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A gaping, grotesque wound with black edges was visible through his torn sweater, which was soaked through with blood. So much blood, a dribbling stream steadily fell into a puddle beneath him as he stood leaning against the wall.
“It’s fine,” he said, pushing away from the wall.
Gwen was stunned. Bullshit it was fine! “You’re not?—”
Another yell echoed through the hall, and she gasped. It was closer than the last. A lot closer.
“He cannot die,” Sirus told her. “Not in this place. He feeds off the magick here.”
“I-I don’t understand.” Maybe Aldor couldn’t die, but there was no way he could heal that quickly. That was impossible.
Sirus kept his black eyes on her. “There’s no time to explain.” He slid forward, his blood dripping a trail as he hunted the next mirror.
Her ears rang, blending with the grating sound of all the whispers. She ignored the sting in her hands, created tight fists to help stifle the pain. Sirus is immortal, she kept repeating in her head. If he wasn’t worried, she shouldn’t be either. He would heal. Assuming they could find a way out of this damned place.
“There has to be another way out, right?” she asked frantically as he tried another mirror with no success.
He didn’t answer her.
Gwen scrambled to think of something. She ran past him to the next mirror. With force, she slammed her injured hand against the glass and willed it to work. It had worked before. She just needed to do it again. Nothing happened.
The voices surged, and in her desperation Gwen closed her eyes. “Please,” she whispered back to them. “How do we get out?” Her attempt to speak to them only made them more intrigued. Gwen groaned in frustration and opened her eyes. She gazed into the dull mirror, trying to think as Sirus shifted further down the hall. The voices echoed louder when she grazed her hand along the frame. It looked similar to the one Abigail had, but not exactly right.
“Can we use the mirrors?” she asked the voices. This time, they cascaded not in unison but in conflict.
Yes and no.
Gwen’s heart leapt. It was something. And it wasn’t a total no.
She tried to think. “Is there one? One we can use?”
The voices crescendoed, excited by the idea. The answer was clear.
Yes.
A shot of adrenaline ran through her. “Where?” There was no answer—only curiosity.
They wouldn’t tell her, but she was on the right track. And this was not the right mirror. She spun around, looking at the row of mirrors across the hall behind them. There were mirrors everywhere. In every hall they’d passed. Every room. It could take an eternity to find the right one.
“Is it close?” she asked through a stilted breath.
Yes.
Wracked with nerves and shaking all over, Gwen stepped closer to the other wall. As she did, the whispers grew louder, chattering excitedly. “Is it there?” she asked anxiously, her heart slamming into her chest.
Yes.
“Sirus,” she said low, hoping her voice wouldn’t carry. He followed her gaze and without question fell in step behind her when she ran across the vast space toward the other row of mirrors. Gwen stopped at the first mirror that wasn’t broken. “There’s one here,” she tried to explain. Not that she could. She didn’t even understand it herself. “One—one that can help us.”
Together they worked their way down the wall, running from one mirror to the next. The whispers were growing louder as Aldor’s snarls echoed closer, but none of the mirrors awakened. Each one was either broken or unresponsive. Gwen felt like she could vomit up her heart; it was slamming so hard into her throat. There had to be a way out of this place. Her body was shaking violently now, and she could barely think.
The whispers and magick tugged at her. Gwen looked over and saw Sirus had stopped. He wasn’t looking at the mirror in front of him, but the frame. The warped silver frame was inlaid with large red gems along the top and bottom.
“I know this mirror,” he told her.
The whispers nearly roared with anticipation.
“How?” she asked desperately. “How do we get it to work?”
