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Ollie went closer. The woman in the mirror put her hand flat against the glass, as though the mirror were a window and they were staring at each other through it. Brian stood rigid beside her. Ollie reached out, tentatively. She laid her shaking hand against the woman’s. The glass was icy under her fingers.
“Mommy?” she whispered, her voice a hopeful, agonized thread. “What is it?”
At that moment, the firelight flared up behind her, flared up bright, as though someone had thrown three logs on the sullen, smoldering blaze. Brian cried, “Ollie, Ollie!” But he seemed suddenly very far away.
The light brightened as the fire leaped up. It fell on the woman’s face.
She was blue-lipped and black-nosed. She wore a black dress and a black veil over her hair. When she smiled at Ollie, her teeth were sharp.
It was the woman from the hallway.
The woman from her nightmares.
Ollie tried to yank away, but black-nailed fingers had curled out of the mirror glass, catching her hand and holding it. “Got you,” breathed Mother Hemlock.
The warning from her dream raced through Ollie’s shocked and panicking brain: Stay out of closets and don’t look in the mirror.
Should have taken the advice. Ollie wanted to scream with terror and disappointment. Mom, where are you? She struggled to throw the woman off. There was a commotion behind her, but Ollie couldn’t tell what was going on. All of her skin felt cold and heavy with fear.
Mother Hemlock yanked Ollie forward hard enough to wrench her face-first into the mirror. Ollie screamed, and her free arm flew up to protect her head against smashing into the glass.
But she didn’t smash into the glass. She was dragged forward and forward and forward some more, until she tumbled and fell flat on her face onto a foul-smelling carpet.
There was total silence. Total stillness. For a long second, Ollie lay still, hearing only her fast, frightened breathing. Then she dragged herself to her knees. “Dad?” she called, hearing her voice shake. “Coco? Brian?”
No answer.
10
OLLIE SCRAMBLED TO her feet. All was silent. The fire in front of her burned low and red. For a second, Ollie thought she had imagined falling forward, falling . . .
Falling through the mirror.
How could you fall through a mirror?
Then she realized that the air smelled different. It smelled like mold and damp and rotten food. It was freezing cold. She was shivering.
Next Ollie realized what wasn’t there. There was a fire, but no blankets.
Rotten carpet, but no tables.
Herself, but no friends.
She was alone.
Ollie spun in a circle. She was in the dining hall. But it had changed. This was the dining hall of her nightmare. The front window was broken and boarded up. Glass crunched when she moved.
“Coco?” Ollie whispered again. Then a little louder: “Brian? Dad?” Where were they? Where was she? She spun in another circle, trying desperately not to panic. She wasn’t succeeding too well. “Mom?”
No one answered. But the sound of a soft laugh came from the mirror.
For the mirror was still there. One of the only things that was. It was hanging on the wall opposite the fireplace. But now Ollie couldn’t see her own reflection in this mirror. Instead, she saw her friends moving around near the fire. Their lips moved as they called, Ollie, Ollie. But she couldn’t hear them.
She had gone through the mirror, Ollie thought. She was alone. She’d never been so afraid.
Then, with a surge of relief, Ollie realized that Mr. Voland was standing right next to the mirror, looking into it, staring right at her. The light from the fire on Ollie’s side of the glass fell on his face. “Mr. Voland!” Ollie called. “Mr. Voland!” She reached up and pressed her hands to the mirror’s cold glass. It felt just like a mirror. Rigid. Unyielding. She couldn’t get back through it. But if Mr. Voland could somehow hear her . . .
“No need to shout,” Mr. Voland said calmly, as though he’d heard her thought. “I can hear you, Olivia.”
