Mortal Danger

THE EYE OF A LITTLE GOD

I can’t get help from 911 for this.

Cold suffused the room in a silent swirl, until my breath wafted like fog between me and not-me. Every instinct said I was in mortal danger, but I was afraid something worse lurked outside. Just because the thing had stopped banging, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

I backed up a few steps, until I stood near the door, but my mirror image never moved. “What do you want?” I asked.

“Your life.” The voice was warped and strange, a drowning mouth full of water.

I didn’t know if she meant she wanted me dead or to swap places, trapping me on the other side. No matter how you viewed it, I lost. As I tried to control my heartbeat, she lifted slender fingers to trace a pattern on the wrong side of the glass, and the surface rippled, stirred, as if she might conceivably crawl through. That was enough for me. I banged open the bathroom door, slammed it shut behind me, and bolted.

Wait, what’s the smart move? Danger outside. Danger inside. Can’t call 911. If the thing could break the door, wouldn’t it have already done that? My life depended on working out the answer, and nothing had prepared me to solve this particular equation. While they couldn’t kill me, they could hurt me, or drive me to do something stupid in sheer terror. I took one breath, another, forcing myself to be logical when impulse suggested I should run and scream.

There are rules in play. What are they?

That was part of the problem. I didn’t know the regulations, how to avoid breaking them, or how to report a violation. But then, I wasn’t really a player, more of a pawn. In chess, the pieces couldn’t wave from the board and bitch over how they were handled. Actually, that analogy gave me some insight as to my position.

I’m not even a person. I’m a … what did Wedderburn call me? An asset.

Okay, so … what do I know? Thinking it through kept me from panicking. In a lot of lore, monsters had to be invited or permitted to cross your threshold. Therefore, reason dictated that I was safer at home than I would be running around after dark. Plus, there were human maniacs to contend with as well.

Briefly, I considered calling Kian; he’d stay with me until my parents got home. In the end, I decided not to. I preferred not to get dependent on him. My chest ached as I went to my room. As I settled down, I listened for any sign that the creature outside the apartment had come back, but everything sounded still and quiet. There were no noises from the bathroom either. If the mirror-girl had been able to get out, she’d be here by now.

Yet I wasn’t fully at ease; my nerves jangled like an alarm clock. Before starting on my homework, I Googled mirror ghosts and then covered the one in my room with a sheet, just in case they were portals. I read something about witches trapping spirits in mirrors and how ghosts needed a connection with someone living to pass through. So she can get out only if I’m too scared to run? Good to know. Apparently in Serbia, Croatia, and sometimes Bulgaria, they buried the dead with a looking glass, so their spirits couldn’t roam around and haunt the living. I didn’t like the ramifications of what could happen, though, if some maniacal grave robber dug up corpses all over Eastern Europe and smashed those mirrors.

Don’t you have enough to worry about already?

The apartment was quiet now. Apparently staying calm and toughing it out had been the right choice. In junior high, I used to play a lot of video games and sometimes there were puzzles, where one wrong step meant insta-death. That was how I felt right then. It took all my concentration to work through my assignments, solve equations, and answer questions, when school seemed like the least of my worries.

It was almost nine by the time I finished, and as I was about to close my laptop, I was surprised to get an IM from Ryu. A quick what-time-is-it-in-Japan search told me he was probably in school, maybe messing around during I.T. It was hard to send Skype messages in other classes since teachers usually made students shut off their phones. I answered right away, as we hadn’t talked live since I got back, and his e-mails were sporadic.

Me:

hey, what’s up?

Ryu:

nothing, just have a free period and I’m in the computer lab

Me:

cool, how are you?

Ryu:

not bad, school is tough this year

My fingertips hovered over the keyboard. So many things I could say, but eventually, I replied with, on my end too and not just academics. A girl from school died yesterday. I was visiting her at the hospital when it happened.

Ryu:

damn. Are you okay?

Me:

it was pretty rough, but I’m hanging in

I could tell from the pause that he didn’t know what to say. We weren’t as close as Vi and I had become over five weeks of rooming together. So I changed the subject.

Me:

was wondering if you could help me out

Ryu:

not sure what I can do from here, but absolutely

Me:

I have a friend with a tattoo and she won’t tell me what it means. It looks kinda like a Japanese kanji, though

Ryu:

send pic if you have one

I took a snap of my wrist with my phone, then e-mailed it to him.

Ryu:

that’s weird

Me:

what is?

Ryu:

it looks like a kanji but it isn’t. I’ve never seen this symbol before

Me:

huh. Well, thanks anyway

Ryu:

if you want, I can do some checking, see if anyone has seen that

Me:

it’s not that big a deal

I regretted that impulse; this might be dangerous. Given how Wedderburn was threatening Vi, I should’ve known better. I cursed silently and blamed the scary version of me in the mirror. The fight-or-flight hormones numbed my brain, I guess. To cover my worry, I asked Ryu if there were any likely girls this year, and that kept him pinging me for a good ten minutes; as it happened, the answer was yes. I hoped he hooked up with someone cool. I was glad we’d shifted smoothly from summer fling to Internet bros. We chatted a bit more before his free period ended, and I got ready for bed.

My parents came home an hour later; I heard them unlock the door, along with the low murmur of their voices as they tried not to wake me. The normalcy of it all seemed suddenly precious, compared to the rest of my life. They had no idea there were monsters in mirrors or thin men who smelled like death. More to the point, they had no clue I might be responsible for a girl’s death. Tears burned like acid in my throat.

My folks believed in cause and effect, rational science, and they would be horrified if they discovered how chaotic creation was and how much damage mankind had done. Then again, my mother was a cynic, so maybe she wouldn’t be surprised. For a few seconds, I stared at the ceiling, wishing I could tell them, show the marks, and share the whole story. But the line had been drawn between them and me; I could never again stand beside the blissfully ignorant. My eyes were open, and I couldn’t unsee the shadows on the wall.

In the morning, I skipped my run, remembering the hobnail boots. I’ll go after school. At Blackbriar, more people had on the mourning armbands and someone had posted pictures of Brittany all over her locker, sort of like a shrine. Cameron wasn’t around; neither was Allison, but Jen and Davina both waved at me. As I got my books, the headmaster made an announcement about the funeral, including time and place for services, and then he segued into the usual crap about fund-raisers and respect for school policy, which seemed irreverent. Yeah, yeah, dead girl, but what about the chocolate sale?

“Have you seen Russ?” Davina fell into step with me on my way to class.

“Not for a while.”

“People are pretty upset,” Jen said.

I nodded, trying to figure out why these two were hanging around with me. Granted, Allison and Brittany hadn’t offered many spots in the Teflon crew to the competition, so the guys outnumbered the girls. So maybe it was that they didn’t have anyone else?

“I still am,” Davina whispered. “God, it was just so…”

Awkwardly I patted her on the arm. In another minute, I’d be saying “there, there” and offering her a hot beverage. God, I sucked at social interaction with everyone but Kian. Sometimes it felt like he and I were two of the same species, stranded among aliens.

Jen said, “I’m glad she wasn’t alone, though. I think … it was kind of nice, wasn’t it? Right up until the end.”

“Would it be weird if we hung out?” Davina asked. “The three of us. I don’t want that to be the last thing we do together. That probably sounds strange and superstitious.”

Jen looked as if she was relieved Davina had suggested it. “If you want, you guys can come over on Friday.”

Is she seriously inviting me to a sleepover? Brittany dies, and … But honestly, I had no idea how to parse this, no frame of reference for how freaked I should be. Greg the Grief Counselor said I shouldn’t be ashamed of my feelings, whatever they were. Mostly, I was sad and confused, interspersed with fear and guilt. It had to be a coincidence, bad luck, karma.

“I don’t have any plans,” I said aloud.

“Tell me what kind of movies you like to watch and I’ll take a look on Netflix.” Jen seemed a little more cheerful, smiling at Davina and me.

“Romantic comedies,” she said, just as I answered, “Science fiction, any kind.”

“Even bad ones, like Sharknado?”

I grinned. “I’d watch it again.”

“Then I’ll find a good rom-com and a bad sci-fi. Sound fun? We can drink to Brit and talk about stuff.”

“Awesome,” Davina said. “Kind of like a wake.”

Jen nodded. “I guess.”

“I don’t know how many stories I can contribute,” I warned them.

Most of my experiences with her weren’t positive. I wasn’t happy something so horrible had happened to her, just the opposite, but I had no funny, adorable anecdotes waiting in the hopper, either.

I shifted uncomfortably while Davina studied me. “Doesn’t matter. You were there, so you need to come. Catharsis.”

“Okay. You talked me into it.”

“You can ride home with me. So tell your super-hot boyfriend he doesn’t need to pick you up.” Jen was smiling, though, and not using the bitchy tone Allison would’ve imparted to the comment.

“I will. Catch you guys at lunch.”

We split then and I went to first period, where Mr. Love was smoldering at the girls who had doubtless turned up half an hour early in hopes of getting time alone with him. The problem was, like, seven of them had the same idea today. That guy’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Yet I couldn’t say he was looking at them inappropriately, just radiating a Lord Byron poetic intensity and talking with just the right hint of pretension.

“You look fetching today, Edie.”

“Do I?” I glanced down at myself, seeing the same uniform and the same hairstyle I’d been wearing since the start of school.

“I hate that girl,” Nicole whispered, she of tongue and cherry-stem introduction fame.

Maybe I should let it go … but no. I didn’t turn over a new leaf and infiltrate the Teflon crew just to let other people roll over me. So I dropped my backpack on my desk and strolled over to her desk.

“Why?” I asked politely.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes went wide, as she glanced at friends on either side.

“You just said you hate me. I’m asking why. Or am I supposed to pretend I didn’t hear you?”

Before she could answer, the cause of our problems intervened. “Girls, it’s almost time for class to begin. Find your seats, please.”

Yet as I sat down and got out my notebook, I noticed a pleased gleam in Mr. Love’s eyes. With proper encouragement, his female students would fight over him in earnest. When I went to snap at Nicole, I didn’t even care about his tousled hair or stupid smile. God help those who did.

His lecture was interesting, per usual, and we discussed the imagery in a poem. I’d always found “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” to be overrated and somewhat misogynistic. The knightly ass had no more style than to hump a woman in a hedge, and then wondered why she left him? Fairy bullshit allegory aside, his behavior answered the question.

Afterward, I waited until the rest of the class had gone. Pausing at his desk, I stared hard at Mr. Love, who stirred beneath my scrutiny. “Is something wrong?”

The tinnitus kicked in, and it only happened when I got close to something inhuman, monstrous, or immortal. I slammed a palm on his desk and muttered, “I know what you are.”

Well, not exactly. Not yet. But his presence meant trouble and Very Bad Things.

“I beg your pardon?” He wore innocence like a white mantle, dusted in gold.

No matter. That was all I said; it was enough. Gauntlet thrown, I hurried to my next class, hoping I hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

On Thursday, I went to Brittany’s funeral. Pretty much the whole school did, and they gave us a half day, I suspected because the Kings had donated a lot of money to Blackbriar over the years. It was a closed-casket service with pictures of her on top of the coffin. Brittany’s younger sister sang and Allison tried to deliver the eulogy, but she broke down halfway through her speech. Cameron sat with Brittany’s parents up front, and he looked worse than he had the other day, like he wasn’t sleeping at all.

After the services, I paid my respects to the family and Mrs. King hugged me. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” That felt like the wrong response, but I didn’t know what else to say. I stood for thirty seconds, letting her hug me and then I stepped back. No matter what Kian said, I still felt guilty. My head felt like scrambled eggs, and I was full of crazy theories, like what if I asked for the power to make the Teflon crew pay, and then my third wish was for a memory wipe of that request, so I didn’t have to live with the guilt. Surreptitiously, I checked my wrist. Only one hash mark atop the infinity symbol.

I didn’t sleep much that night.

Friday, I went to school late, so I could skip first period. I didn’t feel like dealing with Mr. Love’s scrutiny. Since I’d dropped that warning, he had been different, watchful and cold. The other girls hadn’t noticed, but they were purblind where he was concerned, seeing only the carefully disheveled hair and keen insights into poems we’d read before.

Apart from pictures of Brittany hanging near the main office, things got back to normal. Classes resumed their usual curriculum and the teachers were determinedly cheerful. At lunch, the cafeteria was back to full capacity, though people were quieter than usual, less yelling, less wandering between tables. Most of the Teflon crew was back. After hesitating for a few seconds, I took my lunch to the table, thinking, I should try to make some real friends.

As I sat down, I noticed Russ was still absent. Davina, especially, seemed worried about him. “Has anyone heard from him?” she asked.

I was still feeling horrible about Brittany. Plus, he wasn’t on my list of people worth giving a crap about, but I only shook my head. Surprisingly, the rest of the crew didn’t know anything, either. Davina turned to Cam. “I thought you guys were supposed to be tight.”

“Excuse me for having other things on my mind. My girlfriend just died.”

She looked like he’d slapped her. “I’m just … worried. It’s not like him to—”

“You’re so funny,” Allison cut in. “I bet you think you’re actually dating. On the DL, right? So you don’t have to ‘deal with drama’ from everyone else?”

Davina sucked in a shaky breath. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know everything. You’re not his girlfriend, you’re his bike, available anytime he feels like a ride.” Allison glanced around and seemed to take offense at our expressions. “What? It’s not a secret. Russ is always adopting strays and letting them think they have a shot at being one of us.”

“Bitch.” Shoving back from the table, Davina grabbed her tray and looked for somewhere else to sit.

Without realizing I’d made a decision, I stood up, too. “There are some chairs over there. This table reeks.”

I didn’t realize we had started a mass exodus until Jen joined us; I glanced over and saw the guys looking at Allison as if she were the shit on their shoes. And then Cam said clearly, “Jesus Christ. I have no idea why Brit was friends with you.”

Then they left the table that they’d staked out freshman year to sit with the three of us, leaving Allison alone. Her cheeks were hot with rage or shame, her eyes dark as thunderclouds. She lowered her head and went back to her lunch, but the other students were smirking at her. Her behavior was odd, like she felt she had to be extra mean to make up for Brittany’s loss.

“That was too far,” Cam said, and the other guys nodded.

Like you’d know. But obviously he had a different rulebook for girls like Brittany. She deserved better than I had. I stared hard at him, remembering.

To her credit, Davina didn’t say anything about Allison; she was focused on Russ. “I’ve texted twelve times and he hasn’t answered. Is he replying to anyone else?”

Cam checked his phone. “Nope. And I’m sorry for what I said before.”

God, I hated seeing him act … human, apologizing to people. In my mind, he was a horned, cloven-hoofed monster with no redeeming qualities. One by one, the rest of the table scrolled through texts and then shook their heads.

“I’ll call Russ’s house. I’m sure his mom can tell me what’s going on.” Cam waited while it rang, then said, “Mrs. Thomas? This is Cameron Dean.” A pause. “Yes, it’s awful.” Another pause. “Thanks, I hope so, too. I was wondering if Russ is sick. I can bring his—what?” He stopped talking, eyes widening. “No, I haven’t seen him in days. And he wasn’t at Brit’s funeral, either. No, I’m sorry. Yes, that’s fine. I’m sorry.”

Shaken, he dropped his cell on the table as a bad feeling swelled in my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

Cam answered, “Russ told his mom he was staying with me for a few days … because of Brit. So I didn’t have to be alone. His parents thought he was at my place this whole time.”

“Oh my God.” Jen’s face paled. “Shit. So he’s … missing?”

Hearing it put into words, Davina burst into tears.