Gasp. And the Thresholds. They’re sourced by the Verity as well. Whatever happened at Dawn Lake wasn’t an accident or a mere case of someone walking on too-thin ice.
Fury spreads like wildfire through the fabric of my soul. Just when I was getting used to my mirrormark—accepting it as strength and beauty and so uniquely me. This is almost worse than a blemished reflection. Because true beauty comes from within, from the person you are. And if my soul is weakening the Verity, what does that say about me?
My eyelids migrate south, and I inhale a controlled breath to quell my shaking limbs. The truth is so clear it slaps me in the face. Is this fate’s design? To keep me the forever screwup? My greatest fear comes to life. Concrete. Final. It’s one thing to hate my reflection, to think I’m ugly, or to worry about how others perceive me. It’s entirely another to realize, deep down, I was right all along.
I am damaged. And not just on the surface. Not just where others can see.
My very soul, my essence, my heart is not good enough to house the Verity. I’m no better than the person I came down here to find.
“Em, no. You’ve got it wrong.”
I ignore the sadness in Ky’s voice, rise with leg shaking, and move forward. But instead of turning around the next corner, I walk straight through the wall before me. Within moments I’m in a new hallway. Terra-cotta tiles replace the grimy floor, and track lighting above sheds a homey glow. Two doors await ahead, plain white with a tiny window in each like at a hospital. Situated between the doors, a C-shaped nook sinks into the wall, privacy curtain pushed to one side. A cot topped with a ratty comforter and a single flat pillow sits at the back. And there, sitting with legs crossed and red lips sneering, is none other than Quinn Kelley in the flesh.
I release an exaggerated sigh. At least someone’s Calling is working fine. “Knock the Shield off, Ebony.”
She stands but doesn’t approach. Plants pristinely manicured hands on her hips. She may look like my ex-bestie with her platinum hair and ice-blue eyes, but it doesn’t matter what persona she takes on. Deep down she’s just my traitorous half sister.
Her eyes narrow. “What the bleep took you so long?”
THIRTEEN
Mine
You know those moments when you can’t think of anything to say?
Now is not one of them.
Every jab and nasty comment. Every unkind word. Every lie Quinn has ever uttered buoys to the surface, breathes and expands. I’ve spent so much time suppressing my hurt, trying to get over it, but now it boils over. A white-hot ball of pent-up woundedness. I have so many things to say to her. So many questions.
Why?
How could you?
What kind of person does what you did?
Instead I spit out, “Is that all you have to say to me?”
She blinks. “What am I supposed to say?”
I emit an irritated gurgle in my throat. “An apology would be nice, for starters.”
“Life isn’t scripted, El. Get used to it.” She flicks her hand flippantly and hops off the bed.
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Makes two of us.”
I scan the length of her, absorbing her appearance. Torn fishnet stockings run up her legs, disappear beneath a wrinkled black dress. She’s barefoot too. I never realized how short she is without high heels. A closer glance at her “bedroom” reveals a chamber pot tucked in one corner.
Quinn shifts. Her shoulders lift as if trying to shrug off my scrutiny. “My Shield has been faulty. I can alter my person, but my clothing remains the same.”
I recall the first time I saw her shift, when she revealed herself as Mom’s conniving art dealer Lincoln Cooper and I discovered just how deep Quinn’s—Ebony’s—deceit ran. The way she’d played me to exact revenge. Now, as her face contorts, the transformation doesn’t seem out of place. Instead I find it suits her superficial personality. Her sharp features soften, and everything from her hair to her skin fades from bright to shaded.
Shaded. Like her soul.
Ugh. And mine apparently.
Ebony Archer stares back at me, a knowing glare in her espresso eyes. “But that’s why you’re down here, isn’t it? You already know something’s up with the Callings.”
“What do you know? Why are the Callings”—what’s a good word?—“malfunctioning? Do you know which cell belongs to Gage? Maybe I can question him—”
“Relax, little sis. Don’t be so rushy-rushy. Lucky for you I eavesdropped on Gage’s interrogation. I’ll fill you in. But first you’re going to do something for me.”
This part, of course, is unavoidable. “What do you want?”
She yawns, makes a show of ghosting her hand over her mouth. “Nothing much. Just a small token, some collateral to ensure you don’t screw me over.”
As always her word choice proves tactless. A hurried glance over my shoulder allows me to breathe easier. No Preacher. Yet. “Get to the point, Ebony. Name your price.”
She meets me at the nook’s edge where the tile on my side meets the carpeted floor on hers. Next she reaches forward, palms facing me, and pushes as if an invisible wall separates us.
I step back and examine the air before me. No, not air, glass. Glass so clean and clear it’s hardly detectable. Ebony’s in a cage.
“Only David knows the way in and out,” she explains. “But that is irrelevant. Because you, my dear sister, are a Mirror.”
My face numbs. “How did you—?”
“I’m not clueless. Your display last Eleventh Month pretty much alerted everyone and their horse to your Calling.”
My display. I touch my right cheek. Ky and I discovered Queen Ember’s “Mirror Theory” together. I guess most people know my ability based on what they’ve seen me do. Sometimes I forget only a select few know how my birthmark—mirrormark—is related. Every Calling has a symbol associated with it, a tattoo that appears when the Calling manifests. But unlike the seven main Callings, which are revealed by the intake of Threshold water, the Mirror Calling can only be given to one person at a time. And nothing but a Kiss of Infinity bestowed by the Verity’s vessel can create a Mirror.
Could this be the problem? I’m a Mirror and the Verity’s vessel. Perhaps my Calling needs to be passed on to someone else. Could the Mirror in me be hindering the Verity from functioning properly?
I shake my head. None of this adds up. If the Callings are sourced by the Verity, why would mine hinder it? Joshua was an Ever and the vessel. It didn’t cause him any complications.
But Mirrors are different. Special. Rare. Ugh. My brain hurts. Once again I sense this is all connected. But how?
“En-ee-waaay.” Ebony curls her upper lip and examines her nails. “What I seek is a trifle. You release me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“That’s it?” No way. Not buying it.
She smiles. I almost believe it’s genuine. “That’s it.”
I lift one eyebrow the way Ky does when he doesn’t believe someone. “Yeah, right. Tell me what I need to know first, then I’ll release you.” Maybe.
In the past moving through a reflective barrier would’ve been easier than playing “Chopsticks” on the piano. But I haven’t attempted mirror walking in a while. If my song is dying and my hands are unable to heal, what other abilities am I losing?