Mirrorlight (2 page)

Cora smiled. “Something like that, yes.” She peeled away the wrapper on the edges of the muffin and frowned. Was that a stick of gum baked into the side of her breakfast muffin?

“So uh, what kind of muffins are these?”

“Very special ones,” Muffin assured her with a pat on the hand. “Eat up, my dear, and tell me all about you and how you came here.”

Cora broke off a piece of the muffin and placed it on her tongue. It had the consistency of wet dough, mixed with hard crunchy things. It seemed that the over-baked exterior was the only part that was baked. She swallowed hard, trying to force the material down, and gave Muffin a bright smile. “These are very good, thank you.”

“Aren’t they?” She said with a shrewd look, as if she knew Cora was lying to her.

“They’re Martha’s favorite.”

“Very good,” Cora echoed, then put the offending food item down so she wouldn’t have to eat any more of it. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Oh, this and that. Tell me your story,” Muffin said with an impish look on her round face. She reached into the basket, nine million beaded bracelets sliding down her arm, and pulled out a surprisingly normal looking muffin. “I always love meeting new people.”

“Um, well…I used to be a network administrator,” Cora admitted. “But my job got downsized a few months ago, and I’ve just been…looking. That’s all there is to tell,” Cora tried to say with a brave smile, and then ruined it when she began to cry. Fat, exhausted tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away hastily, trying to hide her breakdown. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’ve just…had a really bad year.”

Muffin seemed to expect her breakdown. She slid her stool closer to Cora and reached over to pat her knee comfortingly, handing her another muffin. Another blackened one. She said nothing, merely watched Cora with sympathetic eyes and waited.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Tears continued to roll down her face. “I’ve just had a really bad run of things lately,” Cora admitted between sniffles. “My job, my ex, and I had a long flight and I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Would Muffin think she was a complete nutjob if she confessed what she saw last night? She desperately wanted to confide in someone. She needed someone on her side, an understanding, sympathetic ear that would help her make sense of this.

Someone that wouldn’t make her feel like she was at this alone, trapped for the next three weeks unless she bought a new plane-ticket out, and then it was back to her boring, dead-end life back in Kansas. Disappoint her mother and infuriate her aunt if she bailed on them. The thought was just as depressing as staying here. Maybe a hotel room? Suck away at her savings in a stubborn attempt to enjoy her England trip? What did it matter if she stayed or went back? She felt defeated.

“I think this place might be…I mean, I think I might have seen…something. Last night,” Cora said, hesitating over her words. She watched Muffin’s expressive face as she spoke, trying to gauge her reaction.

At first, it didn’t register. Then, her eyes widened, just a fraction. “You’re staying in the Mirror Room, aren’t you?”

Relief poured through Cora, hot and sweet. “Yes! Then you know this place is haunted? I thought I was crazy.”

Muffin shook her head slightly and took another large bite of food. “Oh, it’s not really haunted,” she said around the massive mouthful. Crumbs spewed.

“It’s not?” Cora sat back on her stool, confused.

Muffin shrugged. “Not really. Not in the traditional sense.”

“But I thought I saw someone in the mirror—”

The old woman nodded. “I’m sure you did.”

Okay, now this was just getting confusing. Cora set the glass down and frowned at Muffin. “I’m not quite sure I follow what you’re saying.”

“There is a man in the mirror.” She hummed a few bars of the Michael Jackson song, then winked at Cora. “I’ve seen him before. But he’s not really a ghost.”

“Then he’s not dead?”

“Oh, he’s definitely dead at this point.”

“Then how is he not a ghost?”

“Because it’s not that simple.” Muffin smiled brightly. “Nothing is ever that simple.

Just like if I called you an unemployed loser, leeching off of your family. Is it really that simple?”

God, she hoped not. Cora winced at the example. “I guess not.” Muffin gave her a shrewd look, one that made Cora wonder what exactly was going through the little old woman’s mind. “And if I turned on the TV, would you say that those people on the screen are dead?”

“That’s not the same thing. That’s a screen used to transmit a picture. I don’t see—” She nodded. “That’s the thing, my dear. That’s the reason why your life has gone off track. You don’t see. You refuse to look further than your nose, and it’s leading you down the wrong path.”

The woman’s voice had taken on a lecturing tone, and Cora’s body stiffened with irritation. “My life has nothing to do with what I saw last night. The room is haunted—”

“Your life has
everything
to do with this, my dear. I already can tell several things about you, just from the way that you’ve held yourself, and the way you’ve described yourself—even the way you dress.” Muffin gave a distasteful look to Cora’s jeans and plain black sweater. “You, my dear, do not want anything bad enough to fight for it.” What a strange thing to say. Cora’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Of course I do.”

“Really,” the elderly woman said, clearly disbelieving. “Then tell me what the last thing was that you fought for. Really and truly fought for.”

Cora’s brows furrowed together. “What are you talking about? Examples of what?”

“Examples of things you have fought for recently,” Muffin said in an exasperated voice, and reached over and patted Cora’s hand again. “Do try and pay attention. This is important.”

She scowled at Muffin. “I fight for lots of things.”

“Of course you do, dear. Your last job? Did you fight them for a promotion?”

Cora was silent. She’d been in the same desk-jockey job for five years without a raise. They’d offered her a promotion—that involved moving to Alaska—and she’d declined. They’d laid her off instead.

“I thought so,” Muffin said in a mild voice. “Your love life?” She was
not
discussing that with Muffin. That was one part of her life that was definitely in shambles.

“You see what I mean?” The woman gave her a firm pat on the hand. “Now, think about this. If I told you that the greatest love of your life lived hundreds of years away and you might have to give up everything to be with him, would you do it?”

“You mean miles, right? Hundreds of miles?”

“Miles, years, whatever.” Muffin cocked her head and one of the plastic birds—at least, Cora hoped they were plastic—tumbled off the side of her hat and onto the counter.

“What would you do if you had to give up everything to go after him? And I mean everything?”

This was a stupid question. “I’d go after him, of course.” The look Muffin gave her was shrewd. “Would you? Your job asked you to transfer to Alaska and you refused, so you were laid off. Your ex asked you to run a marathon with him, and you refused. He asked you to go camping and you refused. He asked you to go on a three-week nature hike—all things he loved—and you refused. Did you even fight for this job or did your mother have to fight for you?”

“That’s different,” Cora protested.

“Is it? What would have happened if your mother hadn’t have pushed her sister to give you this job?”

Irritation began to bubble inside Cora, and she pulled away from Muffin’s patting hands. “You’re not being fair—”

“I am being perfectly fair,” Muffin said in an imperious voice. “You do not go out of your comfort zone. You coast through life, hoping to be inspired and moved to action, and instead, you just sit there. And now that your life has spiraled out of control, you are retreating. You retreated when your fiancé pushed you, and then he left you. You retreated when your job pushed you, and they let you go. You, my dear, are wallowing in a singular lack of motivation.”

By now, Cora’s back was entirely stiff and she glared down at the small, crazily-dressed old woman. “Did you come here to insult me? If so, you’re doing a great job at it.”

A sad look crossed Muffin’s face. “Actually, my dear, I came to offer you courage.

And breakfast.” She gave Cora a wobbly smile and got to her feet. “And now I do believe this old bag has overstayed her welcome.”

The look on Muffin’s round face was so woebegone that Cora immediately felt like a jerk. Embarrassed, she reached out to squeeze Muffin’s hand. “Not at all. I’m just…very tired. That’s all.”

They walked to the front door of the Abbey, neither speaking until Muffin stood on the steps and looked back at Cora over her shoulder. “If you need me, my dear, I’m just around the corner. Don’t hesitate to come by. I’m in the cottage just down the road.” Cora smiled at her, wanting to beg her to stay and not leave her alone in the big house, but she sensed Muffin wouldn’t stay any longer, now that both of them were prickly to one another. “Thank you for coming by.”

“Courage,” Muffin reminded her as she tromped down the steps, waving a finger over her head. “Courage will open doors for you!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cora called after her with a faint smile.

The old woman slung her bright handbag over her shoulder and something flew out and landed at Cora’s feet. She automatically knelt down to pick it up. It looked like a pencil, but when she touched it, she realized it was a cylinder of wood with a ribbon tied around it. “You dropped something.”

“Oh mercy me,” Muffin exclaimed, toddling back up the stairs to retrieve it. “Can’t do without that!”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what exactly it was, but Muffin was blushing, and that brought a blush to Cora’s cheeks as well. If it was something sexual, well…she didn’t want to know.

When the old woman finally wandered out of view, Cora went back inside the gloomy Abbey and shut the door behind her. She leaned against the thick wood, thinking of Muffin’s words. Courage.

She could use a good dose of courage. With that, Cora returned to the kitchen to clean up after her guest. It was only after she’d thrown out the rest of the rock-hard muffins that she realized that she’d never told the old woman about her ex… or her job asking her to relocate.

How had Muffin known? A chill went down Cora’s spine, but she dismissed it.

Muffin had obviously known someone was going to be here this week, so perhaps her aunt had shared some of Cora’s personal details with the neighbor.

Lovely.

#

The rest of the afternoon went by without a hitch—to the point that Cora thought she might have imagined the entire incident with the ghost and the mirror. She explored Stonewood Abbey all afternoon with a feather duster, though she wasn’t doing much dusting. Instead, she was examining the suits of armor in the library, and the massive portraits in the gallery, and simply enjoying herself. The abbey was a marvel, and everything felt warm and inviting. She wasn’t scared at all—perhaps Muffin’s pep talk had done her more good than she’d originally thought. The phone had rang once or twice, startling her, but she’d let it go to the machine, the recorded message about the Abbey being closed for tourism filling the echoing rooms.

At some point, she’d curled up on one of the footed couches in the gallery to take a nap in a pool of sunlight. She woke up several hours later in darkness, her heart pounding. But the gallery itself still felt warm and friendly, and the shadows were just that—shadows. There were no mirrors in this part of the house, and she chided herself for being silly.

It was just an old manor house that resembled a castle. Nothing special. Nothing to be scared of, even if her room had a massive mirror in it.

Courage
, Muffin’s voice rang out in her head.

She decided to sleep in her room that night anyhow. If nothing else, to prove to herself that she wasn’t the coward that Muffin thought that she was.

The room was quiet and still, cozy with the light from the small decorative lamps next to her bed. Cora undressed and brushed her teeth in the bathroom, avoiding the small mirror there in case it decided to show a ghost, too. When she was ready for bed, she crawled under the covers and forced herself to turn the light off.

It was utterly silent in the Abbey. Cora lay in bed, stiff and miserable. For some reason, she felt the absurd urge to cry. Muffin’s words had stuck in her head, and she kept playing them over and over again. How had her sad life gotten so far out of control that she was sleeping in a haunted room just to prove to herself that she wasn’t a complete wash-out?

Because if you don’t
, she told herself,
Muffin will be right. You’re a big loser that
doesn’t want anything bad enough. You can do this. You want to stay here at the Abbey,
but you can’t if you’re scared of the ghost. So you have to conquer this silly fear, or give
up and go home with your tail tucked between your legs.

Tears slid down her face and she wiped at her cheeks, sniffling loudly. A small sob escaped her, just as easily lost in the darkness as she felt. When had she become so completely and utterly alone?

A soft sound pierced the darkness, so soft she wasn’t sure that she’d heard it at first.

Nevertheless, she choked down her next sob and held her breath, so the room was entirely silent once more. The sound returned, still soft and fragile.

It sounded like…singing.

A man’s voice, and it sent a chill down her spine again. Cora’s eyelids were squeezed shut so she couldn’t see anything, but she had to see what was causing the noise. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Soft light illuminated the mirror, as if it had caught sunlight even in the middle of the night. It lit up her room.

The soft singing continued, and she tried to decipher the sound. The words were muffled and low, but even so, they had an odd quality to them that told her it was a foreign language. She didn’t recognize the tune, but she recognized the simplicity of it, the oddly soothing sound of it.

It was a lullaby, a song to comfort. The light from the mirror faded. And Cora knew when she turned over to look at the mirror, that the shadow had returned, the hand resting on the glass again. The soft singing was emanating from the old mirror itself.