Molly’s older brother.
“I had to drive them away,” Molly said, without moving her lips. An internal thought brought to life.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
A snowball smacked into the back of Cumnugget’s head. The goblin whirled, snarling. A second snowball smacked into the goblin’s face.
“Goblins,” I said, my voice low. I didn’t think Aunt Irene and Callan could hear me, but I stayed quiet to be sure, “Give them a little space. Stay in my sight until Mags is back.”
Cumnugget seem to interpret that as permission to go after her fellow snowsuit goblin, who ran.
When they got far enough away that they couldn’t move much further without technically staying in sight, the fleeing goblin wasn’t able to flee anymore. Cumnugget tackled him.
“Almost covered by the snow,” Callan said.
Aunt Irene made a face.
“You okay? It’s not the first time we’ve had to dust off the snow.”
“Comes in waves, doesn’t it?” Aunt Irene asked. “Were you there when I was talking to Christoff?”
“I caught the tail end of that talk, I think.”
“Grief hits you in waves, and sometimes it’s a bigger wave than you’d expect, it catches you off guard.”
“Yeah. You feeling a big wave right now?”
“Oh, it’s in the top five.”
My eyes fell on Molly’s ghost. She was right there, and they weren’t aware.
Not consciously. The pointed grief my aunt was describing could easily have something to do with the ghost’s presence.
“Phew,” Aunt Irene said, fanning herself with her hand, blinking rapidly. “Don’t want to get upset right here.”
“I don’t think anyone would blame you, mom.”
“I’d blame myself. We have things to do. Mrs. Duchamp said-”
“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Duchamp didn’t have to deal with anything like this. Look, why don’t you stay here? I’ll go down and clean up, and that way, only one of us gets snow in our boots.”
“No, on our way back. That way you’re not standing around with wet socks for however long it takes us to follow up on what Mrs. Duchamp said.”
I raised my eyebrows at that.
“Sounds like a plan.”
He put a hand on his mother’s shoulder as they headed down the road in the direction of Hillsglade House. They walked past the snowsuit-clad goblins. Cumnugget was mashing the other goblin’s face into a snowbank.
Molly followed them.
“Molly,” I said.
She didn’t change course.
“Molly!”
As Mags had so eloquently put it, fuck.
The timing had been too specific. Was this the Duchamps at work, manipulating connections to put Aunt Irene and Callan in my way again? Probably not. I wasn’t sure that many people even knew I was around, or were in a position to recognize me if they did.
Mags had talked about a prophecy. Was this her personal version of bad karma, reality going off-rails in the most inconvenient way?
The Rube Goldberg machine of the universe, ticking forward toward Mags’ blood, fire and darkness, or whatever it was.
As the group had passed, Cumnugget had let the other goblin up, only so it would be possible to stuff its mouth full of snow. Cumnugget was currently in the process of packing the snow into the goblin’s open mouth, both hands driving handfuls of it down and in.
“Goblins!” I shouted. “Go stop that ghost! Grab salt off the street and throw it across her path. Do not throw it on her!”
Cumnugget let go of the other goblin, backing off. The goblin wobbled a little as it stood, using its mittened hands to work whole fistfuls of snow out, along with thick tendrils of drool and some blood. It followed about ten paces behind Cumnugget.
“Frick,” I said.
I could have told them to pick me up, but Mags was coming, and I much preferred to have Mags filled in and on board than to be shouting at goblins.
It took two full minutes for Mags to arrive. She was halfway up the hill when she realized something was wrong.
“Go,” I said. “Hillsglade House, I’m pretty sure. Something about Sandra.”
She started to go for the hand mirror. I didn’t wait for her. “I’m going ahead.”
“You want?” she asked, still reaching for the mirror.
“Might be useful,” I said.
Then I skipped over the darkness.
I didn’t have the motorcycle anymore. That sucked. But I was light and I didn’t get tired. I covered ground quickly.
A trio of fat men were reflected in the lights generated by car windows and windshields, half a street up. A little too similar, a little too childish in their dress. Golfer’s clothes, almost, with matching hats with flaps over red hair, red noses, matching sweaters under plaid coats, and pants belted a touch too high at the waist.
They noticed me as I ran, heads turning.
The two in the back glanced in different directions, almost as if they’d communicated with a thought. I slowed, checking for a way around.
The one in front, without a word from the others, deemed it okay to reach out, smashing a car’s windshield, a side mirror, and then kicking a display window.
The light available to me disappeared. Had I kept going at the same speed, I might have been shunted off in one direction or another.
Waiting for me? Prepared for me, even?
I prepared to jump across the darkness, but something made me hesitate.
In the midst of the darkness, a kind of light blossomed, like a glowing smoke. Three figures emerged into the nothingness between patches of mirror-space. They were utterly bald, naked, looked more like metal statues than people, and had the same proportions as the three men I’d seen. The same faces, minus the hair peeking around the edges of the cap. Each had a pecker that looked like it belonged on a baby, not a grown man. They half-floated, half-waddled, and only glimmers of the landscape they walked on were visible in this space. Red stone that fit together without the use of mortar, highlighted by gold, and I thought I saw a glimpse of a carving of a dragon or a dog.
This trio of Others could apparently understand and navigate this mirror space more easily than I did.
“Let me past,” I said.
They shook their heads in perfect unison.
“I’ll rephrase then,” I said, anger leaking into my voice, “Let me past, or I might decide to carve one of you up so badly he’ll never be mistaken for a member of your trio again.”
They didn’t budge.
I ducked right, skipping over the largest tract of darkness available. I crossed a block or two of residential buildings, touched on a patch of light shed from a car’s side-view mirror, and then turned a hard left to continue in the direction I’d been going.
I was just touching on solid ground again when I felt hands seize me by the shoulders.
I stared up at a face. The head was broad and fat, the face almost cherubic, but the two together, they made for a face that was too small in proportion with the head.
I felt a momentary panic at the body contact. In the instant I remembered that those memories were false, that I didn’t need to be paralyzed by them, he reminded me that body contact could still be a very bad thing, hurling me.
I passed through one patch of light, and by through, I meant through. Glass shattered as I entered the area with too much force, another window breaking somewhere in the real world, and I was shunted straight into the nearest mirror realm, still moving fast enough that I broke the glass there with the force of my entry.