Mirrorlight (3 page)

Her ghost was trying to comfort her.

For some reason, Cora found herself getting out of the safety of her bed and placing her feet on the cold floor. The soft singing continued, the words unfamiliar and harsh against her ear, but the voice was pleasant in a rough, gravelly sort of way. Fear had returned to her body, trickling ice into her veins and making her move slowly. The figure in the mirror remained, real and not a trick of her imagination.

Courage
, Muffin’s voice rang out in her mind again.
Courage
.

She could do this. She could confront the ghost in the mirror and ask him to leave her alone. Cora approached the mirror, her eyes resting on the floor. She didn’t want to look at the apparition. What if he had a death’s head or red eyes or something horrible…? She placed her hands on both sides of the mirror, steeling herself to look at the ghost, to confront it.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to the mirror, saw the figure inside it.

He took her breath away.

Beautiful was the first word that came to her mind. He was so
beautiful
. She’d been expecting something horrible, or frightening, but the man inside the mirror was surely the most lovely man she’d ever looked upon. In the shadows of her room, it was hard to tell the color of his hair, but it was wild and thick, hanging in disarray, the tips brushing against the unshaven shadow of his strong jaw. His mouth was exquisite—she’d never seen a man’s mouth so perfectly formed—and his cheekbones were high, the rest of his face hidden by shadow. He was shirtless, displaying a scarred chest, broad and cut, the planes of his stomach as shadowed as the rest of his figure. His hand pressed against the flat surface of the mirror, moving toward the center as if he could touch her face.

He moved forward slightly, and the play of shadows changed. She could see his face now, and it took her breath away, her mouth parting to gasp even as he continued to sing the soft lullaby, his lips moving in silent song.

His eyes were sad. So sad. Dark and deep, they seemed to stare into her own and share her sadness, her loneliness. It emanated from him in the mirror, consuming and heart-wrenching, as if his very world had been destroyed and only he was left behind to pick up the pieces.

His hand moved on the mirror again, trying to touch her face through the glass, and Cora suddenly realized that this was not someone to be feared. The sad longing in his voice inspired anything but fear. She wanted to help him, just as he was trying to help her.

“Can you…can you hear me?” She whispered into the darkness. “Do you see I’m here?” It seemed a silly question to ask—it felt as if he were singing away her loneliness, singing just for her. But what if he wasn’t? What if he couldn’t see her at all?

Those sad eyes focused on her again and the singing grew lower, one side of the lovely mouth turning up in a faint smile.

Oh, he
could
see her. A blush crept over her face and Cora ducked her head, feeling shy and ridiculous. She glanced back up at him again and saw that he’d stopped singing, the last note dying away and his movements ending.

“What is your name?” she asked him, determined not to feel stupid talking to a mirror. The man inside it looked so very real, as if she could reach out and touch him.

“I’m Cora.”

His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear the words, not like she could hear the song.

Disappointment spiraled through her, keen and sharp, and she shook her head.

He seemed to realize it as well, and the sad look returned to his eyes and he shook his head slightly, as if acknowledging it.

Cora felt as if her heart would break in that moment, so great was her disappointment.

So they could only look at each other? Stare through the glass? He looked as if he wanted someone to touch him, and she wanted to touch him back, to caress the sadness away from his face.

Before she could think about it, she pressed her hand fully against the cold glass, as if she could somehow ease him.

He seemed startled by the action, but he moved his own hand downward, placing it against hers on the far side of the mirror.

For a moment, the chill of the mirror gave way to heat.

Cora gasped and pulled her hand away in surprise, and just like that, the image vanished.

“No,” she cried out, placing her hand back on the glass again, fingers splaying in desperation. “Wait!”

No change. There was only herself in the reflection, her cheeks still wet with tears, her eyes wide.

But underneath her hand, she swore she could still feel the faint brush of warmth fading away.

#

All that day and into the night, Cora hovered near the mirror, waiting for the man to return. She showered, dressed and fixed her hair, as if those small things could help the day pass faster. She cleaned the mirror. She straightened her room. Cleaned the mirror again. Against hope, she peered into its smooth, polished surface multiple times every hour, hoping for some flicker of the mirrorlight, some sign of her late-night visitor. Yet as the sun went down and day faded to night, she began to acknowledge that perhaps he wouldn’t show every night. The realization cut her—she only had a few short weeks here in England, and she wanted to find out as much as she could about him. She wanted to see him again.

She
needed
to see him again.

Cora tried everything she could think of to lure him to the mirror again. She hummed a remembered version of his song, and when that didn’t work, she tried singing it softly.

When that didn’t work, she yelled at the mirror, taunting it, daring her mysterious stranger to return and confront her. Nothing.

And when the room was filled with shadows and the night half over, she began to suspect that perhaps he wouldn’t show tonight after all. Or ever again. With a small sigh of frustration, she leaned against the mirror and pressed her palm flat against the smooth, cold surface, closing her eyes. Longing tore through her.

Please, come to me. Please. I need to see you, to know I’m not crazy
.

Within a few moments, she began to feel warmth under her palm. Not a residual of her own heat, but something else pressed against it, as if the glass was a mere suggestion that separated her from something on the other side.

Cora didn’t have to open her eyes to know that he was there again, inside the mirror, and a small sigh of relief escaped her lips.

She opened her eyes and looked over at her hand where it rested on the mirror. His hand had met it on the other side, pressing up against her own. A meeting of hands, like a meeting of souls. And she could still feel that odd warmth flowing through the thick glass.

She glanced up and saw him staring down at her with the same intensely sad, keenly lonely look from the night before. There was a hunger to his expression, an aching need that she understood all too well. His eyes flicked back and forth, studying her as she stood before him, drinking her in as she did him.

“Hello again,” she whispered against the glass, her mouth curving slightly into a smile. “I’m happy you’re back.”

He seemed to respond as well, mouthing a short syllable that she thought might have been a greeting as well. The room remained silent, disappointingly so.

She couldn’t hear him. It left an ache inside her, despite his return. “It’s me,” she said, a bit louder. “Can you hear what I am saying?”

Silence. After a moment, he shook his head at her.

There had to be a way for her to communicate with him. There had to be. Frustrated, Cora glanced around her small room in despair, and then moved to the small desk in the corner. She scribbled her name on a piece of stationary—CORA GRAMES—and moved back to the mirror, holding it up.

His fingers touched the glass again, his gaze focusing on the paper she held in front of her breasts. Then, he disappeared again and she wanted to weep, her breath catching in her throat as she noticed something else, something new.

The reflection was no longer of her small room. Instead of the dark paneled walls, she saw thick stone, bare and stark. There was hay scattered on the floor, and a bed in the corner was covered in furs. She could not see herself in the mirror’s reflection, not any longer.

What was she looking at?

When
was she looking at?

He returned to view a moment later, and she choked on a sob of relief, joy flooding her face once more. Her stranger held up something so she could see it, and Cora peered into the mirror, trying to make heads or tails of the large object.

It was a shield, kite shaped, with the symbol of three flowers crossing the surface diagonally. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her.

He gestured at the surface of the shield, then looked back at her again.

Cora shook her head slightly, and he cast it aside, equally frustrated at the inability to communicate. She was going about this all wrong. Cora knew that in her bones, just as surely as she knew that their time was limited. So she pressed her hand to the mirror again, trying to reach out and touch him once more. Voices didn’t matter. His presence was what she truly wanted, and she had it right here.

A moment later, his hand pressed on the other side of the mirror, and she could feel the warmth flowing from his hand through to hers. The smile returned to her lips, and as she looked through the mirror, she could see the same expression on his face—the sadness tempered by comfort, by sharing their touch.

On impulse, Cora took their small touch a step further, moving forward and pressing her entire body against the mirror, her cheek touching the cool glass. Would he come to meet her? Would she feel the same heat if he did, or was the magic confined to only their hands?

Moments passed. Then, the soft bloom of heat against the hard surface, and the mirror filled with the warmth between their two bodies. From the crook of her arm to the flat of her palm, to the press of her cheek, he had pushed his own body against the mirror, echoing her movement. Sharing her heat.

Her utter loneliness.

It was the closest they could come to a hug, and it would have to do.

And yet, Cora couldn’t get over the feeling that it was not nearly enough. And when the heat receded again a few minutes later, she didn’t have to look at the mirror to know that he’d faded away again, gone back to wherever he’d come from.

She was alone again, her breasts still tingling from the sensation of being pressed up against the glass, craving the warmth it brought.

Cora crawled into bed a short while later, vaguely unfulfilled and disappointed. She stared longingly at the mirror, but it remained a blank copy of her room, her own sad expression staring out at her.

She needed him to stay longer, to touch her. To feel his hands caress her skin instead of the flat, hard surface of the mirror. The glimpses of him in the mirror were the cruelest torture, the most keen sort of obsession. She couldn’t have him, and she wanted more of him.

He seemed to want her for her, needed her like she needed him. Understood her.

Needed her too. Ached for her like she ached for him.

And as she skimmed her hands over her breasts, wishing they were his hands, she began to think of ways that their next meeting would go…and what she dared to do with the little she was offered.

#

That night, she dreamed of him. The man with no name and the beautiful, haunted eyes. She dreamed of a fire. Trapped in the turret, Stonewood Abbey burned down around her dream self, the flames hot, the smoke thick. She shielded her eyes in the dream, and the man from the mirror strode through the walls of the castle, reaching for her. He pulled her from the turret window and into his arms.

His mouth pressed upon her own, hot and sweet, his lips possessive. She moaned against his mouth, her tongue tangling with his in the searing kiss. His lips were firm against her own, each stroke of his tongue igniting a different kind of fire that throbbed through her veins. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Then he lowered her to the floor of the ruined castle, the scent of ashes in her nose, the roof ablaze above them.

The man’s hand slid down between her legs, moving to touch her where she was wet and waiting for him. Cora whimpered and parted her thighs in anticipation, needing his hand there on her sex, where her pulse throbbed and blistered her skin. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, touch me. I’m on fire.”

The touch never came. She woke up with an unhappy gasp and stared at the ceiling, hating the dream for torturing her, and hating even more that she should have woken up.

The next morning, Cora woke up with a plan. She couldn’t get the image of his shield out of her mind. Something about it was bothering her. She’d seen it before somewhere, she just knew it.

In the kitchen, it stared her right in the face. She picked up her favorite coffee mug and stared at it as she waited for the coffee to percolate. There was the same red design, with the white flowers. Slightly different, but it was the same concept. He’d been showing her a coat of arms.

His coat of arms?

Excited, Cora abandoned the kitchen and raced for the gift shop portion of the Abbey, still in her pajamas. She tore through the postcards and stacks of books, vowing to clean the mess up later. In her mind, she could picture him with the shield in his hands, and she pored through book after book, looking for just that image. When it wasn’t a quick find, she sat, cross-legged on the cold tiles of the floor, and continued to read.

And just when she was starting to despair of finding the exact same colors and design, she reached into an almost empty bookshelf at the bottom and found a narrow book. The same heraldry that he’d shown her last night graced the cover, blazing with color and making her breath catch in her throat. Another heraldry symbol stood beside it, one she’d seen in the house but didn’t understand the significance.

Almost reverently, she picked up the thin book and paged it open. It was a history of the Abbey, detailing back to the twelfth century, back to the reign of Henry II, and it was a castle built to house the baron and oversee the lands.