from Xavier that didn't strike her enough to put into her report. Have to cover all the bases.”
“Okay.” I bite my lip and meet Cordelia's glassy green stare. She's hardly spoken all morning, except to make small talk with Jack as she made breakfast for him, or to reply to direct questions from Trudy and me. I'm worried about her. “How about you, Cord? You know, the offer still stands. If you want to take Jack to a hotel—”
“Alex, I can't abandon you—”
“Hey, I've got plenty of backup here,” I smile, inclining my head toward Trudy, who flexes her free arm, striking a Rosie the Riveter pose, “and I'll feel a thousand times more relaxed if I know that you and Jack are happy and safe. Tucked away in a cozy suite, ordering room service and watching HGTV.”
“Temptress. You know I can't resist HGTV.”
“So are we decided, then? Pick a hotel, any hotel. My treat.”
Cordelia sighs, but this time, I think it's a sigh of relief. She folds her arms on the tabletop and rests her chin on top of her hands. “Okay, but only until that...thing...is removed from the house. I don't mind the ladies. It's just...him.” She shivers involuntarily. “We still have work to do—stripping the wallpaper, painting, getting the backyard into shape. And we haven't touched the basement or the attic.”
“There'll be time for all of that.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. Now go round up your wayward child and start stuffing your suitcases.”
Cord smiles weakly. Then she reaches out to squeeze my and Trudy's hands. “Be careful, guys. Promise me?”
“Cross my heart.” Trudy makes an X over her chest, smiling broadly.
I stare at her and tilt my head, remembering Victoria's letter to Bess: Yours forever. Cross my heart. When Trudy turns her smile toward me, I'm a little startled to note how much she resembles Victoria. I suppose I noticed it before, subconsciously. That's why I thought Victoria's ghost was so stunning when I encountered her in the backyard; she reminded me of Trudy. They aren't identical, of course, but there's something about Trudy's mannerisms that resemble Victoria's, and they both have that glorious yellow hair...
After Cordelia leaves the room to gather her son and their belongings, I grip my head in my hands for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed by the task before us—and by fatigue.
“You should sleep,” Trudy says softly, pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth. “I'll reserve the hotel room for Cordelia and then watch over you while you're in bed. Do you have any books that I could read? Oh! How about those biographies on the Patton family?”
“You're interested in the Patton family?”
“Well, now I am. Don't forget—I'm a librarian, tiger. Knowledge is like eating cupcakes for me. And I once ate a dozen cupcakes in one sitting.”
“That's a lot of cupcakes.”
“I'm part-hummingbird.”
“Makes sense.” I yawn; then I lean back in my chair and regard her fondly. “If you really wouldn't mind—”
“It would be my pleasure.” She smooths my hair back from my forehead. “You need rest. And after you've slept, we'll make a solid game plan to deal with this Xavier quandary. Sounds like a trashy sci-fi movie, doesn't it? The Xavier Quandary.”
&nb
sp; My head—which feels as heavy as a bowling ball—nods of its own accord.
“All right, then, Non-Sleeping Beauty, let's get you upstairs. And show me where the books are. Wait a second—aren't they overdue by now?”
“Um...” I grin at her sheepishly. “I was hoping you'd show me some nepotism, maybe waive the fines.”
She stands and helps me to my feet, kissing me deeply as I rise up beside her. “Oh, I'll waive your fines, Alex. And by waive your fines, I mean waive your fines—and then I'll lock you in the Niagara Falls collection room with me. As punishment.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously.
“If you're sure those glass cases can withstand another round.”
She grins, guiding me up the staircase. When we reach Cordelia's room, Trudy sticks her head through the doorway, says, “I'll be back in a sec to help you find a place to stay. Just have to put poor Alex to bed first.”
“Good. Make sure she gets four hours of sleep, at least.”
“Aiming for eight, but we'll see how it goes. She's a stubborn one.”
“You're telling me...”
“Hey,” I chuckle, “I am right here. And I am not stubborn—”
Trudy and Cordelia share a knowing smile.
“Sure you aren't, little sis,” Cord grins. “Now get in that bedroom and zonk out—no arguments.”
“I'm going, I'm going...”
Trudy makes a show of tucking me into bed: fluffing the pillow first, and then drawing back the comforter and sheet so that I can slide right in. I have to admit: it feels amazing to be lying down on something soft after being tense all night long. Trudy covers me up with the blankets—and then covers me over with her warm length, pressing me into the mattress as she steals a long, lovely kiss.
“Sweet dreams, Alex. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
“The books are on the vanity—but watch out for broken glass.”
Her mouth slants to one side. “Maybe I'll do a little tidying up around here, too.”
“No, you need sleep just as much as I do—”
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