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“Where are we?” he asked.
“Where I was told to bring you. It’s one of their storage sheds. Bout de charge. Your pretty girlfriend, she is crazy. We should have tried our luck on the river.”
“A storage shed for what?”
“Their mirrors. What else? MauditTabarnak’Ostie d’Câlisse! Ciboire!” The curses flowed as inexhaustibly as brackwater. Sylvain Caleb Fowler could have easily won one of the Dwarfs’ infamous cursing competitions.
Jacob leaned against the crates. His head hurt a little less when he closed his eyes. If this blindness was permanent, his treasure-hunting days were over. His right arm, on the other hand, felt as good as new. Maybe that needle had some good effects. The man who’d rammed it into his temple had looked like he’d been formed from clay. Maybe a cheap version of Sixteen and Seventeen. Jacob could still see the Mirrorlings in his mind’s eye: with his face, with Clara’s, his father’s. “Your mother never noticed the difference.” The man who’d gone to the park with him and Will, the man who’d kissed his mother in the kitchen…how many of his memories were actually memories of Spieler? “In this world, we can even have children with mortal women.” So often had he wished for a different father, but not like this one. Stop it, Jacob. He’s not your father, neither yours nor Will’s. Could he really be so sure, though?
The dogs were still barking, but at least nobody was shooting anymore. Maybe because the last bullet had hit its target.
“How did they catch you?” he asked Sylvain. He had to take his mind off things. Just listening for sounds from outside was going to drive him mad.
“My curiosity. And I couldn’t keep my hands off their powder.”
“Powder?”
“Yes. They give it to their best customers. A little envelope here, another there. It brings back the lust—for life, for love, everything. It lasts for days, but then you feel rotten. As though someone has torn out your heart.”
That sounded like elven dust. How did they make it without Grass-Elves?
Maybe he has Grass-Elves, Jacob. Maybe he sends his clay faces through the mirror to catch them. Or Sixteen, or Seventeen, or the fifteen who came before them. But then why hadn’t he ever heard about them behind the mirror? Because they looked like humans, Jacob. Maybe...
“I liked working for them. Not a bad job,” Sylvain muttered. “Even though I hardly ever got to see anyone. And well paid. Maybe they could’ve forgiven me the powder stuff if I hadn’t run into the Mirrorling. Ciboire. June told me a thousand times. My wife. Ex-wife. ‘Sylvain, don’t stick that flat nose of yours into things that aren’t your business.’ Simonac! I’m a curious person! Got me into a lot of trouble as a child.”
“Who do they deliver these mirrors to?”
“Hotels, restaurants, shops, offices... They’re very popular. Nobody thinks twice about it. And why should they? I wanted to take a closer look once. After all, I’d been hauling those crates for months, and these sheds are rarely locked. Didn’t feel good looking into them, though. I thought it must be my stupid visage. But no. The mirrors don’t just steal your face. They also bring memories back, whether you want to remember or not. Everything you’d forgotten, especially the things you wanted to forget.”
Yes. That made sense. Jacob had been wondering why he’d suddenly been thinking of long-forgotten teachers, neighbors, and friends. And his mother. “Jacob, come here!” The images were so clear he thought he could actually feel her kisses on his face. He’d been sure he’d banished the memories of her as thoroughly as those of his father. It had helped that she’d always preferred Will over him.
One of the dogs howled. Jacob leaped up.
“Where are you going?” Sylvain grabbed his arm.
“I can’t be sitting here while she’s out there. I have to look for her.”
“Cocombre! You cannot see!” Sylvain dragged him back between the crates.
It was quiet again outside. Hideously quiet. What was taking Fox so long?
“Did you also see one of the Mirrorlings?” It was clear Sylvain hadn’t enjoyed his encounter.
“Yes,” Jacob answered. But they don’t frighten me half as much as their maker.
?
??As I was standing between all the mirrors, I thought to myself: Bring her one, Sylvain. June would like one of the smaller ones. There were so many—I was sure they wouldn’t notice. I was high on their powder. Thought the world was mine. And then I saw him lying there. A man, just all silver. And suddenly there he was, standing behind me, as if he’d been there the entire time. Everything was reflected on his skin, and then he suddenly had a face. And then another face! Simonac! Sylvain, I’m thinking, you were right. The aliens are already here. I hit him. I used to be quite a decent boxer, you see—Canadian heavyweight champion. That trophy was the only one of my things June kept. But hitting is not a good idea, when—”
Jacob pressed his hand over Sylvain’s mouth.
Someone had just shoved open the gate. The noise killed all hope it might be Fox. The men sounded as human as Sylvain, and luckily they didn’t grab the crate the pair was hiding behind. The gate opened twice more, and both times Jacob and Sylvain stayed undetected. But Fox didn’t come, and Jacob didn’t care what he owed the Alderelf and what that meant for him and her. He didn’t care if his eyes had to see silver for the rest of his life or whether Spieler kept walking around with his father’s face. Didn’t care. At all.
If only Fox came back...
Hours. And hours. And hours. While Sylvain told him about his Canadian cousins and the girl he’d moved to New York for. For the first time in years, Jacob thought about the only teacher who hadn’t thought he was an idiot. And he thought about the night Albert Chanute had nearly shot him in a drunken rage.
And then, finally and barely audible, a sound.
