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I was in turmoil, my insides churning like they were being twisted slowly, and painfully. The tsunami of grief I’d been trying to hold back threatened to strike and overwhelm me, and I didn’t know where to go, where to look, what to do, what to think. But I couldn’t let myself be swept away by these feelings, Max was depending on me.
Hell, the fate of the city was in my hands, because if the Diaboli got their hands on that Infernal Engine of theirs, who knew what they would be able to unleash? Them getting their hands on that engine was bad news for everyone.
Everyone.
It took a long moment for me to settle myself, burying the powerful swell of emotions. When I finally did, I walked calmly over to the desk on which Lucien had left the platter. I still didn’t quite feel the urge to eat, but I knew I should, if only to regain some of my strength.
I was going to need it, after all.
Pulling the dome off the plate, I was treated to the still surprisingly warm aroma of pancakes. They were fluffy, and golden, and stacked high on the plate. Next to them was a tray with some butter on it, and a small bowl filled with strawberry jelly.
For a minute I stood there, staring at the plate like it was covered in alien runes, wondering how they knew my pancake preference. Most people I knew—which meant the members of my family—had their pancakes with syrup. I had been told that was a pretty common combination out there, in the real world. Apparently, I was the weird one who preferred jelly on her pancakes.
Specifically, strawberry jelly.
So, how did Lucien know?
I wanted to resist eating them, but now that I was here… they looked good, they were still warm, and the smell was making my mouth water. So, I ate. I finished the plate. I drank the juice. And in the quiet silence of my prison cell, I contemplated my escape.
Chapter
Eleven
Despite the brightness outside, I couldn’t help but notice just how gloomy this bedroom was. It was as if the sun’s rays didn’t dare creep too far past the windowpane, like it was scared of shining its light into this place. I could see, sure, but the shadows in this room remained deep, and thick.
There were even times when I thought they were watching me.
That was stupid, obviously. Shadows couldn’t watch a person. Still, I rarely felt like I was entirely by myself in here. Last night, after arriving, I had been so exhausted by the ordeal that I had passed out without question. Now, having spent a few hours by myself in this room, I was starting to notice these oddities.
One thing which caught my attention was the weird pocket watch Carla Diaboli had thrown at me last night. I’d forgotten I had it until I caught a glint of sunlight reflected off its shiny surface. It was small and ornate, and almost entirely made of glass.
Why had she given me this thing? Picking it up was a trap, surely. Why else would I want this small, strange trinket? There are worse monsters in these halls. Those had been her words when she gave me the pocket watch.
Just hearing her voice in my head was enough to give me the chills.
Curiosity was what drew me to pick it up. It was the worst thing about being a mage, that need to investigate, to know. It had probably gotten a lot of mages killed. It was probably going to get me killed, too. But now that I’d felt the itch, I had to scratch it.
The pocket watch was cold to the touch, and small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Lacking a chain, or any kind of visible inner mechanism, it looked more like a compact mirror than a watch. I scanned its exterior for runes, or markings, but I found none.
What little sunlight was able to touch it cast prismatic reflections all over the bedroom, spots of colorful light that shifted and danced as I moved it around in my hand. My curiosity intensified as I noticed the little object’s lip. I had found the way to open it.
I wasn’t sure what would happen when I did, but I did it anyway, carefully placing my hands around it just in case it tried to scream or shriek like those voices had last night; ready to snap it shut at a moment’s notice. I gently pulled, and I felt a click. Carefully I peeled the watch open, only to find it wasn’t a watch at all.
It was actually a mirror; a mirror with an engraved edge filled with strange runes I couldn’t possibly recognize or identify.
I saw myself, saw the reflection of my eyes in the glass.
Then I saw it.
Everything happened so fast. I had barely panned the mirror to the left an inch or two before the creature standing behind me came into view. It was a horrifying, dark shape, there only for an instant. Its red eyes widened, its huge mouth opened, its jaw distending.
It screamed.
I screamed, dropped the mirror, and fell off the chair I had been sitting on.
Scrambling, I turned around and backed against the wall, my heart hammering inside of my chest. I scanned the room, but I was alone. There was no trace of whatever I had seen in the mirror’s reflection. The weird mirror lay there like a washed-up clam, barely a few feet away from where I was sitting.
I saw myself reflected in it, I saw the wall at my back, the pallor of my face—but no monster.
