“You know what I like to do when I’m scared?” he asked from the other side of the bathroom stall. His voice induced a foreign ease that almost scared me more than the bullies who’d taken my shoes and shoved me into the toilet.
I shook my head. I never got the name of my rescuer. I used to think he was some kind of angel or ghost sent to save me but not actually real. A hero in a dream like the ones in the stories I refused to believe. Peter Pan to my Wendy. Prince Charming to my Cinderella. And because I thought I’d dreamed him, he never really crossed my mind again.
Not until Mom’s gallery burned down. When the police told me there’d been a fire, karma was the first word that popped into my mind. Had death been after me all along? The first person I ran to was Joshua. When I found out later he was my Guardian, I couldn’t help but think of my own fire escape. Could the boy who saved me have been him? He said we always had a connection. It’s possible, isn’t it? His voice soothed me then as it has since the first day we sang a duet. He used music to rescue me, as it has so many times.
“. . . once in a lullaby . . .”
The boy’s adagio hum made the song its own lullaby. As he hummed I closed my eyes just as they’re closed now. For a moment I forgot the smoke. Forgot the bullies and the names and my absence of shoes. The large wet spot on the back of my school uniform that smelled like urine. His song made me come alive. And it was in that moment I sang aloud without thinking. I knew the lyrics but had never sung in front of anyone other than Mom.
“. . . where you’ll find me . . .”
I’m there with him now, singing as he hums along. I’ve tried so many times to picture what his face might have looked like. Now I see a hazy version of Joshua, younger, cerulean eyes not so wise, brown hair not so tame. His voice has stayed with me.
A voice I continue to hear in my dreams.
Anger wells. Rises and falls.
Kyaphus invades my thoughts once more. Will I ever be rid of the Void’s vessel? He taints every good memory, nearly every perfect moment that belongs to Joshua. Why? Leave me alone, Kyaphus. Just leave me the Void alone. It’s your fault a semblance of a Shadowalker even exists in my soul. If not for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“Odessa, take the girl to her new chambers.” Her Grace’s voice is like a lather, washing away the fog and drawing me back to the present—or in this case the past.
I step into the light, within the clearing’s borders once more. The ominous trio stares at me, each of them looking at me as if I’m property rather than a human being.
“My maids will prepare her for a celebration held in her honor.”
Celebration? Honor? Ha. Figures. Jasyn has to have his show, doesn’t he? He must hold a bigger influence here than I understood. Or perhaps it’s the Lioness who gave him the idea. Put on a party, force everyone to attend, then show who’s in control. Scare everyone into submission. Who’s in charge here? Odessa? My grandfather? This whole betrayal thing reeks of Crowe. He figures I’m something he can trade, does he? What does the Lioness have that he wants?
I cross my arms. Didn’t work so well for you last time, did it, Jasyn? My eighteenth birthday may be years in the future for him, but it’s in my past. Joshua and I defeated him once. I’ll do it again. I’m not truly alone, not really. I may not be a Mirror, but music will always give me courage.
And I will fight like the Mirror I will someday become.
Odessa scurries up the path toward me, grabs my hand. She doesn’t mention the absence of guards or my scream in the woods. Either the woman failed to notice or she simply doesn’t care. “You shall not be disappointed, Your Grace,” she calls over her shoulder. “I assure you—”
For the first time since our arrival, the Lioness roars. The trees seem to bow their branches in respect behind me, while the poppy petals tremble.
“You assure me of nothing,” the Lioness says. “This is your final chance, Matron of Munchkins. I sincerely hope I am not disenchanted again. The last girl you brought only made things worse, becoming one of the most infamous Shadowalkers in this Reflection. We don’t need another one like her, stalking the countryside on her wild, flying broom.”
My breath hitches. Wild, flying broom? As in the Wicked Witch of the West? This is too much to take in all at once.
“Of course, Lioness.” Still gripping my hand, Odessa bows as she backs away. “I will not fail a third time. I am quite sure this girl is the one. She has a strength inside I have never witnessed in all my extended Munchkin years.”
“That is what you said the last time and the time before that . . .” Her Grace yawns.
Her voice becomes more familiar with each word that crosses her lips. Why do I get the inkling I have heard that voice before?
“But I’ll confess this girl does seem different. Let us hope she will be the answer I have long awaited. With the Verity in my grasp again, I may finally be allowed to reenter my Garden.”
The Verity in her grasp again? What the—?
Without warning or prelude, the Lioness transforms. Her head shrinks from feline to female, her muzzle shrinking inward, molding itself into a petite nose with a perfect point. Her golden fur lengthens into waist-length sunshine hair, and her eyes fade from brown to a lovely ice blue. Her clothes remain intact, revealing she’s not a true Mask at all but something much more powerful.
Is this where Ebony’s unique Shield Calling stems from? Not from water infused by light but from her mother?
I want to run and hide in the same instant I want to end her life. She started all of this. I’d like nothing less than to destroy her, the woman who’d love nothing more than to see Mom dead. But I can’t. Because if she’s here, and just as young as always, then she’s either an Ever or, more likely, the character from a tale I heard not too long ago.
The pieces fall into place like rainfall. This is the immortal woman from The Scrib’s Fate. The original vessel of the Verity herself. My theory comes back to me, the one I formed after hearing the story from Once Upon a Reflection. The woman needs to love and, more importantly, to be loved if we’re ever going to destroy the darkness her broken heart created.
There’s just one problem. As she stares me down, winter in her icicle eyes, one question keeps any hope I might have had from blooming.
Who could ever love this monster?
TWENTY-FIVE
Ebony
It’s fine.” Tide scoots back against the nearest tree, supporting his bruised arm with the other. “A little ice and I’ll be good as new.”
“Right. I’ll just head on over to the nearest freezer. Oh, wait. There are none. Because we’re in a forest.”
His light laugh unnerves me. Does he have to look at me in that way?