The Looking Glass Page 8

  Alice was so caught up in reading that she hardly noticed Tony staring at her. When she finally looked away from the computer screen, his expression made her jump.

  “You … you’re … ” he spluttered, mouth hanging slightly open, blue eyes wide. Alice didn’t realize what he was talking about until she glanced back at the computer screen.

  Her heart stopped.

  Right at the top of the article was her most recent school picture, smiling at her from the screen. Tony looked at the picture and then back at her again.

  “I don’t believe it. I … don’t believe it.”

  The key slipped from her fingers. Without her even trying—without her saying a word, the lie was crashing down around her. Intense relief swept through her, but it was also maddening to see him staring at her like that. Shock—disbelief—his eyes said everything. She was impossible and he knew it.

  Her mind spun with things she could say to him—anything that would make him stay.

  “Tony,” she said, reaching out to grab his arm. It was instinctive, the need to grab hold of him and not let go. But Tony leapt to his feet just as her fingers were about to touch him.

  “Please … don’t be afraid. Let me explain—”

  Just as she was about to let the whole truth come spilling out, it happened. One moment she was sitting, solid on the grass. The next, the ground was sucking her in—knees, chest, neck. Tony watched her in horror.

  “Alice!”

  “No! Please—” she gasped out before she disappeared entirely. For a second everything was black, and then she found herself kneeling on hard wood, still wrapped in Tony’s sweatshirt.

  Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed one o’clock.

  Alice closed her eyes and didn’t open them for a long time. She allowed herself to slowly—so slowly—fold until her forehead hit the floor. The sweatshirt around her shoulders was warm and smelled like chlorine. She pulled it closer around her body and breathed in the scent of it. But she couldn’t find any peace in it, and all she wanted was to hit something—to break something. She’d been so close. So close. She had even allowed herself to hope that she had escaped this place—that everything would work out.

  And then there was Tony. Not that it mattered, not that she cared, but she had stolen his sweatshirt and he’d be totally freaking out. … She could imagine him now, staring at the ground, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Maybe he would tell this story on Halloween years later—the story about the ghost of the drowned girl that still appeared in the pool where she’d … but she hadn’t died. He wouldn’t tell that story because she wasn’t dead.

  Or maybe he would tell no one. What would they think of him if he did? His dad would believe him, but everyone else … they would think he’d lost his mind. And so he would carry the whole story with him to his grave, never whispering it to a soul. The thought of him acting as if nothing had happened made Alice unreasonably angry and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

  Come on, be sensible, she told herself. Focus. Look for a way out. She did what she had done so many times before—since she was just a child—and pushed the disappointment into the recesses of her mind. Feeling emptier if not very much better, Alice opened her eyes.

  She knew at once that something was wrong, but this change was so large that, for a moment, Alice was too overwhelmed to put her finger on it. Then she realized.

  Half of the room was missing.

  She wasn’t sure if missing was exactly the right word for it. Obscured might have been a better choice. But either way, there was no denying the fact that where the dresser, the door to the bathroom, and half of the bed should have been, there was only mist. This wasn’t ordinary mist either. Normal mist didn’t stay in one place like that—it fogged up the rest of the air, obscured everything. This haze looked as though it had run up against an invisible wall; it was clean-cut, leaving the rest of the room perfectly clear. Where the mist was, it was thick and opaque.

  Alice walked toward it in shock. She leaned over the bed and, after a moment of hesitation, stuck her hand inside. Her arm disappeared into the wall of glowing white, but she felt nothing. She expected the mist to be damp, like the inside of the cloud. Instead there was … well, there was nothing. Just nothing. She pulled her hand out and was relieved to see that it was still there. The mist just hung, unperturbed. Alice felt a shiver crawl up her spine and somehow she knew that if she went into that mist, she might never come out.

  The glow from the mist allowed Alice to find her way around even though the windows were dark. She ran to the door and out of the room, poking her head into the other doorways as she worked her way down the hall, growing more panicked by the minute. Everywhere it was the same. The mist had overtaken that entire side of the house.

  When Alice got back to her own room, she saw her bikini top lying at the foot of the bed. If the mist crept forward (and if it had moved once before, it could easily do it again), it would swallow the bed whole. Even though she hated that bikini, the thought of it eaten up by whiteness unnerved her. Her swimsuit was real—snatched from the real world, just like her—and if it could simply cease to exist, if it could disappear. … She grabbed her bikini top and held it close to her. The diary was sitting on the bed as well and, though she wouldn’t have minded seeing that bloodstained cover swept away, the information it held was too valuable to lose, and she picked it up as well.

  In the mirror, the door to the real hotel room flew open. Tony stood for a moment, silhouetted by the light from the hallway, then ran inside. Alice froze, her own danger momentarily forgotten, and scrutinized his face. In the dark, though, she couldn’t see more than the round outline of his head. Even if his expression was saying something, there was no chance she would be able to see it.

  He threw his laptop onto the bed and walked toward his dad. Stopping, he wavered for a moment, rocking backwards on his heels, then turned around and ran out of the room.

  Alice had to remind herself to breathe. There was a growing warmth in her chest, but the heat wasn’t pleasant—it was a burning need. She needed Tony to like her and the thought that he might actually be terrified of her was almost unbearable. It makes sense, she told herself. I’m not crazy. She needed him to want to help her, so of course she was afraid he wouldn’t. That was all it was. Trying to keep calm, Alice looked away from the mirror, but as she did, she thought she caught a flash of short brown hair and pale skin. She whipped around for another look, alarmed, but the girl was nowhere in sight.

  Alice swallowed hard. Clutching her things to her chest, she fled the room and ran downstairs to check the rest of the house. She discovered, to her horror, that the mist was not limited to just one side. It was creeping in everywhere, covering every outer wall. Half of the lobby was gone and the game room had almost disappeared completely. The living room fireplace was gone. The library was one of the few places that was completely intact, but that was to be expected. It was one of the only rooms landlocked inside the house.

  Panicked, Alice curled up in the most central hallway she could find and tried to breathe. Everything around her seemed small and distant, as if her head were a faraway tower with her trapped inside. There was a mirror over the couch in the foyer and as she looked up at it, she thought for a brief second that she saw the girl again. She rubbed her eyes and looked harder; the girl was gone without a trace.

  “Hey!” She got to her feet. Alice had heard that the best thing to do if you came across a bear was to wave your arms and scream and yell—make sure it knew that you were there and you weren’t afraid. And even though she knew that a witch was a far cry from a bear, and even though her knees were shaking so hard it was a miracle she could stand, she shouted to the mirror at the top of her lungs, “I know who you are. I know you’re in there!”

  I can’t hear you.

  Alice reeled backwards, clapping her hands over her ears. The voice was so quiet and so piercing that she couldn’t tell if it had come from the house or from
her own mind. She was trembling now; she couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror. The feeling that someone was watching her was so strong that tingles were running up and down her back like tiny bits of ice. The bloody diary was next to her and she grabbed it, pressing it to her stomach in the way she used to hold her teddy bears when she was frightened.

  Another flash of brown (or was she just blinking?) and Alice jumped. The book tumbled out of her hand and fell open beside her and she picked it up. She looked up at the mirror one more time; the thought of not knowing someone was watching her was terrifying, but the chance that she might actually see something scared her even more.

  Alice lowered her gaze to the book in her lap. It was the only escape she had left.

  ***

  May 10, 1883

  I did it! Can you believe that? It actually worked—I swear it did.

  The witch is so pleased. She smiles at me from the mirror all the time now. I think that she wants to tell me something. If only I could get her out of the glass, she could talk to me face-to-face.

  Maybe I will work on a new curse now—I don’t know. I could try, I suppose. But birds are awfully small creatures. Just because the curse worked this time doesn’t mean it will work on something larger.

  Poor little bird. It was such a sweet creature. It used to sing to me all the time—it would perch right on my windowsill. The poor dear won’t sing to me anymore. How I miss it! Was it too terrible of me to curse it? Now I wonder if I shouldn’t have done it. I look in the mirror and I see my face and I am afraid of my own power.

  No. I am not afraid. I am powerful.

  The curse was truly marvelous—oh, I wish William could have seen! I waited until midnight and, right as the witching hour hit, I rubbed the salve on my forehead and spoke the incantation. The salve was very difficult. I had to boil crushed rose petals with tar and egg yolks and special salts that I found among the witch’s things. I did it, though—and right under Lillian’s nose, too. How jealous she would be if she found out. But she won’t. She won’t ever find the witch’s books. I won’t let her. I am too clever for her. Ha!

  I am very clever, you know. Very, very clever.

  The bird hasn’t come since that night. I suppose it just dropped dead when the curse hit it. And I am so pleased! With these books I have the power to curse anyone I want. Even Lillian.

  Poor bird.

  Lillian has been doing the oddest things lately. She pops in on me unexpectedly almost every hour. She tries to catch me working magic. But I still pretend that I am sick and I am very careful to be in bed whenever she comes. She grows more desperate by the day to see me with the books. I have heard her talking to Father about me many times.

  She says that I have gone mad.

  The little fool. Does she really think that saying that will help her steal the books from me? She seems to have convinced Father, though. He sent Monsieur Létourneau away just the minute that he finished the painting. Or perhaps Monsieur left of his own accord? I do not remember. I was too busy watching the witch peeping out at us.

  A doctor came to see me today. I told him that I am fine and I think that he believes me, he left the room so quickly. He has not been back since. He at least knows that there is nothing the matter.

  And William. William is surely dead. No man would ever abandon me if he could help it. Sometimes when Lillian’s not home, I creep downstairs into her room and use her mirror. I smile at myself and curl my hair around my fingers. I strike poses. And, truly, I am just as beautiful as ever. William would never leave me.

  Do you know, Lillian dared to mention William’s name the other day! She asked if he would be coming to see me soon. How could she ask such a thing? How could she be so insensitive? I sent her away at once.

  What should my next curse be? I have asked the witch, but the only word she seems to say is “Elizabeth”; I do not know why. Perhaps it is the glass that makes it hard for me to hear her. Sometimes I am sure that she is whispering secrets to me—great secrets—but I am too deaf to understand.

  The three pieces of wood that divide the mirror into four cover the glass like bars in a jail cell window. Perhaps if I pry them off, then the witch will be free to leave as she pleases.

  Oh dear. I still do not know which curse to try next. There are so very many to choose from.

  Maybe I will try to free the witch first.

  Here comes Lillian again. I must go lie down in bed before she sees me writing.

  ***

  One more thing: I have figured out the secret of magic. It is three and four—just like the mirror.

  ***

  Alice put the diary down and realized to her surprise that her hands were shaking. She didn’t like being so close to Elizabeth’s mind. It left her with a sick feeling, as though she had just thrown up. The witch’s brown eyes and crooked smile kept popping up in her head; she couldn’t escape them. She felt like a cornered animal, huddled on the floor, mirrors watching her like empty faces.

  She was too frightened to go back into any of the rooms. The mist working its way across the house disturbed her almost as much as the looming threat of the witch. What if she got trapped somewhere with it creeping toward her like that, alone in the middle of a white box closing in on her from every side? She wouldn’t be able to stand it.

  She knew it was dumb, that she was too old now, but she had an impulse to run to her parents’ room—to talk to her mom. Her mom had a way of making her feel better about things, or at least she had before Alice stopped talking to her about anything important. … When had that happened anyway? Alice didn’t remember. Maybe a couple years earlier, when her parents’ usual arguing had subsided into stony silence, when she had started to realize that something was broken that might never be fixed—when she had clamped up inside. It wasn’t important now. She couldn’t talk to her mom anyway. Her parents’ room was on the other side of a country she wasn’t even sure she was still a part of. She was in her own shadow world now. She looked up at the wall, at the empty house, and felt so desperately lonely that her eyes started to burn and she curled up, back against the wall, wishing for something, for someone, for home.

  “This is home.”

  Alice jumped—hit the back of her head on the wall. It was the girl. This time Alice was sure that she could see her there in the mirror, kneeling on the couch in the real foyer, arms crossed over the top of it. The book, which Alice had been holding against her stomach, slipped from her hands and tumbled to the floor.

  “You can’t leave. Not now.”

  Alice stood up with some difficulty; her knees shook. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

  “You can see me,” she said. It wasn’t a question anymore. The girl—the witch—was staring straight at her and there was simply no chance, no way that Alice was imagining things now.

  The girl blinked and yawned. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s been lonely for years now. The house has been so very hungry with nothing to eat.”

  Alice’s stomach turned. She thought of the mist, creeping forward, eating up all in its path. The witch’s lips were slightly parted and her teeth gleamed like two rows of knives. Alice took an uncertain step toward the mirror and said breathlessly (her lungs were like popped balloons), “I know who you are.”

  “Yes. I’m a friend.”

  She smiled and Alice didn’t believe her. Though Alice was tempted to simply tell the witch what she knew and try to get her to leave, there was this other nagging thought that she couldn’t dismiss. If Elizabeth had been right, then the witch was powerful. Alice, trapped here, needed nothing more than power. Was it possible that even a witch could be an ally? Could this be her way out?

  “I already have friends,” said Alice. Then, thinking it would be best to hear it from the girl’s own lips, “Tell me who you are.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  The girl tapped her fingernails on the mirror, or at least seemed to. They made no sound when they hit the glass.
“No, you don’t have friends.”

  “What’s your name?” tried Alice.

  “Don’t need a name.”

  “Everyone needs a name. What do people call you?” Her fear was quickly turning to frustration. Did the girl ever stop smirking? Or was she born with that lopsided grin?

  “If you have to call me something, call me Alice,” said the girl after a moment’s thought.

  “I’m Alice.”

  “And I am you.”

  “You are not.”

  She rested her chin on her hand, rolling her eyes. “Bored now,” she said.

  “What do you want from me?” Alice asked. Maybe if she knew what the witch wanted, they could work out some kind of exchange. She would give almost anything to get out of there.

  “You’re the first one in a long time. I was excited,” the girl said.

  “Can you help me?” Alice blurted out, unable to contain it any longer. “Do you know the trick? Is there a way out of here?”

  The girl broke into a wide smile. “Of course.”

  “What is it? Whatever you want—I can give you whatever you want.”

  “Want? I just want you to be happy,” she said in a voice so sweet it bordered on simpering. Alice’s stomach turned; this didn’t feel right. Don’t talk to strangers—the mantra of kids walking home from school—was playing on repeat in her head.

  “Then tell me the way out.”

  “You already know it.” The girl pointed through the mirror at the mist that covered the door. Alice looked at it, then back at the mirror.

  “No. It can’t be.”

  “It’s easy. And it doesn’t hurt.”

  “No.”

  Alice didn’t know how she knew, but the instinct to stay away from the mist was stronger than anything she had ever felt. There was something strangely beautiful about the glow it shed, but it was a menacing allure, like the rippling green of a venomous snake.