Mortal Danger

He smiled, as I intended him to. The car started with a purr and he pulled smoothly into traffic. On the ride home, Kian told me a little more about his aunt and uncle, concluding, “I’ll call them and see if we can come for lunch on Sunday.”

“Lunch?

“Dinner would get you home too late. It’s almost five hours, depending on traffic.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, unless you just want me to meet them. It’s a long way to drive to reassure me … and I already believe in you.”

His throat worked visibly. “It’s been a long time since anyone said that to me.”

“I’ll say it again if you want, slower this time.” I tried on a flirty smile, and to my relief, I didn’t feel like an idiot.

He grinned at me, thanking me with his eyes for not making a thing about the fact that he wore his heart close to the skin. “Let’s not pack too much excitement into a single day.”

My mom and dad were waiting when I got home. They were weird and solicitous, as if Brittany and I had been friends for years. My dad made my favorite soup—homemade chicken noodle and my mom produced a carton of ice cream. Tonight, however, I limited myself to a single scoop instead of filling a huge bowl. Both my parents were weedy academics, not prone to overindulgence in anything, except esoteric ideas. As we ate, I brought up my college application, and as expected, that occupied them until I could escape.

“Thanks for dinner. It was really good.”

They exchanged one of their looks, then my mother spoke. “Will you be all right tonight? I’ve been asked to do a guest lecture, and there’s a cocktail party afterward—”

“I’m fine,” I assured them. “I’ll do my homework and maybe Skype with Vi.”

“Who’s that again?” My dad was frowning.

“I met her at the SSP. She lives in Ohio.”

“Oh, right.” His brow cleared. Any kid who could get into the science program was apparently good enough for me to chat with online.

“If you’re sure,” my mom said, pushing away from the table.

After that, she got ready in a hurry while my dad and I washed the dishes. Twenty minutes later, she came out in her standard black dress, having dotted her cheeks with blush and put on red lipstick that didn’t suit her. Last year, I wouldn’t have known that.

“Have fun.” I shut the door behind them and turned the deadbolt.

Though I’d been alone countless times before, this felt different, somehow. Strange noises rumbled in the apartment, nothing I could identify, and I couldn’t settle on my assignments. I roamed from room to room, checking in closets and looking under the beds. Soon I’d be rummaging through cupboards and making myself a tinfoil hat. Brittany’s specter haunted me, whispering accusations that sent shivers down my spine.

“It’s your imagination,” I said out loud.

My voice was supposed to reassure me, but the strange tinnitus was back, ringing so loud that I thought it was the phone for a few seconds. Then I realized it was, but it sounded like it was inside my skull. I ran to answer it, and when I picked up, there was only a single high-pitched note. I slammed the phone down and unplugged it.

Then it rang again.

Fear pounded a tattoo in my ears as something heavy hit the front door, hard enough to shake it on the hinges. My thoughts went frantic and disjointed. Shelter. No windows. Cell phone. Call for help. I sprinted down the hall to the bathroom, slammed the door behind me, then I leaned against it with all my weight, listening to the pounding. My hands trembled as I dialed the 9, then the 1. As if whatever it was sensed trouble, the noise stopped.

I listened for a full minute. Nothing. Silence.

Exhaling, I turned, started at a glimpse of myself in the mirror, then smiled in relief. My reflection did not smile back.

THE EYE OF A LITTLE GOD

I can’t get help from 911 for this.

Cold suffused the room in a silent swirl, until my breath wafted like fog between me and not-me. Every instinct said I was in mortal danger, but I was afraid something worse lurked outside. Just because the thing had stopped banging, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

I backed up a few steps, until I stood near the door, but my mirror image never moved. “What do you want?” I asked.

“Your life.” The voice was warped and strange, a drowning mouth full of water.

I didn’t know if she meant she wanted me dead or to swap places, trapping me on the other side. No matter how you viewed it, I lost. As I tried to control my heartbeat, she lifted slender fingers to trace a pattern on the wrong side of the glass, and the surface rippled, stirred, as if she might conceivably crawl through. That was enough for me. I banged open the bathroom door, slammed it shut behind me, and bolted.

Wait, what’s the smart move? Danger outside. Danger inside. Can’t call 911. If the thing could break the door, wouldn’t it have already done that? My life depended on working out the answer, and nothing had prepared me to solve this particular equation. While they couldn’t kill me, they could hurt me, or drive me to do something stupid in sheer terror. I took one breath, another, forcing myself to be logical when impulse suggested I should run and scream.

There are rules in play. What are they?

That was part of the problem. I didn’t know the regulations, how to avoid breaking them, or how to report a violation. But then, I wasn’t really a player, more of a pawn. In chess, the pieces couldn’t wave from the board and bitch over how they were handled. Actually, that analogy gave me some insight as to my position.

I’m not even a person. I’m a … what did Wedderburn call me? An asset.

Okay, so … what do I know? Thinking it through kept me from panicking. In a lot of lore, monsters had to be invited or permitted to cross your threshold. Therefore, reason dictated that I was safer at home than I would be running around after dark. Plus, there were human maniacs to contend with as well.

Briefly, I considered calling Kian; he’d stay with me until my parents got home. In the end, I decided not to. I preferred not to get dependent on him. My chest ached as I went to my room. As I settled down, I listened for any sign that the creature outside the apartment had come back, but everything sounded still and quiet. There were no noises from the bathroom either. If the mirror-girl had been able to get out, she’d be here by now.

Yet I wasn’t fully at ease; my nerves jangled like an alarm clock. Before starting on my homework, I Googled mirror ghosts and then covered the one in my room with a sheet, just in case they were portals. I read something about witches trapping spirits in mirrors and how ghosts needed a connection with someone living to pass through. So she can get out only if I’m too scared to run? Good to know. Apparently in Serbia, Croatia, and sometimes Bulgaria, they buried the dead with a looking glass, so their spirits couldn’t roam around and haunt the living. I didn’t like the ramifications of what could happen, though, if some maniacal grave robber dug up corpses all over Eastern Europe and smashed those mirrors.