Chapter 6 Chapter 6

Vivian

I stared at Adrian in horror, my brain spinning with the reality he just revealed.

My only ticket back to the future was damaged, and he says it like it’s nothing of less importance. Of course, what was I expecting?

“Damaged! For how long? It’s my only way home.” I cried, watching as Adrian fought with fighting amusement and surprise at the same time.

“Such attachment to inanimate objects,” he mused. “But while we stay on the subject of the Grand hall… the other matter.”

“The beast?”

“We shall call it… a wolf. A savage wolf, you may put,” he looked into my eyes, gaze grave.

“It is my understanding that you are remarkably resilient, Miss Vivian. But the shadows of this world contain things far more predatory than your imagination can conjure. You must not wander in the dark again… for your own safety.”

I groaned silently, angry that his concern was still about last night, when my only way home has been essentially jeopardized.

“My Lord, the Marquis of Halstead and Lord Fitzwilliam have arrived to see you regarding the impending canal bill.”

A sigh escaped Adrian, the first crack in his impeccable composure.

“Very well,” he said. “Show them to the blue drawing room. I shall join them momentarily.” I watched as the man curtised before strutting out, then Adrian turned to me.

“You see? The demands of duty never cease. You shall remain here, or in your room, whichever you please. We shall continue this discussion when I am less besieged by dullards and their canals.”

He didn’t even give me the time to nod. I watched his figure retreat, the heavy library door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, there was silence.

My eyes darted to the librarian, whose eyes were intent on whatever he was scrutinizing on a page with a magnifier.

Then, a thought struck me.

By spending time here with Adrian, the librarian must already think I matter to the Duke, and that gives me exclusive access to check out everything in this library.

Perhaps, I might even find another way home eventually.

No, I should search for the mirror first, then come back for the books. The mirror should still be here.

I went wandering.

Somewhere within me, I knew Adrian was lying about the mirror.

For someone who claimed to have waited for me for five years, he won’t exactly present my way home to me on a silver platter.

Hell, he might not want me to go back.

But I can’t let that happen. A lot was at risk.

My stomach grumbled, and I realized I never asked that maid about the biscuits and chocolate she talked about.

I ignored the rumble and moved.

For the next few hours, I navigated the maze-like hallways of the massive estate, avoiding maids with basket of linen whose gaze lingered a little too much, and dodging the sharp glances of people I supposed were senior staff.

I found my way to the West Wing a moment later, a section of the house that felt abandoned, the air thick with dust.

When I pushed the doors open, I gasped. The room wasn’t a guest room at all.

It was a storage chamber.

Several pieces of furniture were covered in white dust sheets, creating a landscape of spectral shapes.

From small, cobweb laden windows, light strained into the room, providing minimum illumination.

I took a quick glance at the room. The mirror must be here, I suppose.

It must be the most recent. Then my heart sank as I spotted it.

I didn’t think.

My feet moved, carrying my body as I ran across the room, my heart in my throat, pounding ragged as every hair in my body stood.

I needed to touch that mirror, to feel the cold glass behind my palm, to feel the ripple and the pull of the current that dragged me back.

And then, I’ll be back to the modern world, free of this madness about ghosts and wolves and strange creatures.

I reached out, my hands just inches away from the reflective surface, watching the reflection of my finger approach the mirror…

And another hand gripped my wrist, pulling me back.

I blinked.

It wasn’t Adrian. It was the maid with the freckles.

The one that woke me up this morning, holding a feather duster as if it were a weapon.

Her eyes were round as saucers, blazing with a strange intensity.

“You mustn’t!” the girl cried. “Not that one! ‘Tis a cursed thing!”

“I need to look at it,” I yanked my hand back. “I think it’s broken.”

“Broken? Nay, ‘tis too whole,” she whispered, eying the glass with primal terror.

“My mother… She was a seamstress for the old Duchess, and she always said this mirror was the devil's own gateway.”

What? Was that why they assumed I was a changeling?

The maid continued. “She said the mirror sees everything and keeps everything, and if you touch it without a blessing, it’ll steal your soul and leave you a walking corpse."

A laugh left me, sounding harsh and brittle.

I didn’t mean to, but this is my only gateway home, and this woman rambling about some strange supernatural tales was getting on my nerves.

“I don’t care about my soul,” I replied. “I care about getting home. I need to know how to use it.”

The maid stared at me, the terror on her face replaced with an unexpected look of calculation.

“You speak so queer, Miss. You talk of strange places and finding your way back. Tis’ like you’re trying to cross… a boundary.”

“Exactly,” my curiosity got a better of me. “Do you… do you know someone who knows about that kind of thing? Boundaries? Portals?”

The maid’s voice dropped. “The old duchess. She had a friend, down in the village. Old Madame Delacroix. The villagers say she can see things that other cannot.”

My heart leaped. That must be a fortune teller.

“How do I find her?” I asked.

“A’int no how for the likes of you, Miss. ‘Tis an impossibility.” The maid shook her head, giving the mirror another glance.

“You’ll get caught, for sure, and then you’ll be in proper trouble with His Grace. Now, you must leave this room.”

She ushered me out, locking the heavy doors behind me. But I was barely listening.

I had a lead now.

Get to the village, or try that mirror at another time.