You know those moments when you can’t think of anything to say?
Now is not one of them.
Every jab and nasty comment. Every unkind word. Every lie Quinn has ever uttered buoys to the surface, breathes and expands. I’ve spent so much time suppressing my hurt, trying to get over it, but now it boils over. A white-hot ball of pent-up woundedness. I have so many things to say to her. So many questions.
Why?
How could you?
What kind of person does what you did?
Instead I spit out, “Is that all you have to say to me?”
She blinks. “What am I supposed to say?”
I emit an irritated gurgle in my throat. “An apology would be nice, for starters.”
“Life isn’t scripted, El. Get used to it.” She flicks her hand flippantly and hops off the bed.
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Makes two of us.”
I scan the length of her, absorbing her appearance. Torn fishnet stockings run up her legs, disappear beneath a wrinkled black dress. She’s barefoot too. I never realized how short she is without high heels. A closer glance at her “bedroom” reveals a chamber pot tucked in one corner.
Quinn shifts. Her shoulders lift as if trying to shrug off my scrutiny. “My Shield has been faulty. I can alter my person, but my clothing remains the same.”
I recall the first time I saw her shift, when she revealed herself as Mom’s conniving art dealer Lincoln Cooper and I discovered just how deep Quinn’s—Ebony’s—deceit ran. The way she’d played me to exact revenge. Now, as her face contorts, the transformation doesn’t seem out of place. Instead I find it suits her superficial personality. Her sharp features soften, and everything from her hair to her skin fades from bright to shaded.
Shaded. Like her soul.
Ugh. And mine apparently.
Ebony Archer stares back at me, a knowing glare in her espresso eyes. “But that’s why you’re down here, isn’t it? You already know something’s up with the Callings.”
“What do you know? Why are the Callings”—what’s a good word?—“malfunctioning? Do you know which cell belongs to Gage? Maybe I can question him—”
“Relax, little sis. Don’t be so rushy-rushy. Lucky for you I eavesdropped on Gage’s interrogation. I’ll fill you in. But first you’re going to do something for me.”
This part, of course, is unavoidable. “What do you want?”
She yawns, makes a show of ghosting her hand over her mouth. “Nothing much. Just a small token, some collateral to ensure you don’t screw me over.”
As always her word choice proves tactless. A hurried glance over my shoulder allows me to breathe easier. No Preacher. Yet. “Get to the point, Ebony. Name your price.”
She meets me at the nook’s edge where the tile on my side meets the carpeted floor on hers. Next she reaches forward, palms facing me, and pushes as if an invisible wall separates us.
I step back and examine the air before me. No, not air, glass. Glass so clean and clear it’s hardly detectable. Ebony’s in a cage.
“Only David knows the way in and out,” she explains. “But that is irrelevant. Because you, my dear sister, are a Mirror.”
My face numbs. “How did you—?”
“I’m not clueless. Your display last Eleventh Month pretty much alerted everyone and their horse to your Calling.”
My display. I touch my right cheek. Ky and I discovered Queen Ember’s “Mirror Theory” together. I guess most people know my ability based on what they’ve seen me do. Sometimes I forget only a select few know how my birthmark—mirrormark—is related. Every Calling has a symbol associated with it, a tattoo that appears when the Calling manifests. But unlike the seven main Callings, which are revealed by the intake of Threshold water, the Mirror Calling can only be given to one person at a time. And nothing but a Kiss of Infinity bestowed by the Verity’s vessel can create a Mirror.
Could this be the problem? I’m a Mirror and the Verity’s vessel. Perhaps my Calling needs to be passed on to someone else. Could the Mirror in me be hindering the Verity from functioning properly?
I shake my head. None of this adds up. If the Callings are sourced by the Verity, why would mine hinder it? Joshua was an Ever and the vessel. It didn’t cause him any complications.
But Mirrors are different. Special. Rare. Ugh. My brain hurts. Once again I sense this is all connected. But how?
“En-ee-waaay.” Ebony curls her upper lip and examines her nails. “What I seek is a trifle. You release me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“That’s it?” No way. Not buying it.
She smiles. I almost believe it’s genuine. “That’s it.”
I lift one eyebrow the way Ky does when he doesn’t believe someone. “Yeah, right. Tell me what I need to know first, then I’ll release you.” Maybe.
In the past moving through a reflective barrier would’ve been easier than playing “Chopsticks” on the piano. But I haven’t attempted mirror walking in a while. If my song is dying and my hands are unable to heal, what other abilities am I losing?
“Let’s make a deal.” She leans her head to one side and begins braiding her mocha tresses. “I’ll give you what you want, and vice versa.” When the braid is finished she secures it with a black tie from around her wrist. “We can be sure the other will follow through because we’ll seal the promise with a Kiss of Accord. Fair enough?”
A Kiss of Accord? Hmm. “How do I know this isn’t a trick? How do I know you can help me?”
“I guess you don’t. But let me add this, sweeten the deal a bit. I’m aware you didn’t just come down here to chat about Callings, or even Gage’s interrogation.” She doesn’t miss a beat when she says, “You want to know where Rhyen is.”
I blink, keeping my expression as neutral as possible despite the thudding in my chest. This confirms my intuition was correct. Ebony won’t tiptoe around me. She’s exactly who I need. “Where is he?”
Ebony clicks her tongue. “Do we have a deal?”
Before I can weigh the pros and cons of her offer—and there are most definitely more cons than pros when it comes to Ebony—the ground shakes. The cell doors rattle on their hinges and rubble tumbles from the ceiling. My half sister’s face turns ghostly, contrasting against her pink lips and darker-than-mine hair.
Our eyes meet. She pounds the unaffected glass. “Get me out.”
I glance over my shoulder. Then back at the transparent wall separating us. I could book it or even attempt to mirror walk to a safer place. Alone. Without her.
Would serve her right.
“El, come on!” Her shrill plea only grates my nerves. Where was she when I needed her? When I was the one in trouble and could’ve used a real and true friend?
“El, pleeeassse.” The ceiling in her cell begins to crumble. She covers her head with her arms.
I consider her for another second. Then I groan and press a palm to the glass, clear my throat. My song is scratchy, off-key, and breathy and barely a melody at all. But it’s enough. A sensation like having the air knocked out of me takes over. It’s as if my lungs are being squeezed through a pipe. Normally the transition from here to there is smoother, and not at all painful. This is so not a good sign.
Once I’m inside the cage, Ebony flings her arm toward me.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I should leave her here, make her pay.
“But that’s not who you are,” Ky says, and I swear that’s a smile in his voice.
“Get us out of here,” Ebony screeches.
With her hand in mine, I return to the glass wall. I begin my song but my voice is so raw, I might as well be lip-syncing for the amount of sound coming through my lips. I swallow, shake my head, begin again. Pain shoots up and down my throat and I cry out, making a noise like a beaten donkey. It’s not working.
“Because you’re relying on the wrong thing.”
Ky? Sigh. Help me.
“Think, Em. What did you learn at Nathaniel’s the first time you passed through a mirror?”
I close my eyes and picture it. The musty attic. My cynical grandfather in his ratty old bathrobe. Ky encouraging me, believing in me.
How could I forget?
My eyes open and my soul jolts. Preacher stands on the other side of the glass, his face wrinkled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. He’s pointing a finger at me, commanding me to come out. An all-too-familiar guilt returns and prick, prick, pricks my chest. Preacher’s mad because I lied to him. Because he’s trying to protect me. Maybe Ky was right and Preacher isn’t so bad.
“Finally she gets it.” Ky laughs in my head. “When are you going to learn I am pretty much always right?”
I roll my eyes.
“Reflections to El.” Ebony snaps her fingers in front of my nose. “Now is not the ideal time to pursue a career as a space cadet.”
Where was I? The attic . . . my song . . . the way I felt . . .
Love. Not song alone, but love. I wonder . . . could it work?
Only one way to find out.
This time when I close my eyes and press my palm to the glass I don’t open my mouth. Instead I experience the music, the lyrics, within. I allow the notes to glide across my soul. I feel their reverberations around my heart. They fill me up and undo me at once. I think of Mom and my new sibling. Of Makai, and of course Joshua. And then . . . then I think of Ky. I see his face. Feel his hand in mine.
That’s when the song comes alive, as if it’s awakening my soul. The glass turns liquid beneath my touch.
Ebony and I step through.