Chapter 8

Tam shook her head, trying to shake the image from her mind. It simply wasn’t right. Mirrors reflected. This was not her reflection. “That’s—that’s not my face. I mean, it’s my face, but it…it’s not.”

“What do you see?” He stroked the calf of her leg, a light touch, almost absent-mindedly.

“Me. But I’m changing. My face, shifting from one face to another. Like sand in the wind.”

He made a sound deep in his throat. It was a very pleased sound, a touch of satisfied smugness.

She ignored him. “But my eyes—they’re always white. Blank. Empty.”

“You are sure it’s you?” He scooted closer to her seat.

“They are all me.” A tightness grew in her throat, tiny fingers pressing, blocking her breath. “I don’t like it, Burns. I want to stop.”

“Go deeper.” Elder Mother rotated the mirror again.

The image changed before her eyes.

“Sand,” she whispered. “Blue sky, impossible blue. No clouds. And…two moons? How can that be? And―”

She gasped. “Him. The candlewick man. I dream of him. I dreamed this—”

She trembled, the glass rattling against the frame. The muscles in her arms turned to liquid, and she almost dropped the mirror. Again.

Elder Mother stared hard into Tam’s face, the mirror between them, the older woman’s hands upon hers with surprising strength. “Keep looking. It is the secret of your soul. Who is he?”

“He’s all fire, dancing on a wick. He always does. I can’t see his face.”

“Look at him,” Burns said. Tension had thinned his voice. “Is he me?”

“No, not you.” She stared hard, lowering her face down to the surface. The figure inside twisted and writhed, revealing curves and a length of hair. “It’s—a woman.”

Elder Mother made an ah sound. “What is she doing, child?”

“Waving a knife. She stands on a hill. There’s a body.” Suddenly, Tam knew what was coming next. She didn’t want to see anymore. She’d seen it all too many times before, the worst parts of her dreams. The parts she never remembered. This mirror brought it all back with stifling clarity. She’d have to see it all again—

“What is she doing?” His voice was tight, sounding as if he were approaching panic.

She let her eyes sag closed. She didn’t have to look to know. “Smiling. Laughing. She is standing over a body, and she’s laughing. Wait—”

Her eyes popped open, and she leaned toward the mirror. “She’s saying something.”

Elder Mother squeezed her fingers around Tam’s hands. “What is she saying?”

“I don’t know.” Tam twisted her face away. “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear her voice.”

“Channel her.” Elder Mother leaned closer. Her black eyes swallowed the firelight, deep and intense.

“What?” Tam pushed at the mirror, wanting it as far away from herself as possible. “Are you nuts?”

“Touch the mirror. Touch her.”

“No, I don’t want—”

“You must.” Elder Mother’s grip was like iron, solid and unrelenting. It matched the tone of her voice. “You cannot journey halfway and simply stop.”

He knelt beside her, reaching around to hug her knees. “Touch her, Tamarinda. You must.”

She lowered the mirror onto her lap. She raised a finger and let it hover over the woman in the mirror. The woman turned in her direction, her fiery eyes seeming to focus outward. Bared her teeth at her and laughed, flung open her arms.

Tam dropped her finger to the glass. A moment of resistance, cold glass. Then the surface yielded and her flesh sank into it, feeling molten and frozen at the same time. The wind rushed out of the mirror at her. She opened her mouth to scream. The wind became a gale storm—

The room had fallen away. Tam found herself face to face with the candlewick woman.

She stood on the sand, hand extended, palm to palm with the woman, who solidified enough to wear a human-shaped form. The ground was firm beneath their feet. All the world seemed to spin around them, their gazes were locked. Tam heard the song of the wind, smelled it, smelled the sand.

A clean, dusty freshness—she never knew the scent of sand before, never knew it even had one—

But she recognized it.

A hum flooded into her. The candlewick woman spoke and the words reverberated through her bones, pouring out through her own mouth. She couldn’t resist the words. She and the candle woman were one, one will, one mind.

The specter had taken her over.

You are two. You are half. You are one. You struggle to break. And you will.

The candlewick woman slid her hands up Tam’s arms, her neck, and framed her face in her flame-like fingers. In a hollow voice, she uttered a string of syllables, each sound appearing as an image in Tam’s mind.

She heard the words, saw them, felt each one imprint itself on her soul.

The candlewick woman repeated the words and once more Tam repeated them with her, one voice.

The flame woman pulled her hands away and stared into Tam’s face one last time before turning to a pillar of twisting flame once more, to dance away across the sand. She disappeared into the sunlight, a mirage upon the shimmering sands.

The wind slammed into Tam, doubling her over. She was lost in the rush and the smell of the sand, and she drifted back into her body.

He crouched between her knees, gripping her by the shoulders and calling her name.

She swatted absent-mindedly at him as her senses trickled back. “Stop—stop it.”

He still had her by the arms, seemingly reluctant to release her. Although he looked visibly relieved, a tightness remained around his eyes as if he feared she might drift away again. “I thought you were lost.”

Elder Mother stood behind Burns. Her hand on his shoulder, she only nodded.

Tam set the mirror down on the seat beside her, snatching her hands away. The glass was dark, its surface cool and unyielding once more. “What happened?”

“That was your secret,” Elder Mother said. “You know that creature.”

Oh, yes. She knew that creature, all right. She’d seen it nearly every night of her life. Never had the dreams been that intense.

Or were they? Her bed sheets, always sweated and twisted—

She rubbed her mouth. The dreams were always that intense. She just never remembered.

She shuddered, her sweater damp against her back, her breasts, as the perspiration chilled. He handed her a wooden cup, and she sipped at the cold sweet water before answering. “I’ve dreamed about it all my life.”

“I am wretchedly disappointed,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “I really had hoped it was me.”

“But those words—” She glanced to Elder Mother, and back. “Did you hear them?”

He shook his head.

“You must have. She said you are two. You are half. You are one. You struggle to break. And you will. None of it made sense.”

“You will make sense of it. You will.” Elder Mother reached for the mirror, lifting it, faltering as if it was a tremendous burden. He supported it while she wrapped it in its layers of cloth. She turned to carry it back to the chest, her pace weary. “You will find your way. My fire child will help you.”

“Elder Mother, let me help you.” He bounced to his feet.

“No,” she said, and waved his help away. “I can manage. Take your young woman home.”

He stole a quick glance at Tam. “I will build your fire, then.”

“My thanks.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, looking tired. With a trembling hand, she reached up and patted his cheek. “Always my thanks.”

“Rest well, Elder Mother.” His gentle voice deepened with a nurturing tone, a hint of worry, as if every time he said goodbye he feared it would be his last.

“Thank you,” Tam said. “The food, the mirror thing—thank you.”

Elder Mother chuckled. “You are a good person. You do not understand yet the gift, but you remember to say thank you. Your destiny will be bright. You will find your way, but you will first break. Keep going through the pain.”

That didn’t sound very optimistic. “Pain?”

The woman paused and looked over her shoulder, the lines between her brows deepening with sorrow. “Oh, yes. There will be pain.”

Burns held the curtain so Elder Mother could pass through to the other room, presumably her bed chamber. Crossing to the fire, he waved his palms. Piece by piece, stick by stick, dry firewood popped into sight, each piece floating before drifting into the fireplace, piling around the dying blaze.

When the fireplace could hold no more, he swished his fingers, directing the wood to growing stacks on each side of the hearth. Only when the wood was piled as high as his nose did new logs cease to appear.

He brushed his hands nosily and flashed a lopsided grin. “Fire building is such dusty work.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I can see that.”

“It is worth the exertion,” he said. “The fireside is the tulip bed of a winter day.”

Next, he opened the door of a glass lantern hanging in the corner. Within the confines of the bumpy green glass quivered a dim flicker. Reaching inside, he plucked out the flame, holding it between his slender fingers, cupping his other hand around. Gently, he blew on it, as one blows on tinder to grow the flame.

The flame grew, bigger and brighter, until it became an eye-squinting light. Burns placed it safely inside the lantern again.

She watched him, a bemused look upon her face. Yet another side of him she’d never seen, somewhere between Boy Scout and Doting Son. He was a kaleidoscope of moods, wasn’t he? Playful and brooding and sweet and furious—everything she wished she could be, and so much more. He burned with an intensity that made even her most volatile clients appear dim by comparison. “You take care of her, don’t you?”

“I do.” He paused long enough to glace backward at the room to which Elder Mother had retreated. “I will as long as I can.”

“Come.” He stooped and picked up her pelts. “We must go.”

He set the poncho on over her head, minding her nose and ears. Gently, he tugged it down around her shoulders. “Tell me. What exactly did you see that had upset you so?”

She shuddered, remembering the intensity of meeting her nightmare face to face. “Didn’t you see it?”

He smoothed back her hair, holding it in place against the back of her head when he drew the hood forward. “The mirror looked dark.”

She sighed and lifted her arms so he could bind her waist with the cord. “I saw the candlewick man. I mean lady. Who knew?”

“Candlewick. Such an odd word.”

She shrugged, although he wouldn’t be able to see it beneath her pelts. “I’ve seen it since my childhood. It reminded me of a candle, bobbing and flickering and dancing. Not scary. Just beautiful.

He drew himself up, as if he took a compliment. “What else? You said a body. Whose?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. We need to go. I have group today.” She held out her hands toward him, expectantly.

“Plenty of time,” he said. He shoved her mittens on, one by one. “So, Tamarinda. You have a riddle inside you. I will have a great deal of enjoyment stealing it from you.”

Opening the door, he guided her out of the hut. At least this time he didn’t push her.

He didn’t toss her the guide rope, either. He led her by the hand.

They headed back up the mountain along the rocky path, rounding the sharp corner, the wind giving them a slight reprieve. Snow sheeted against the rocky face of the cliff, shushing against the cold stone.

She peered through the furry hood, and tugged on his arm. “Here already? That didn’t take long.”

“What do you mean?” Turning, he raised his hand to block the wind from his eyes. He sounded irritated again. “We’re only halfway there.”

She stepped off the path, into the hollow formed by a massive stone outcrop. Puzzled, she pointed to the door. “But isn’t that the door where we came in?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, God. Are you blind?” She marched over to it and pulled on the handle, struggling to open it. “This one. Help, it’s stuck.”

“Woman.” Over the lump of furry collar, his eyes were wide, a ring of white around huge dark pupils, the irises all but swallowed up. “What have you found?”

“What? Isn’t this your door?”

“No.” His voice tight, he pulled her away from the door, shielding her from it. “Put your arms around me and hold on.”

A hum flooded her ears and he lifted her, squeezing her and spinning. Spinning with ferocious speed—it felt like falling. She shut her eyes, the wind streaming tears out of the corners. Breath was stolen. Gravity was lost. Nothing else existed except the swing and the motion and the circle of his arms around her, the crush of his chest against hers.

In a moment their spinning stopped. Her head kept going for several moments, the vertigo tilting her stomach.

Dazed, she kept her grip on him and tried to focus. Their tracks were gone. He’d erased them.

“We go. Now.” He pried her off him and yanked her up the trail to his door. A savage swipe of his fist and the door sprang open, revealing the familiar coral walls of Burns’ hallway.

He ushered her through in front of him, pulling the door shut with a slam that made the floor tremble.

Yanking off a glove with his teeth, he traced his finger in a sweeping pattern on the surface of the door, a glowing line trailing like a path. When he lifted his finger, the pattern glowed, white-hot, before disappearing altogether.

Burns tore off his cloak and dropped it, taking more time and patience to help her disrobe.

His eyes, still big and dark, looked extremely suspicious. Leaning into her, almost nose to nose. “I’ve never seen that door before. How did you see it?”

Not big on personal space, was he? She backed away, coming up against the wall.

“I told you.” She resisted the urge to sniff her hair, wondering how she’d explain her newly-acquired odor to her staff. “I notice things.”

He stared at her, mouth open, for several long moments before shutting in in an audible snap. “You did tell me. That door was magically hidden, yet you saw it. How?”

“I’m observant.”

“You’re more than observant. Here I thought the mirror would have been the extent of my surprises.” He backed off, stooping to pick up the fur garments.

She breathed a huff. “Look. I hate to interrupt your mystery but I have to get back to work. I need to reschedule my entire afternoon and explain why I didn’t come back from lunch.”

“Why?” He tapped on the wall, opening the cubby once more and stowing away the winter gear.

“I was in Peru for at least an hour, then before that there was the tour and we had coffee…”

“You are not late. You still have ten minutes. Remember? It would only take a minute, you thought, to help cure me of my delusion.” He pressed the door closed and gestured to her wrist. “Go on, look at your watch.”

She did, and almost choked. Ten to one. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again, without a squeak of a sound emerging.

“I despise fish,” he said. “Stop impersonating one.”

“Burnsie.” The diminutive slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

He didn’t miss it. His mouth took up a wry slant.

“Try to understand. I’m a magic man.” He winked at her and pressed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her down the hall. “Come on, you’ll be late.”

She twisted and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Isn’t the front door that way?”

“Sometimes.” He led her into a small corridor to the right and paused in front of a curved green door, the outline of which was painted in a myriad of colors, vines and scrolling scripts. He reached for the lamp-shaped latch and twisted it. “Elevator is around the corner to your left.”

“Elevator?”

“See you Thursday. Nine o’clock. I’ll be there with bells on.” He swung the door wide and propelled her through into a familiar corridor. Around the corner to her left was the elevator that took her to her offices.

She spun around to look at him, wanting to laugh and yell at the same time, but saw nothing, just the plain old lobby wall. The door was gone.

No doubt he stood on the other side of that now-vanished door, laughing at her.

Oh, that genie.