by Alex Rivers
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” His brow creased. “What is it? Your mind is somewhere else.”
“I guess I’m pretty worried about Scarlett. She still hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“Phones still aren’t working properly, right? And you said she knows how to look after herself.”
“Yeah.” I thought of her easily disarming the thug, and at Leroy’s, holding more than two dozen angry fae at gunpoint. She was one of the few people in the city actually armed with a gun.
“Good. She probably went to her hotel, and you can reconnect tomorrow. Where is she staying?”
“She didn’t say.”
He met my gaze. “You look knackered. Get some sleep, okay? The phone network will probably get back on its feet by tomorrow morning, and you’ll be able to get hold of her.”
My stomach rumbled, the sound embarrassingly loud. I’d basically been walking all day, and I hadn’t managed to eat anything before the shit storm had erupted in Leroy’s.
Gabriel smiled. “Tell you what. Go shower, and I’ll fix you something to eat, okay?”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks. You’re amazing.”
I rose, making my way to the guest room. While the rest of Gabriel’s flat was spotless, I had, unfortunately, transformed this room. After just a few days, I’d managed to drag it down to the state of havoc that normally surrounded me. It was doubly impressive, since I didn’t have that many belongings to begin with. Somehow, all my clothing, both dirty and clean, lay scattered on the bed and the floor around it. Numerous shopping bags littered the rooms—remnants of my shopping spree a week ago, a result of my extended stay. A bra hung from the doorknob, a fact I couldn’t even explain. Underneath I could still see Gabriel’s own tidy style trying to break free, but the Cassandra Liddell storm of bedlam overwhelmed it all. Tomorrow. I’d clean it all up tomorrow.
I headed for the bathroom and turned on the shower just the way I liked it—hot enough to turn my skin bright pink. As steam filled the room, I stripped off my dress and underwear. I stepped into the scalding stream of water, feeling it pour over my bare skin. I shampooed my hair with apple-scented shampoo and scrubbed my body, working up a lather over my reddening skin.
Please be okay, Scarlett.
When my body could no longer take the heat, I turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping myself in a clean towel. I toweled off my hair, squeezing out the water. When I glanced at myself in the mirror, a thought struck me. Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of it already? I could search for Scarlett through a reflection. I took a deep breath, feeling the reflection wash over my skin like cool water. I tried searching for Scarlett, feeling for her presence, a vision of her auburn hair.
I found nothing; just my own face staring back at me, my eyes tired, cheeks pink. It wasn’t surprising, I supposed. My magic would only work if she were both nearby and in the presence of a reflection.
I stepped out of the steaming bathroom, back into the bedroom. From the pile of clothes on the bed, I grabbed a pair of black skinny jeans, pink underwear, and a striped T-shirt with a collar.
With my wet hair dampening my shirt, I joined Gabriel in his cozy kitchen. The air smelled of garlic and onions. Tears stung my eyes—possibly from the onions, but more likely at the care this man showed me.
I sat at the small table, overlooking the street. “Gabriel, you are too good to me. This smells amazing.”
He scooped spaghetti onto a plate for me, then ladled the steaming tomato sauce onto the top. “Someday, you’ll cook for me.”
“If you’re some sort of masochist, we can make that happen whenever you want.”
He laid the plate before me, along with a fork and spoon. My mouth watered, and I picked up the cutlery, twirling the pasta onto my fork. One mouthful reconfirmed to me that Gabriel was a godsend: heavy on the garlic, just a hint of chili, and a ripe tomato flavor. I swallowed, practically ready to confess my love for Gabriel. Instead, I said, “Damn. You are a hell of a cook.”
Gabriel smiled, flicking on the kettle for tea.
“So, I didn’t ask you about your day,” I said, sounding very much like a wife. I nearly added how was it, dear, but I bit my tongue. Gabriel’s wife had died several years ago, and I doubted he would find it amusing.
He shook his head. “I went to four of the sites. We’re trying to find evidence linking this attack to a specific group. The mayor wants names.”
“Well, that would prove a bit tricky, considering the fae are the culprits.”
“Honestly, I have no idea how to handle this.” He dropped two teabags into mugs, and filled them with hot water. “I can’t tell anyone the truth.”
“How do you think you might handle it?”
After I’d killed the Rix, who had also been the Detective Chief Inspector of the City of London Police, Gabriel had been appointed temporary DCI. Now Gabriel was stuck. He had to catch the guilty party, knowing very well he couldn’t.
“I don’t know.” He slid a cup of tea over to me, and joined me at the table. “I might have to catch some fae and ‘prove’ that they did it, while counting on them to stay glamoured. Which, I… uh… was hoping you could help with.”
I swallowed another mouthful of pasta. “Of course I’ll help.” I wondered if the CIA’s counter-fae unit would be interested in working with Gabriel, someone within the London police force who knew the fae existed. As soon as I found Scarlett, I’d ask her about it.
“For now,” Gabriel said, “the police need to focus on preventing the public from killing each other.”
“Good luck with that,” I mumbled.
* * *
Darkness surrounded me, the gap under the bed just high enough for me to lie on my stomach. Fear raked its claws through my heart. I wasn’t quite sure what had prompted me to hide under the bed in the first place, except that I’d known in my gut something terrible was about to happen in my parents’ bedroom.
I could hear my mother crying, begging, her words unclear. Her fear rippled through the walls, sharpening my senses, both energizing and horrifying me at the same time. My father was yelling, rage lacing his voice. I’d never heard him so furious before, and the panic nearly stole my breath. Somehow, my own fear was coursing through me like a drug.
And then a sharp noise: my mother’s scream. “Horace, don’t!”
Then, a sound I’ll never forget. People don’t scream when their lungs are punctured. They wheeze, and gurgle.
I whimpered under the bed. I couldn’t scream either. Or move, really. Fear paralyzed me, my mind trying to piece together what my father had done to my mother. I sobbed and closed my eyes, waiting for my mother to come get me, waiting for those comforting arms to envelop me.
They never did.
It must have been an hour later when I heard that gruff voice, and a stranger’s face appeared under the bed.
“There’s a girl here!” he called back, and then said to me, “Don’t be scared, come out. You’re safe now.”
I crawled from under the bed, trembling, and rose on shaky legs.
He looked at me over the rims of his glasses, and I tried to focus on his blue eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Cassandra,” I stammered. “I heard everything. What happened? I wasn’t sure if I should come out… Is my mom okay?”
“We’ll get to that in a second. Cassandra, how old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“Okay, Cassandra, we’re going to walk out, so I want you to take my hand… and I want you to close your eyes, okay? Just until we get out and talk for a bit.”
With all the fear burning through my system, my senses were on overdrive, but I did as I was told. This man seemed like he was in control, and I needed someone to be in charge right now.
I closed my eyes, letting him lead the way. But in the hall next to my room, a strange metallic smell—copper, maybe—wafted from behind my parents’ bedroom door. The scent was uncanny, like an ancient memory, resurfacing. Somethin
g that had once fueled me, thrilled me…
The scent overpowered me, and I had to know what it was. I broke away from the cop, opening the door to my parents’ room. When I did, it took me a moment to register what I was looking at. The maroon stain on the floor, the red covering the bedsheets. My mother, her eyes open, but vacant. I could have sworn she was staring at me, blaming me. It was my fault. I wasn’t a little girl; I was thirteen. I should have crawled from under the bed and stopped my father from doing this… And why had my mother’s fear rushed through me like that? There was something wrong with me.
The cop yanked me from the room, but when I turned, two new figures had appeared with the cop: Roan and Gabriel. The three of them towered over me.
Roan turned to the cop. “Is that her?”
“That’s her.” The cop’s lip curled with disgust. “She didn’t even try to help.”
“A coward,” Gabriel said.
“And corrupt,” Roan said darkly. “She’s a terror leech. I bet she enjoyed her mother’s fear.”
I tried to say I didn’t enjoy it. I wanted to scream that I was sorry, but the sound that came out of my mouth was neither words nor a scream. It was that horrible noise; the one I’d never forget.
A wheeze, and a gurgle.
I sat up in bed, clutching the sheets, tears streaming down my face. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I recognized I was in Gabriel’s guest room. The bedclothes had twisted off me, and I’d knocked the pillow to the floor. I licked my lips, a bitter taste in my mouth.
The door burst open and Gabriel barged in, his gun in hand, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a white T-shirt.
He scanned the room quickly. “Are you okay? I heard you scream.”
“Yeah, sorry.” My voice croaked. “Just a nightmare.”
Lowering the gun, he frowned at me, then quickly looked away. I was wearing nothing but a skimpy tank top, my lower half bare, apart from my underwear. I pulled the sheets over my legs.
Once I’d covered myself, he said, “You’re shaking.”
I let out a small, forced laugh. “It was a particularly bad dream. I get them every once in a while.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
“Yeah? What do you dream about?” I didn’t want him to leave.
“My wife,” he said. “The day she… died.”
“Oh.” Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. “When was it?”
He crossed into the room, hesitated for a moment, then took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Two years ago.”
“What happened?”
He looked at me, and I saw understanding in his eyes. “We were walking down the street. She wanted to buy me a birthday present.” His voice sounded hollow. “A shirt. I was always so picky about the shirts I wear… still am. So it took much longer than it should have. And maybe I didn’t want that morning to end. Just a nice, simple morning with my wife, away from work. It was a sunny day.
“And then, in the fourth shop, a man approached us… and for a moment there was this strange look in his eyes. He pulled a knife and plunged it into her stomach. So fast—you wouldn’t believe how fast. He was muttering to himself, but it was complete gibberish, like a made-up language.” A shaft of moonlight from the window illuminated half of his face in silver light.
My throat tightened. So this was why Gabriel had been ready to believe in the fae.
“He looked at me, and his eyes flickered,” Gabriel continued. “For a second, they were red, and empty. And then they flickered back. He let go of the knife, and ran out of the store. I was too busy trying to help my wife… I never even tried to stop him.”
A lump had risen in my throat, and I swallowed hard. “Did they catch him?”
“They found his body in an alley, not far away. His head was a pulp of bone and blood. He’d bashed his own head over and over into a wall. At least, that’s the official conclusion.”
“You don’t believe that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“And your wife?”
“She died right there in the store. Blood loss. The killer had ripped right through her organs…” His voice broke, and he let the sentence trail off.
A heavy silence fell over the room, and I let out a shuddering breath. “When I dream, it’s always about my mother’s death. My parents’ deaths, really. It was a murder-suicide. My father killed my mother, and then killed himself. I was in the next room when it happened, bravely hiding under the bed. I didn’t do anything to help. I didn’t even call the cops.” A tear rolled down my cheek. “In my nightmares, there’s always someone there to accuse me. And you know, with the fear…”
At this point, my thoughts became incoherent, and I stopped. I couldn’t tell Gabriel how fear was a drug to me—even as my mother had been murdered. That was more than even Gabriel could handle.
“How old were you?” he asked softly.
“Thirteen.”
He wiped a tear off my cheek. “You were just a child.”
“If I’d just gotten to the phone and picked it up, or if I’d gone into the room…”
“You were thirteen,” Gabriel said. “You were just a girl.”
I sniffed. “Yeah.” He didn’t understand. I could have stopped it. I knew I could have. My father had always had a soft spot for me, even near the end, when he’d begun to behave erratically. And yet, I’d just hidden under the bed and let it happen.
Still, Gabriel’s soothing presence made me feel better. He was sitting so close I could see the stubble on his chin, and he smelled amazing. His sad eyes drew me in. What would he do if I crawled into his lap and started to kiss him, felt his heart beat under my hand?
“That’s a hell of a nightmare, Cassandra.”
“I always see my mom, dead at the end. I always hear her death rattle.”
“In my dreams, I manage to move fast and save her.” He looked out the window. “The nightmare starts when I wake up.”
Chapter 7
In the morning, I stood before the bathroom sink, brushing my teeth. I’d dressed casually in black jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt. Milky morning light streamed in from the bathroom mirror, illuminating my pink hair.
And yet, something felt amiss, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. I spat into the sink and rinsed off my brush. When I looked at myself in the mirror again, I realized what the problem was.
I couldn’t feel the reflection.
Unease crept over my heart as I searched for the reflection, trying to connect to it. Nothing. What had happened to my magic?
I rushed into the bedroom, where a full-sized mirror hung on the wall. I could easily feel its reflection.
Okay, so there was something wrong with the bathroom mirror. I returned to it. This time, to my relief, I could sense it again. Maybe it was a magical hiccup. I grabbed for my makeup bag and smoothed tinted moisturizer over my skin, then a hint of glossy blush. As I stood before the mirror, the reflection’s presence disappeared again.
Frowning, I touched the glass, trying to figure out what was wrong. To my horror, pain pulsed through my fingertips as I touched it. I pulled my hand away quickly, staring.
The reflection flickered, but I wasn’t the one doing it.
The mirror grew darker as I watched, starting at the top left corner and spreading like pooling ink. It was reflecting a different, dark room—bare walls, almost no light. When the center of the other reflection shimmered into visibility, my breath caught in my throat.
Scarlett sat in the dimly lit room. She’d been tied to a chair, her arms pulled behind her back, a rag taped in her mouth. A red gash marked her forehead, and a purple bruise darkened one of her eyes. Crimson stained her shirt. I tried reaching into the reflection, but I had no control over it. It wasn’t mine to command. I couldn’t leap through it, either.
Rage blazed through my bones, and I had an overwhelming desire to hurt whoever was doing this.
As quickly as it had come, the image disappeared. I stared at my own horrifi
ed face for just a moment, until maroon blotches appeared at the top of the mirror, slowly forming letters. Words, written in blood, stained the mirror, forming faster now, smeared and thick, as if they had been drawn with a finger. Finally, an entire message lay scrawled on the glass.
Lucy Locket lost her pocket
Dear old Grendel found it.
Winchester Geese kept it safe,
Tied a ribbon ’round it.
At one o’clock, at Sheerness Dock,
Dear Lucy must arrive
Fail to get her there on time,
And Scarlett burns alive.
At the message, dread tightened its bony fingers around my heart, and I scrambled to try to find Scarlett again, to connect with the reflection. Nothing.
A moment later, a small parchment materialized, slipping thorough the reflection, right onto the counter by the sink. I held my breath, waiting to see if something else would happen. I could feel the reflection again, but when I tried to search for Scarlett, I felt nothing. Whoever had abducted Scarlett could perform reflection magic—that much was clear.
I grabbed the parchment. One side was blank, while runes covered the other. I dropped it back on the counter, not sure what to do with it.
Two blood-streaked words trickled down the mirror: burns alive. I suppressed a shudder. I wanted to scream, to smash the mirror. I wanted to storm out of the house and find my friend, to eviscerate the person who’d taken her, but I had no idea where to start. How was I supposed to make sense of that message?
I gripped the edge of the sink, forcing myself to slow my breathing until I could think clearly. The abductor had been watching me through the mirror. That’s why I hadn’t felt the reflection—it had been in someone else’s control. He knew who I was, though not necessarily where I was. To find someone with reflection magic, you only needed the person’s image in your mind.
The message scrawled across Gabriel’s mirror was a ransom letter. Scarlett had been beaten—either to get information from her, or to deliver a message for me. As a CIA officer, she’d be trained to resist torture, but everyone had a breaking point.