Catherine Fisher - Obsidian Mirror

It was blue and white and the cat’s pupils widened as it jerked, very slightly. Once, then again.

Nearer the edge of the high shelf.

The cat climbed quickly up, padded along the tops of buckling books, and crouched. It lay in a flat slant of fascination, its fur bunched, its tail fat. When the jar shuddered again it reached out, one swift, exploring paw.

The jar toppled. It slid and rolled. It crashed into porcelain slivers and the cat bolted to the safety of an armchair, green eyes wide.

Piers, dusty, hot, and irritated, stood on the floor and spat out shards of pot. Then he glared at the cats. “What the hell took you so long?” he snarled.

Maskelyne picked himself up. Rebecca said anxiously, “Are you hurt?” but he didn’t answer her; he was gazing at something behind her. She turned, fast.

The Replicant smiled at her.

As Sarah and Wharton ran in they saw Rebecca whisk the glass weapon quickly behind her back.

Sarah glanced around. Where in God’s name was Piers?

Casually pushing through the broken remnants of the web, the Replicant walked right up to the obsidian mirror. It stood and looked at its reflection in the glass, the lank hair, the neat dark uniform, with a mild, humorless smile.

The mirror rippled. Wharton saw it clearly; a vibration that traveled within the glass, as if some unbearable tension had been set up.

Maskelyne must have seen it too. He stepped out, anxious. “Don’t stand so close. Keep away from it!”

Janus spared him a swift, interested stare. “So there was an anomaly! It was you on the bridge last night. What sort of journeyman are you?”

Maskelyne said, “Journeyman?”

“Don’t play the innocent. Has ZEUS sent reinforcements?”

“No one sent me. I belong to no group. I travel alone.”

Behind the Replicant, Wharton edged sideways, toward Rebecca. From the corner of his eye he saw that Sarah was standing just inside the open doorway. She was listening intently.

The creature seemed intrigued. “Alone! How?”

Maskelyne kept his eyes away from Rebecca. He seemed for a moment to be subtly altered, his dark hair longer, his face unmarked, but as he moved into the light, the scar was back, the jagged violence of it ageing him.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, quiet. And then, “Step back. The mirror is troubled at your presence. It rejects you.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. I can feel it.”

The Replicant stepped forward, calmly. “Can you? A wretched scarred thief from some lost stinking city? Don’t tell me—you really think the mirror is yours. That it has some sort of loyalty to you. That’s a common delusion for journeymen, did you know that? A slow, helpless fall into insanity. Unless of course, you’re different.” A glimmer of fascination lit its eyes behind the blue lenses. “Are you different? Was it you who created the mirror?”

Maskelyne came forward too, so that they both stood before the glass.

“Perhaps the mirror created me, ” he whispered.

And even as Wharton heard Sarah’s indrawn breath he saw it too, all of them were reflected in that obsidian darkness, all except Maskelyne. Where his reflection should have been, there was only the smooth image of the room.

The Replicant looked as astonished as any of them; there was a confused envy in its voice. “Now that is interesting.” Suddenly it caught Wharton’s stealthy movement and turned. Wharton froze, so near to Rebecca, he might have touched her. Behind his back, he felt the cold grip of the glass weapon as she slipped it into his hand.

Janus swung back to Maskelyne. “In fact, you’re wrong about me. I have no intention of harming the Chronoptika. Quite the contrary. You see, I’m not the enemy. She is.” It pointed a bitten fingernail at Sarah, where she stood alone, in the shattered web.

“Me?” she said.

“Of course you.” The Janus-image shook its head, looking around at the others, its thin face tilted with false astonishment. “Do you mean she really hasn’t told you?”

Wharton was watching her. Sarah glanced at him. For a moment he knew she was afraid, in some silent plea to him, but he said it anyway. “She’s told us enough.”

The Replicant smiled. It took its glasses off and polished them on its sleeve. “About her mission? Why they’ve sent her? She is part of a rebel organization that calls itself ZEUS.”

“We know about ZEUS,” Wharton snapped.

“Really?” It put the glasses back on and gazed at Wharton through them. “And do you know that she’s here to break your precious mirror into a thousand pieces?”

She looked at Wharton.

Appalled, he said, “Sarah?”

Her face was pale, her lips pressed tight. And she was silent.

Jake said, “What’s happening?”

Venn didn’t answer. He folded his arms and stood silent and grim on the steps of the house.

Behind Gideon, the Shee were flocking from the Wood. They carried bells and chimes; many beat drums, and the deep, throbbing rhythm made starlings rise from the trees and call to each other across the sky. The snow had stopped falling; now it lay deep and still, and the clouds were clearing.

High above, like a dust of diamonds on black velvet, the stars were coming out, shards and slivers of brilliance, eerie over the frozen Wood and the blue-white hummocks of the lawns.

The Shee wore white and silver. Jake stared at them, astonished; they were a wild army of guizers, mummers, gaberlunzies, masked and costumed with the remnants of ancient Christmases. He saw a ragged St. George, a black-clad Moor, a creature tailed and spined like a capering dragon, white fire flashing from its mouth. He saw morris men and caparisoned knights on skeletal horses. Tall beautiful beings like women walked out of the trees and turned their emerald eyes on him.

Behind, in the depths of the Wood, stealthier things moved; jewels and scales caught the starlight.

Shapes slunk like wolves.

He said, “Where is she?”

Venn’s voice was rough. “There.”

Summer came sitting elegantly on a vehicle Jake’s eyes could not quite focus on, a great glass sleigh, he thought, or maybe a crystal carriage, pulled by a huddle of her people, their hair bright, their eyes cold as the moon, but as they drew near the steps the carriage dwindled; it became a child’s simple wooden sled, painted in faded blue.

Summer stepped down and stood barefoot in the snow. She said, “So you got back! Without your lovely wife.”

Venn snarled, “This time.”

“Or the long-lost father.” She smiled narrowly at Jake. “What a pity.”

“What are you doing here?” Venn glanced at the dark house, the snowdrift in the hall. “What’s happened?”

She ran lightly up the steps and peered in at the snow-covered hall. “Your enemy is inside your defenses, Oberon. And I’ve agreed to help.”

Venn snorted. “For what price?”

She reached out and took his hand. “A great treasure. And you can’t stop me, because Sarah has invited me in.”

Jake shot a glance at Gideon. The changeling’s green eyes were uneasy.

Venn was silent. He looked over the noisy, crazy army. Then he said, “Summer, I may need your help now. But believe me, if things weren’t desperate you’d be the last person I’d…”

“She was so clever!”

“Who?”

“Sarah. Did you know she can become invisible?”

He stared at her, as if nothing she said could be trusted. He said, “I’ve spent years keeping you out.”

She touched his fingers. “Then it’s time things changed.”