Catherine Fisher - The Slanted Worlds

“It’s not Oisin anymore. Now it’s Oberon.”

The bird made a shrug in its depths. “Oberon, Oliver, Oscar. All the same. To her, that is. She’s like the weather and the earth. Ageless and pitiless. Come closer.”

Sarah approached, pulling the chain around her neck. “Look, I’ve got to . . .”

“She did this to me.” The bird fixed her with its bead of an eye, and she thought that deep down inside it, there was a spark, like a flame. “Imprisoned me in here. Turned me into this contraption of twigs and feathers.”

“Why?”

“Disobeyed her once. There was a place in the Wood—a trap. It looked just like any other piece of grass. But if a mortal stepped on it, they’d be stuck there while time went by without them. A step that would last a hundred years. Her idea of a joke. So everyone waited for one to come along.”

Despite her fear, Sarah was interested.

“Everyone except you.”

“I . . . well.” The bird preened. “Sort of felt . . . mischievous. I wanted to annoy her. The mortal was a real yokel—spade over his shoulder, right off the fields. The Shee were all clustered round like flies. So I warned him off. Whispered in his ear. You should have seen him run!”

It gave a soft, sad whistle. “Then she found out.”

Sarah said, “I’m sorry for you. But I have to go.”

“With that?” the bird gave a cheep of scorn. “You’d never get out of the room. Unless . . .”

“What?” But she already knew what.

“Take me with you. Put the box in your pocket. I’ll guide you all the way out of the Summerland. Refuse, and I SCREECH NOW.”

Sarah almost laughed. The pompous pride of the tiny thing was almost funny.

Then, outside, there was a crash. She whirled. “What’s that?”

“Nothing good, be sure.”

She decided. The mirror’s destruction depended on it. Without a moment’s hesitation she grabbed the box and slid it into her pocket, and even as she turned, the door opened.

There was no door out. Even the one they had come through was gone. There was nothing except the repeated surfaces of the obsidian mirrors, all identical and all, Wharton thought, illusions. He said, “She’s trapped us here. If we step through any of these, without a bracelet . . .”

“It doesn’t matter.” Gideon was gloomy. “We won’t be going anywhere. All this is in the Summerland, and that goes on forever.”

Ignoring the paradox, Wharton stared at himself. Really, he thought, he was getting a touch overweight. He said, “What do you think?”

Venn frowned. He went up to the nearest mirror and put his hands on it. It was black and solid. “We’re so used to going through mirrors,” he said, “that we’ve forgotten what they’re really for.” He stared into his own wintry eyes. “They show us what we think is real. But it isn’t. Nothing is real.”

He opened his fingers.

And to Wharton’s astonishment the wall of black glass held the tiniest point of light, diamond bright. As he watched, it grew, as if it zoomed toward them, became a circle, then a square, then filled the mirror and was a window down onto some peculiar street, narrow, sun-slanted and cobbled.

As they watched, it closed again.

“Was that real?” Wharton said, fascinated.

Venn had stepped back, every sense alert.

“Possibly. In some other time. Or it might be a trap set for us by Summer, because I’m beginning to think she knows we’re here.”

Wharton didn’t like the sound of that. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“Maybe.” Venn turned suddenly to Gideon. “You. Tell me. Why did you bring Sarah here?”

Gideon’s green gaze flickered. “She begged me. I . . .”

“Felt sorry for her?” Venn advanced on him. “I don’t think so.”

Gideon stared back, fierce. “We made a deal. She told me that she would help me.”

“How can . . .”

“She said that in her time there were no Shee .”

The words seemed to spill like a whispered wonder into the room. Gideon clenched his fists, hugged himself, as if he had said something terrible, something fascinating, that should never have been spoken.

Venn too, Wharton saw, was both astonished and intrigued. He stepped forward and lifted a hand, but as Wharton jerked forward in alarm, Venn’s fingers stopped inches from Gideon’s white glare. “No more,” he breathed. “Don’t talk of that here. Summer will hear.”

He paced, restless, furiously watching his own reflections pace with him. All, Wharton noticed with a sudden chill, except one.

Because there was one mirror that held no Venn, that held nothing but darkness.

Wharton looked at it. Sidled closer.

Venn turned. “I’ll smash every panel in this place if I have to. There must be a way out!”

Wharton reached out. The mirror was black, but not glass. It was a door painted dark as midnight, and there was a tiny handle recessed into it, and he reached out and turned it, and it opened.

Gideon yelled, “No!”

Venn turned and lunged at the door.

But Wharton was gone. All he saw was his own face in the mocking glass.

22

Progress report: ALICIA HARCOURT SYMMES

Subject observed continually. Seems to meet co-conspirators only at alleged séances. Information likely to be passed here.

Subject may be aware of surveillance. Yesterday she left the house and winked at this officer.

ALLENBY Covert Operations

THE ROOM WAS set up as a crude laboratory. Alembics stood on the bench; a rack of bizarre glass retorts bubbled and spat. A skull watched them with empty eyes.

David crossed quickly to a small cupboard in the wall and unlocked it. He took out a tiny vial. “This is it.”

He brought it over. “I’ve been trying to isolate an antibiotic. It’s crude, unrefined. But it might work, Jake, it might save a few lives.”

The vial was filled with a grainy substance, amber as honey.

A noise somewhere in the building startled them. They froze, listened to footsteps running up the stair outside. The baby made a small snuggling motion against Rebecca’s warmth. The footsteps came close, passed the door. Then they pattered on up and died into the distance.

Jake breathed out. “Right.” He undid the bracelet from his own arm and slid it onto Rebecca’s wrist, clicking it shut.

“What?” She stared in alarm. “But we’re all going together, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. But this is just in case.”

For a moment she stared at him in dread, the possibilities of being lost in the endlessness of time reeling out before her. Then he turned her to the mirror.

“What do you use to operate this, Dad? There are no controls . . .”

“I’ve learned a few things about the mirror.” David came toward the silver frame. “All that electrical input, you don’t even need it. These letters here, these words. They’re enough if you know how to use them. You put your hands here. And here. Sometimes I think it reads your DNA. But”—he shook his head, stepping away in dismay—“for God’s sake Jake, every time I’ve tried I’ve gone further back! What if we all end up in some prehistoric swamp? What if . . .”

“We won’t.” Before his father could object, he moved, grabbing Becky and pulling her close. “Do as he says.”

She touched the silver frame.

Under her fingers she felt it tremble, felt it sense the bracelet she wore, the terror she felt. She felt it waken and become interested in her.

“Jake.”

Jake grabbed David. “Now us, Dad.”