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“It can’t possibly be a one-way thing, can it?” he says to himself, pacing away from me. “And it’s not the same day, so it can’t be an anniversary thing or that it’s only open for a certain time—” He swears. “Why can’t I just get home?”

Something squeezes in my chest, a rising anxiety that makes me swallow.

“What’s going on?” I repeat, drawing Ben’s attention to me.

He blows out a breath. “I’m sorry…” He stops. “What did you say your name is?”

I didn’t. “Clara Granville.”

He straightens. “As in the Granvilles that own my condo?”

I nod. “Yes. I moved into it yesterday.”

He sighs. “I guess my lease was probably up a long time ago. I’ve been missing for a while.”

“Two years,” I say.

His eyes narrow, as though he’s calculating something, then the reaction disappears and his expression smooths.

“Your parents paid it the second year.” I shake my head. “Ben, please explain what’s happening.”

“You travelled through the mirror to the past.” He gestures to a couch nearby. It has curved arms, a shining mahogany frame, and velvet-like upholstery. I step over to it and sit down, my legs basically giving way beneath me. Ben sits down next to me, keeping a foot or so of space between us. Then he goes on. “I wish I knew how it worked. I would’ve gotten myself out of here by now. You’re at The Villa in June of 1901. I’m sorry. I know you’re feeling out of your mind, and I wasn’t very helpful just now.”

I stare at him and shake my head. This can’t be real. “This has to be a dream,” I say with determination for it to be true. “Morgan said something about that guy last night knowing you, and now I’m lying on the floor of my closet, unconscious, and this is the dream my brain has come up with.”

“That will wear off after a while,” Ben says dryly. He gives me a sympathetic shrug. “You’ll figure out it’s real. Who knows me?”

I’m going to ignore that this man in my dream thinks things are real. Dream people always think things are real. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not. There was someone we met in the hallway last night, and he was rude and…” I’m rambling and not making sense. Probably because this is a dream. Ben eyes me, waiting for me to continue, but I just wave him off. “She just thought he might know you or something.” I stand up and start pacing the way Ben was before. “This is impossible.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Clara. I promise. You have me to save your skin. I had to figure all this out myself after falling through the mirror.” He stands as well and goes to the mirror again, scrutinizing it and running his fingers along the surface. His expression darkens as he places his palm down against it. I will it to work, to take me out of this dream. Is this my mind trying to wake me up from the obvious traumatic brain injury I have?

A moment later he drops his hand, huffing a sigh full of frustration. He turns back to me. “Well, if you’re stuck here too, we need to get you some different clothes. You can’t go around in a skirt that short.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me playfully, and I almost laugh.

I look down at the midi-skirt I’m wearing, which drops almost to my ankles. “Short?”

He smirks. “People here might think you have a disreputable reputation in such revealing clothing.”

How can he joke like this so easily when a moment ago his expression was like a thundercloud and full of desperation? It reminds me of the stoic mask his mom wore when she met with me to discuss the lease last month. He looks like her, with the same blue eyes and thick dark hair.

“And why would you stick your neck out to help me?” I ask. “That is, if this really isn’t some concussed dream concocted from me watching too much Downton Abbey and reading too many historical romance novels.”

His smile stretches wider and a hint of mischievousness leaks into it. “Besides the obvious beauty of the damsel in distress?”

I suspect that the lighthearted way he’s treating this situation is to make it easier on me. And probably on himself. If I’m really stuck in the past, he’s been here for two years. I don’t mind his flirting either. It’s my hallucination. The handsome leading man should be attracted to me.

“Very good line. And yes, besides that.”

He playfully looks me up and down. “And besides the fact that I haven’t seen this much ankle in a while?” he teases.

I can’t help that a laugh escapes, despite this dire situation. What a great dream. “Oh, seriously.” He’s charming, no doubt. I’ve known him for all of ten minutes—ten crazy minutes and a roller coaster of emotions—yet he makes me feel like we’ve been friends for months. He also gets bonus points for making me laugh when I should be having a mental breakdown.

I mean, I probably am having an actual mental breakdown at this moment. How else do I explain falling through a mirror?

Whatever this all is, his ease with me loosens the tightness in my chest.

“Let’s just say I’m paying it forward. I know we’ll figure this out. There has to be a rhyme or reason to you being here.” His smile has only grown wider, as if that alone can convince me—and him—this really will all be okay. It reminds me a little of the bright smile his mom had plastered on her lips when we met.

“Someone helped you?” I guess from the way he says that.