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There was a dim hallway leading toward the back of the house
and the stairs, but Arthur felt Cora’s presence outside like a mag-
net. He’d already had to lose track of Minnie for the night, and he
refused to be farther from both of them than absolutely necessary.
He didn’t know Mary, but he did not trust odd happenings. Not
in this town.
Other than the hallway, there was a door in the wall immedi-
ately opposite of where they had watched through the window. He
crossed to it and the door slid open easily; the room on the other
side was dark.
“Here,” Thomas whispered behind him, holding a candle.
Arthur nodded, surprised the other boy was paying enough atten-
tion to be helpful. The candle’s flame threw everything into a
riddle of deep shadows and orange echoes. The room appeared to
be made entirely of books. All the walls, floor to ceiling, were
lined with spines and shelves. Other than a sofa, the room was
devoid of anything else. Arthur wanted to look at the books, but
there were too many.
His father had always been surrounded by books, too. They
painted a picture of a man obsessed with strange alternate histo-
ries, conspiracies, dark secrets. Paranoia that got him laughed out
of his professorship. Mary’s books would doubtless tell stories
about who she was as well.
“Nothing,” Arthur said, starting to turn, when someone in the
shadows of the room moved.
“Look out!” Thomas cried, and they both jumped back before
realizing they were seeing a reflection of themselves.
Trying to calm his racing heart, Arthur stepped forward and
stared into the mirror.
“Come see this,” he whispered. Thomas stood next to him and
