by Cate Corvin
A faint skittering reached my ears, the tap of nails on porcelain, a soft sigh. I turned towards the closed bathroom door, tracing the sound.
The door creaked dully as I edged it open. Color exploded in front of me, screaming against the coldness of this dead world.
The bathroom mirror reflected shower curtains caked with grime and filth, black mold streaking the plastic; an even more desiccated version of my apartment, the next level of the infinite darkness.
But thorny green vines were growing from the sink drain, coming through the mirror and hanging down into the bowl of the sink, winding around the borders of the mirror like a living frame. Red roses bloomed full and ripe, their petals velvet soft and beaded with dew.
I drew closer even as warning bells rang in my skull, keeping a wary eye on the mirror as I breathed in. All I smelled was decay, but the petals felt as solid as life when I reached out to brush one with a fingertip.
This was wrong. Plants couldn’t grow in Death; the deadside was inimical to life.
My heart pounded in my throat as I leaned closer to the mirror, peering down into the next level of darkness. The roses were climbing the walls there, clumping near the ceiling and blooming scarlet in the darkness. Even the moldy shower curtain bore drag marks from searching thorns-
The curtain twitched aside so a pale face could peer at me.
I jumped back as the spirit lunged forward, scrambling through the mirror and dropping into my level of the deadside. It squealed as it righted itself, its limbs clicking strangely as its head turned completely around to focus on me, an androgynous figure that rose with alarming speed.
I slammed the door, dashing into the living room as the rotten wood splintered and the spirit rushed forward, its face as smooth and blank as a mannequin’s.
I stumbled as one white hand reached out to snatch at my hair with unnaturally long fingers, and tripped over a ridge in the carpet, twisting in midair. I landed on my ass with a hard thump and raised my sickle as the spirit leaped at me.
It landed heavily and the blade sliced through its pale, sunken chest as smoothly as a knife through butter. I rolled to the side, using my leverage to force it beneath me, and straddled the creature as its oddly twisted limbs creaked and clicked.
I kept it pinned with the sickle’s point as I reached for my salt, but a seam split its featureless face where the mouth should be. It smiled widely, from ear to nonexistent ear, showing me the glossy black interior of its skull. “She’s coming.”
The reedy whisper rising from the lipless mouth sent a cold chill over me. I poured a handful of salt over its split face without ceremony. “You’re not welcome here. Leave now and never return.”
It dwindled beneath me, skin cracking and graying until I straddled nothing more than a pile of ashes and dust.
I stood shakily, not bothering to wipe the dust off my jeans. I ground a handful of iron nails into the pile as I glanced at the bathroom, the darkened mirror surrounded by vibrant life that shouldn’t exist, and finally hoisted myself onto the dressing table and climbed through the small mirror.
I fell into Eric’s arms, breathing heavily as I returned to my own living body and world. He blew out the candle and dropped it, helping me sit on the floor as I shook.
“She wasn’t there,” I said, hating the half-hopeful quiver in my voice. “But I think she’s been here before.”
“What happened?” he asked, offering me a bottle of cold water flavored with crushed lemon and mint, his dark eyes intent on my face. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was, how like the dust of the deadside I felt, until I’d drained the whole bottle.
“Another spirit came up from the next level. Creepy little fucker. I banished it, but there’s roses growing in there, coming in from the next mirror.”
I put the cup aside and leaned into Eric. Even my blood felt cold now. The scent of cedar and salt washed away the memory of dust.
“It told me ‘she’s coming’,” I said. “It was probably referring to Mom, but I have no idea why her spirit would send something like that with the message.”
Eric held me tightly, letting me shake the adrenaline out of my system. He was scowling when I twisted my head to look up at him. “I’m still not convinced it’s Rosalind,” he said. “She died loving you. If her spirit remains, I don’t think she would send anything hostile your way.”
I thought of the velvet roses, vivid but scentless. “Unless she can’t control what she sends. The roses are a sign. But…”
Eric knew the rule against walking further into the darkness of the deadside as well as I did. “You can’t follow them,” he said gently. He stroked my hair, the way he’d done when I was young and still afraid of Death. “The rules exist for a reason. We’ll just have to wait for the signs to grow clearer. On the other hand, I’m not sure I want to find out what kind of monstrosity would grow from the bottom of the deadside.”
I had seen roses in two places now, far apart from each other. “I don’t think we’ll have a choice,” I said, my voice hollow. As much as I wanted to see Mom again, part of me knew her spirit wouldn’t be the same, and possibly not for the better.
It was childish of me to want to see her so badly, and I wasn’t doing myself any favors by pretending her spirit might still be intact.
We quickly packed what I needed, filling a rucksack with basic amenities and a tangle of dirty clothes I needed to wash. Eric insisted on buying me food on the way to his house, and I was hungry enough to not argue.
But when we walked down into the parking lot of Blue Lake, a totally unwelcome figure was leaning against my junker, his skin shining bronze in the sun.
Warden Stone shot finger guns at me with a crooked grin. “Send your dues to Grimmcliff yet?”
“No,” I snapped, yanking open the van door and tossing my backpack in. “Go away.”
“Clearly you haven’t bothered to take care of the abandonment notice, either. Why’s that? Too busy making out with questionable warlocks in dirty alleyways?”
Why was everyone so goddamn concerned with what I did with warlocks in alleyways? “Clearly not. Now go bother someone else.”
The Warden got off my van, shielding his eyes from the sun. It wasn’t fair for someone so annoying to be so attractive, with his chiseled features and the way he quirked an eyebrow. “You’re just begging for a meeting with the Tribunal, aren’t you?”
I climbed into the van and yanked the door shut before rolling the window down. “No, I’m begging for you to piss off and leave me alone.”
Eric got into the van and started it. It wheezed alarmingly and belched black smoke. Warden Stone’s obnoxious little smirk hardened. “Run along then, Bell. I’m sure you still think your family fame will get you out of this one.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but a new thought occurred to me. “What do you mean, questionable warlocks in alleyways? Were you following me, you sneaky bastard?”
Eric took off before I could jump out and throw down. Fuck that guy. Well, not literally, even if he did look like he was pure muscle under that armor, but he had no business following me around.
When I looked back, he was gone. I would worry about him another day.
Ten minutes later I was scarfing down two cheeseburgers and a large fry at top speed, sitting in the back of the van with the doors open and studiously not thinking about any of the covens or annoying Wardens sniffing around. Eric sat next to me, a soda in hand. We watched the passersby together.
It felt so much better to be out of my apartment, as though an oppressive weight had been lifted from my shoulders by unseen hands. Eric might have been right about a spiritual hitchhiker, anyways.
“Any jobs come in?” I asked through a mouthful of fries. Eric shook his head. His dark hair had tiny golden lights in it under the sun.
“Nothing,” he said. He sipped his soda, staring across the parking lot. “Maybe we should kick up some paranormal activity.”
“Not a chance, Mister Overpr
otective,” I said. I dredged a fry through a vanilla milkshake. I smiled at a young woman walking by, but she hurried away, suppressing a tiny shudder. My smile fell flat almost instantly.
Joss was right. I felt like everyone around me could clearly see what I couldn’t. I wished I could just be friendly with humans, and not have them treat me like the monster in the night.
All of these people would die of fright if they’d seen the things I’d seen.
A distant roar reached my ears and I ate a fry, determined to ignore it. If I ignored it, it did not exist. The last thing I needed was another warlock from my past showing up to press their chance at fortune.
Eric frowned, elbowing me. “Isn’t that your friend Joss?”
I looked up at the red motorcycle at the other end of the parking lot, my heart clenching. A surge of excitement rushed through me. That was Joss’s motorcycle, a scarlet Triumph, and that was definitely him waving at me. As happy as I was to see him again, I was also content being the center of Eric’s attention.
“I’m pretty sure it is,” my servitor said. I nodded my head. I was enjoying sitting in the sun with him, eating my own body weight in grease and salt, but the memory of Joss’s lips on mine was tempting... “Want me to fend him off?”
I felt vaguely guilty that I still hadn’t told Eric that I’d spent most of last night talking to Joss, with new, strange feelings simmering just under the surface.
“No, I’ll see what he wants.” I jumped down out of the van.
Joss smiled broadly when I approached, his teeth absurdly white and straight. “Hey, Morena,” he said. I smiled back and realized I was still clutching my milkshake, feeling as awkward as a teenage girl on her first date. “Hi again, Joss.”
He glanced around the parking lot, meeting Eric’s measuring glare for a moment before turning back to me. “Regretting our rekindled friendship already?” He batted his vividly blue eyes on me in a mockery of flirtation, something he’d done since we were young that had never failed to make me laugh. He looked incredibly cheerful for how much we’d drunk last night.
“Of course not,” I said. Part of me wished I could tell him why I was so exhausted, explain the darkness and pressing weight on my soul. “My schedule is just… really packed lately.”
“You’re sitting in a parking lot eating cheeseburgers,” Joss said. Those sky-blue eyes couldn’t fake innocence. “How busy can you possibly be? And I really do need to talk to you. Over coffee, if you’d like. A date?”
Coffee was high on my list of chosen bribes. That was what got me- that, and he’d said date. What was one date between old friends? Especially old friends who’d grown up and filled out into hulking beefcakes?
“I suppose I can make room in my burger-eating schedule for a date.”
There was a flicker of triumph in Joss’s eyes, there and gone again.
Eric had that strange look in his eye again as I walked back. Resignation? Irritation? It became his usual serene expression as I got closer, leaving me to wonder if I’d imagined it. “It’s a coffee date,” I said, hauling my backpack from the van with a grin I couldn’t suppress. “I’ll meet you at your house in a bit.”
He smiled, but it looked oddly forced. “Be careful,” he said, and I wondered if he was warning me against Joss, or the spirits.
The Past: 13 Years Old
“Are you ready?” Rosalind asked.
Morena held a rowan wand, the end sharpened to a deadly point. A leather belt with pouches of salt and coffin nails hung on either hip. She gazed into the mirror that reflected a bright conservatory.
“I’m ready, Mom,” she said.
The owner of the botanical gardens had contacted the Bells three nights ago. They had lost several night guards over the course of the last year, and the rumors of hauntings were spreading far. It brought in more business, but one look at the bloodless faces of the guards who quit on the spot was enough to sow the seeds of doubt.
The final straw had come this last week, when the latest night guard had been found lying on the floor of the conservatory, blood pooling beneath his prone and slashed limbs.
Luckily the man was expected to make a full recovery. Physically, at least.
Rosalind frowned at the mirror set in the middle of the room. The thick, lush scent of blooming flowers filled the air, encouraging Morena to breathe deeply. “It’s very unusual for a spirit to gain this much power,” she said. “I can’t help but wonder if someone has been helping it along a little.”
Morena knew all too well what fed a spirit, besides fear: blood. “Why would anyone want to do that?” she asked. Rosalind smiled down at her daughter. Her smile had grown more strained these last few years.
“People have all sorts of reasons for the things they do, Morena.” They stood side by side in front of the mirror. Rosalind let out a shallow breath as she gazed into the glass.
“Were you just going to walk without me?” A sharp voice rang through the conservatory. Morena turned around with a wide smile.
Eric held the candle and a bowl of salt. For a moment Rosalind looked almost nervous; then the cloud passed, and she smiled. “Of course not.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I’m just disturbed by the turn these hauntings have taken lately. I wanted a closer look.”
Morena couldn’t quite decipher the look Eric gave her mother, but it bothered her deeply. It almost looked like distrust, which made no sense; Eric and Rosalind were the best of friends, glued together by John. A family.
“We might as well get on with it, then,” he said, standing behind them. He struck a match and lit the candle, and they peered forward.
Morena stepped through the mirror into the darkness of the deadside. The windows that had filtered bright sunlight were now shrouded with mist. She held her rowan wand at the ready as Rosalind swept forward, scanning the rotting husks of vegetation. It was all that was left of the once-beautiful gardens.
“Be on your guard, Morena,” she whispered. A curved rowan knife was unsheathed in her hand, the other full of salt.
The young girl moved through the conservatory silently. Something dark stained the floor in places, soaking right through the dust. She realized with a start that she was seeing the shadows of the guard’s blood, the positions of his arms and legs forever immortalized on this side of the mirror.
Swallowing bile, she followed Rosalind towards the darkened rear of the building. Something skittered in the shadows, small whispers echoing off the glass walls.
“Ah.” Rosalind stepped over a twist of bloodied fur. “Someone has been feeding it.”
A pile of dead animals lay heaped in the corner, dry feathers, matted fur, and bones, all covered with a layer of pale dust. Morena tore her eyes away from the macabre sight.
“I suppose it must’ve tired of these offerings and graduated to chosen sacrifices.” Rosalind followed the skittering sounds fearlessly, her eyes roving the dark hall. Something large flashed in the mist outside the glass wall of the conservatory, gone just as quickly as it appeared.
“Where is it, Mom?” Morena asked. Her mouth was dry as sand, hands trembling. Rosalind pointed with her knife.
A dark shape was sprawled over the misty glass, two large white eyes staring at them. Morena hadn’t seen it a moment ago. It was shaped like a thin man, its skin as dark as pitch. In a dizzying scuttle it moved to the floor, stalking around an enormous planter and out of sight.
“Get your coffin nails, honey,” Rosalind said, and for a moment the slightest quiver entered her voice. Morena thought it might be fear, because her own skin was crawling at the sight of the spirit.
She obediently plucked several from their pouch, the solidity of their cool iron a comfort in her palm. Rosalind stalked the spirit through the conservatory, following the long length of the hall.
Morena didn’t even have time to scream when the dark shape rushed at her mother. Rosalind lunged forward, her knife slashing through the flesh of the spirit. It shrieked, the sheer pitch of it ra
ttling the glass of the conservatory as it wrapped its long arms and legs around Rosalind.
Her mother cried out and tried to heave the spirit away from herself. She fell backwards, the bulk of it driving her down as it tore at her exposed skin.
Morena wasn’t aware of rushing forward, but she thrust the pointed end of the rowan wand through its throat, pushing it back from her mother. Its spine bent backwards in an unnatural curve, tilting to look at her upside down.
The wide white eyes glared at her like empty lamps. Morena gripped the rowan wand with a sweaty palm, keeping the spirit pinned before her.
“I command you to leave now and never return.” Her voice had gone even higher, quavering on the words. “You are not welcome on this land.”
She slammed the palmful of coffin nails into its forehead, the soft bone of its skull giving way under the pressure. Smoke rose from its burning flesh. “Leave now,” she commanded. “Never come back.”
The pitch-dark skin rippled, turning gray and crossed with minuscule fissures. The wide mouth opened like a hinge and hissed words at her she couldn’t understand.
With a brutal twist of the wand in its throat, she managed to grasp a handful of salt from her pouch, sprinkling the glistening crystals over the nails. “Forever I bind you. Forever you are banished.”
The hiss tapered into silence as the spirit returned to dust, crumbling beneath her hands. Morena finally stood over her mother. Gray ash covered Rosalind in a thick coat.
She reached out to help her mother up, shaking harder than ever. Rosalind leaned on her daughter, wincing as she pressed a hand to a bloody gash on her pale chest.
“You are marvelous, darling,” she whispered. For a moment Morena thought her mother looked triumphant. Then the illusion was broken as Rosalind winced in pain.
They returned to the mirror quickly, stepping back into the liveside. Morena fell against Eric, her fear forgotten as the sunlight streamed over her, washing away the taste of ashes.