Smoke in Mirrors(73)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Thomas.”

“No, you can’t move any other part of your body, remember? Just this one little spot. We’re working with a precision tool here.”

“Damn you, Thomas.” Frustrated beyond belief, she came up off the bed in a convulsive movement.

He laughed softly when she came down on top of him.

A moment later when the fiercely intense climax swept through both of them, he stopped laughing.

A long time later he pulled her close, tucking her securely against his body.

She fell asleep, warm and relaxed and feeling safe. Her last waking thought was that she would not have the dream tonight. She had her answers. Meredith could rest in peace.

. . . She was back in the endless hall of mirrors, fleeing the unseen menace. She must not gaze directly into any of the dark looking glasses. It would be fatal to make eye contact with any of the ghosts trapped inside the mirrors. She would be sucked instantly into the world on the other side.

Her pursuer drew closer. She heard laughter.

Don’t stop.

She stopped.

Don’t turn around.

She had to turn around. She had to know the face of her pursuer.

But something went wrong. To her horror she found herself staring straight into a terrifyingly familiar nine-sided convex mirror. The silver monsters carved on the frame writhed, mouths gaping, claws extended.

Meredith’s distorted face stared out at her from the dark glass.

“. . . You can’t sleep yet . . .”

“Leonora. Leonora.” Thomas’s voice shattered the dream just as surely as if he had picked up a hammer and smashed the silver-framed looking glass.

She came awake, her heart pounding, her nightgown clinging damply to her body.

“It’s all right,” Thomas said. He held her tightly pinned against his chest, one hand in her tangled hair. “You’re okay. Just a dream.”

She gulped air and clung to him, taking comfort from his strength and the heat of his body.

“That damned dream again,” she whispered after a while. Frustration and a strange anger burned in her. “I thought there wouldn’t be any more. I thought it was over.”

“Easy, easy. It is over.” He stroked his fingers slowly through her hair. “What’s the dream about?”

“I’m in a long hall full of dark mirrors. Someone is chasing me. I know I shouldn’t look into any of the mirrors, but I do. I see Meredith’s face looking out at me. She’s telling me that I can’t sleep.”

“Well, I guess we know where the symbolism for that dream came from, don’t we? Right out of Mirror House. Try not to worry about it, honey. You’ve been through a lot lately. Might take a while for your unconscious mind to let go of the images.”

He continued to run his fingers soothingly through her hair. She loved the feel of his hands on her, she thought. There was strength and sureness in his touch. Competence and cleverness. Power and passion.

Slowly she relaxed.

When she fell asleep this time, she did not dream.

Chapter Twenty

The following morning she sat at a table in the Mirror House library, computer at hand, a stack of books beside her, and thought about staying on in Wing Cove.

Putting the Mirror House collection online would be an interesting job and she knew Gloria would be delighted to fly up to Washington for a visit while she was here. Her grandmother would no doubt insist on it, in fact. She wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to meet Thomas.

But those weren’t the reasons she was giving serious consideration to Deke’s offer.

It was time to face the truth: What she felt for Thomas was far more than a passing attraction. She was in love. Willing to take risks for it. But it was no good unless he was willing to take risks with her.

The realization had come softly somewhere in the night, but she knew that the knowledge had been with her for a while. She had tried to stay focused on the questions that had brought her to Wing Cove. But looking back she could see quite clearly that the intuitive part of her had been aware from the very beginning that something important was happening between her and Thomas. Something that made it seem worthwhile to take some chances.

It was probably foolhardy in the extreme to hang around now that she had her answers. A smart woman would go back to Melba Creek and pick up the threads of her life.

She opened one of the old books, a small, leather-bound volume written in the waning years of the seventeenth century, and examined the title page.

On the Proper Method of Trapping a Demon in a Magik Mirror. The author had chosen to remain anonymous, no doubt for social and political reasons. But in a lengthy introduction he assured the reader that he . . . was a student of the occult sciences and one who is most excellently qualified to provide instruction in this most dangerous and powerful art.

She wondered if the author of the little book had made a lot of money selling his method for trapping demons in mirrors. She thought about Alex Rhodes and his antistress formula and his mirroring therapy. No matter what the era, there was never a shortage of charlatans and frauds. Never a lack of people willing to plunk down their money for a magic fix, either.

Another line of text caught her eye.

. . . Beware, images in the magik mirror must be examined closely and interpreted wisely and with great caution for nothing is as it seems in that other world . . .

She heard Thomas’s footsteps in the hallway just outside the door. A sense of great certainty swept through her. Unlike visions in a mirror, Thomas was exactly what he appeared to be, real and solid.

He materialized in the opening, a jacket hooked over his shoulder.

“Ready for lunch?” he asked.

She sat back in her chair and drank in the sight of him.

He came to a halt in front of the table where she was working and gave her a quizzical smile.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” She closed the little book very carefully. “Nothing’s wrong. Tell Deke I’ll finish the job.”

He stilled. “You’re going to stick around for a while?”

“Yes. This is a very interesting and important collection. It has historical significance and should be made available to scholars.”

“What about me?” Thomas watched her very steadily. “Do I have historical significance, too?”

“Yes, indeed,” she parried. “But I wasn’t planning to make you available to any other scholars.”

Thomas gave her his slow smile. “Going to keep me just for yourself?”

“In my own private collection.”