The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

The Ryder proposal. She looked at her mood board, then opened her file.

Because she had to admit her brain was tired, she told herself she’d just review for now.

This represented an opportunity to take her business from steady to thriving. She really wanted to thrive.

And on a personal level, she wanted to beat Brandon. No doubt, she thought, just none, that he’d head up the team on her main competitor’s proposal.

For all his many miserable flaws, when it came to the work, he excelled.

So she just had to be better.

She started the review, began to tweak. And…

Looked up, blinking, when Cleo tapped her fist on the doorjamb.

“Sorry. I thought maybe you should come up for air. But if you want to dive back, I fed Yoda.”

“Fed…” She checked the time. “How the hell did it get to be seven?”

“It comes after six, which is about when I passed by earlier, and Yoda followed me down.” Angling her head, Cleo studied Sonya. “I’m not going to tell you to stop if it’s rolling, but you look like you could use a break.”

“I’m past that point, and I’m going to screw something up if I don’t stop. I’m going to shut down.”

“We’re having open-faced roast beef sandwiches and the rest of the leftovers. How about I go pour you a glass of wine?”

“How about you do? I’m right behind you.”

Sonya saved and closed down the work she hoped wouldn’t turn out to be a hot mess when she opened it again. She’d slid into the zone for a while, true, but then she’d slipped into autopilot.

Now she left it behind, left it to simmer like one of Cleo’s pots, and taking the portrait, went downstairs.

She propped the painting in the music room, under the other portraits they’d found in the studio closet.

A kind of triptych, she thought, invisibly connected.

“We’ll put you in place after dinner.”

For a moment when she stepped back, just a fleeting moment, she thought she caught a scent. Her father’s aftershave. It came to her like a brush of lips on her cheek, like a hand sliding to smooth down her hair.

“But you’re not here.” She sighed it out. “I wish you could be.”

She walked down to the kitchen, where Cleo had wine waiting and Yoda sprawled under the table in anticipation.

“You are my queen,” Sonya said as she took the wineglass.

“I worked a little late myself, since all I had to do was warm things up.”

“How’s it going?”

“The contract work? I don’t think I’ve ever had a job I’ve enjoyed more. And the painting I’m trading for my boat? I’m trying not to regret giving it up.”

Cleo’s brows drew together as she picked up her own wine.

“Owen better build me a fabulous boat, and he’d better give her a place of honor.”

“Ready to eat?”

“Absolutely.”

When they sat at the table, Sonya smiled over at Cleo. “The way Owen wanted your mermaid painting the minute he saw it—and way before you finished? He’s going to put her in a place of honor.”

“I’ll harangue him if he doesn’t.” Cleo cut into the beef and bread and gravy. “People don’t know how to harangue properly, if you ask me. But I do.”

“I can attest,” Sonya said, and made Cleo laugh.

“That studio, Son? It’s something I needed and wanted without ever knowing it was what I needed and wanted. I honestly think my work’s better because of it.”

“I feel the same way about the library. And Xena?” she added, thinking of her African violet. “She just blooms and blooms.”

“I’d say all of us were meant to be planted here, at this time, in this place. What were you working on when I pulled you out?”

“Ryder. I sent off the Gigi proposal—and I really think it works—and another draft layout for some ads for Baby Mine. I did some work on another book cover.”

“Busy, busy.”

“Just how I like it. Maybe you could take a look at the book cover designs. Then I just wanted to review what I’ve done on the Ryder job. And one thing led to another.”

Sonya picked up her wine. “Confession.”

“I’ll always be your priest.”

“I want the Ryder job because it’s an amazing opportunity, especially for someone with only a few months’ freelancing under her belt.”

“Don’t forget the years working in your field.”

“I don’t. But compared to By Design, I’m incredibly small-time.”

“And incredibly talented.”

“Thanks, Father Fabares. Snagging Ryder as a client would push my business to another level, and why wouldn’t I want that? But there’s this petty little part of me that wants the job because I’d beat Brandon.”

“Well, duh.” Cleo waved her glass. “That’s not petty.”

“It feels petty.”

“Then you’re looking at it wrong. You want the job because it’s a major client, and you’re offering them a clever, creative campaign. You want it because it’ll give your company a big-ass boost. Beating Brandon the asshole Wise? That’s just the proverbial cherry on top.”

Sonya considered. “You’ve got to respect the cherry on top.”

“Of course. Now, let me say as someone who knows you in and out, if not for this job—which I firmly believe you’ll get—you’d barely give that cheating bastard a thought at this point. You moved on—in every way. You have—in no particular order—a business you’re building yourself, a hot, interesting man who, by my view, doesn’t have a cheating bone in his body. You have this amazing house, and all that comes with it. And part of that is a mission to, at its core, right wrongs.

“And”—she smiled and speared some potato—“you’ve got me.”

“You’re right. If I don’t get the job—” She held up a finger before Cleo could object. “I’ll still have you, and all the rest. I’ll keep right on building my business. But when I get the job—”

“There you go.”

“I’ll enjoy that cherry on top. Not as much as the whole rich, gooey sundae, but I’ll enjoy it.”

After dinner, they went to the music room. Once they took a seascape down, they carefully hung the third portrait in its place.

“I guess this is part of righting those wrongs.” Sonya stepped back to study the three brides. “To acknowledge them this way. To display them together this way.”

“They’re meant to be. The same size canvas, the same frame. And the styles, Sonya? They’re so similar. We can see the differences, and your mom can and will. But to the untrained eye?”

“I know. The twin thing again, I guess. The other thing? They painted each at a happy moment—maybe the happiest moment of their lives. No shadows, no sense of tragedy. I like that.”

From upstairs something crashed. On the wall, the portraits shook.

“She doesn’t,” Cleo muttered. “But whatever power she has, there’s an opposing one. We’re part of that. So…” Cleo aimed her middle finger at the ceiling just as the phone went with Queen’s “We Will Rock You.”

With a laugh, Sonya tossed back her hair. “And let me add an Up yours to round it off.”

Something banged against the ceiling and set the light swaying. The portraits shook, but they didn’t fall.

At three, the clock chimed. Piano music slid through the air like tears. Sonya stirred awake, and though her heart ached when she heard the weeping echoing from the nursery, she felt no pull.

Before she could drift back to sleep, her balcony doors blew open, and an ice-edged wind swept through.

Yoda woke with a wild bark and sprang out of bed.

Cold covered her like a second skin as she struggled against the lashing wind. Something pounded against the entrance doors below like a battering ram, and her fireplace roared to furious life.

Dimly, under the shrieking wind, the roaring fire, the pounding, she heard the phone by her bed play “Bad Moon Rising.”

Afraid for him, Sonya scooped the shivering dog up under one arm and pushed her way to the balcony doors.

Behind her, Cleo shouted, but Sonya kept her focus, all her energy, on reaching the doors.

When she closed her fingers around the door handle, she let out a cry. It was like holding on to an iceberg.

But she held on, put her shoulder against the door. As she fought to close it, she saw the figure on the seawall.

Not facing the sea, but the house. The white ball of moon illuminated her as the wind she conjured whipped at her hair, her dress.

Gritting her teeth, Sonya put all her strength against the door.

“Go ahead, bitch!” She shouted it. “Take that first step to hell. I swear I’m going to kick your ass the rest of the way there before I’m done.”

“And I’ll help her.” Cleo, hair flying, put her shoulder to the second door.

They fought the doors closed and, braced against them, watched Dobbs turn toward the sea. And jump.

The moon waned to a crescent; the wind died. Downstairs, the furious pounding stopped as the flames in the fireplace snapped off.

Both Sonya and Cleo slid to the floor, and with the shivering dog between them, clung together.

“We’re okay.” Sonya pushed the words out as her heart sprinted from her chest to her throat and back again. “You’re okay?”

Nodding, Cleo whooshed out a breath, then another.

Sonya kissed Yoda’s nose. “We’re all okay.”

“I’d say hanging that third portrait seriously pissed her off.”

“Looks like it. Did you see her? Dobbs? Standing on the seawall?”

“Yeah. Looking at the house. I don’t know if she looked at us, or it was a replay of what happened a couple hundred years ago.”

Exhausted, Sonya shifted to lean her back against the door.

“She lured Catherine Poole outside, took her wedding ring outside. I think when she pulls enough power together, she can use it out there. But it’s stronger in the house. She’s stronger in the house.”

“And you think she used some of that up tonight, to put on this show. I can see that,” Cleo decided. “She wanted you to see her, wanted you to be afraid.”

“She still jumped. At the end, she still jumped.”

“Didn’t she have to? You can’t take back death, Son. And it was her suicide, her death, her blood that sealed the curse.”

“You can’t take back death,” Sonya repeated, and the truth of that squeezed her heart like a vise. “I’m never going to be able to help the brides.”

“That’s not true. You can’t save their lives because their lives are already gone. But you help them just by being here to start. And we hung three portraits—that’s help. Hell, Sonya, you—both of us—have a really sweet relationship with your grandmother.”

Clover responded with “We Are Family.”

“She was here. She used John Fogerty to shout out a warning. And you came running.”

“I heard Yoda barking, then the booms downstairs and all the rest. She’s backed off now, you can feel it. The manor’s settled for the night. I can stay with you.”

“No, I’m fine. I really am. I won’t say I wasn’t scared, but you know what, Cleo? I was a lot more mad.”

“You think I don’t know that face?” Cleo tapped a finger to Sonya’s cheek. “You were way more mad. I really think she’s used herself up tonight, so we’ll get some sleep.” Cleo faked a yawn and grinned with it. “That’s a nice insult right there.”

In full agreement, Sonya gave Cleo another hug before they rose. “Thanks for the assist.”

“Anytime. See you in the morning.”

Yoda curled up in his bed, and Sonya did the same in hers.

Volume low, her phone played James Taylor’s quiet ballad “You’ve Got a Friend.”

“I know I do.”

And Sonya slipped into sleep before the song ended.

She woke early and energized—and determined to stick with routine. Since she’d skipped a workout for a few days, she decided to start with one.

A quick coffee first while she let Yoda out to start his day. She stepped out with him, breathed in as she looked out to the woods.

Maybe later, she considered, on a work break, she’d venture into the woods.

She gave Yoda his breakfast, added a quick pat.

“Gonna work out.”

And she considered it another insult to open the hidden door on the landing and go alone down to the gym Collin had set up in part of the old servants’ quarters.

She streamed a cardio session, then, thinking of the night before, chose another with weights.

Stronger’s better, she thought.

Twice she heard one of the servant bells ring, and ignored it. The Gold Room, she had no doubt.

She hoped Dobbs considered it another insult.

When she came up, she heard the bounce of the ball on the main floor, and smiled at the idea of her built-in dog sitter.

A young boy playing with a dog—another insult.

She showered, changed, then called down from the top of the stairs.

“I’m coming down for coffee and a bagel.”

When she walked down, Yoda sat waiting in the kitchen. And the cabinet doors were all neatly closed.

“Thanks, Jack.”

While she ate, she answered early texts from her mother, another from Trey, then scanned her emails.

Nothing yet from Gigi’s, but since it was still early, she didn’t worry.

“Let’s go to work, Yoda.”

With her water bottle in hand, and the dog at her heels, she headed up to the library. At eight-forty-five, she sat at her desk.

“We’re going to pick up where we left off on Ryder. One hour only.” To make sure of it, she set an alarm on her tablet before booting up the computer.

She opened the file, rolled her shoulders.

Pleased with her progress, Sonya got right to it.

She could see it, she could envision the entire campaign and the appeal to regular people with the images she’d designed.

People—not actors, not professional athletes—using Ryder equipment and gear to play ball, to bike, do yoga, shoot hoops, and all the rest.

Color and movement, children, young people, older people. Corrine’s photographs nailed exactly what she’d wanted. And her layout worked, her text worked. A little more polishing, she thought, but it was a damn good proposal.

When her alarm went off, she winced. But she stuck with the plan. Another hour here, another hour there, and she’d take it up, put it on the big screen upstairs.

Make any necessary adjustments, improvements.

But for now, she closed down the Ryder files.

To her delight, she found an email inquiry from the law firm Deuce had spoken of. Before answering, she checked out their website.

“Oh yeah, I can do better.”

She glanced up as she heard Cleo coming down the hall.

“Morning. Sleep okay after the performance?”

“Like a rock. Now must have coffee.” She turned toward the steps, then back again. “Forgot. Going into Poole’s Bay later. Groceries and some other errands. Anything you want?”

“Getting low on butter and Cokes. I guess beer, too, if we have beer-type company. But tonight, Trey’s taking both of us to dinner.”

“You know he doesn’t have to drag me along.”

“He wants to. I imagine he’ll drag Owen, too, if he can. Lobster Cage. He’ll pick us up about six-thirty.”

“Okay, I’m for it. If we have enough of the rest to last until tomorrow, I’ll put off the errands today. Now coffee.”

Routine, Sonya thought again. She liked it.

She crafted a response to the inquiry, suggested a phone or video consultation at the potential client’s convenience. In case Deuce hadn’t provided it, she added a link to her own website.

Which, if she said so herself—and she did—crushed it.

As she sent the first email, one came through from the owner of Gigi’s.

When she read that the client loved the new logo, Sonya pumped a fist in the air.

She nodded through the email. Some questions, some concerns, some wondering if. All valid.

She answered them all, offered some suggestions on the wondering, tried to alleviate the concerns, but offered options if those concerns remained.

Since one of the wonderings involved the possibility of a new sign with the new logo, Sonya got to work on it.

So deeply involved, she barely noticed when Yoda scooted out from under her desk. Then he leaned, wagging, against her leg.

“What? Oh, time to go out? Just one more minute. How did it get to be past noon?”

Because routine, she decided as she found the point to break. A good, solid routine.

Downstairs, she let the dog out, slapped together half a PB and J, added some chips, grabbed a Coke.

She gave Yoda a midday treat, but when he didn’t follow her back upstairs, she assumed his pal Jack lingered nearby.

Before she made it back to her desk, she heard the ball. And this time, to her absolute pleasure, the sound of a young boy’s laughter.

She worked until nearly four, then made herself close it out for the day.

She no longer heard the ball, and Yoda hadn’t curled under her desk or anywhere else in the library. She found him sleeping in the kitchen. He opened one eye, batted his tail on the floor.

“Did Jack wear you out? I want some air, and I bet you could use some, too.”

And the woods beckoned. She’d studied them drenched in snow, watched a deer come to their verge, wondered what it felt like, looked like, beyond that verge.

Now with spring almost ready to bloom, she’d find out.

Grabbing the old jacket she kept in the mudroom, she led Yoda out. He started to race around the yard, the circular pattern she often took, then stopped, head cocked, when she walked across the slope of lawn toward the sheltering trees.

“The city girl wants to explore a little,” she told him. “Trust me, we won’t go far.”

As she walked, she could still hear the steady beat of water on the rocks and see buds forming on trees, shrubs. Something green pushed up its stalks from the ground.

Not only had the air warmed, but so had the light. She wondered if she’d notice that change in the same way in Boston.

Probably not, not in this way.

At the edge of the woods, she glanced back toward the house, then tapped her pocket where she’d put her phone.

Just in case.

“This path right here, Yoda. And we stick to it.”

Under the trees, the air cooled and the light went soft. She smelled pine, and earth—such a different perfume from the scent of the sea. Yoda stuck to her side as they ventured along the narrow track.

She wondered how many others had walked here, and how long it had been since anyone wandered in the dappled sunlight. Now and then birds called, and a breeze, gentle as a stroking hand, stirred the trees.

Otherwise, she had silence where even the relentless beat of the sea on rocks came muffled and distant.

She noted downed branches, and wondered if they’d fallen during a winter storm, and if John Dee—who plowed the driveway, the road, stacked firewood by the shed—got any of those logs from these woods.

She’d have to ask.

Other tracks veered from the one she and Yoda walked. Considering them, she shook her head.

“Not today, but maybe later. Maybe.”

She heard a kind of bubbling, and to her surprise and absolute delight, spotted a narrow stream, running—sluggishly, she thought, but running—over rocks.

“Would you look at that! We have a stream. A creek? Whatever, we have one.”

A branch, thick and sturdy, had fallen over it, forming a kind of bridge. As if to prove its use, a fat squirrel dashed across it. Her quick laugh turned into a gasp as Yoda instantly gave chase.

“No! Yoda! Stop!”

But his stubby little legs had already carried him across where his joyful barks echoed back to her.

Panicked, she left the path for the banks of the stream. The branch might hold a squirrel and her little dog, but it wouldn’t take her weight. So she stood, shouting for Yoda as it struck her just how far they’d walked.

She could count the number of times she’d walked in the woods on one hand—and none like this.

Deep woods, she thought now as pleasure turned to anxiety. Deep, with all the wildlife that lived in the deep.

Now the humming silence felt ominous, and the soft, dappled light a threat toward dark.

With no choice, she started to ease her way down to the gurgling water to try to wade through. And Yoda came prancing back, scrambled across the branch, then wagged his way to her with a look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“You!” She scooped him up, tried for her sternest glare. “Don’t ever do that again. No running off in the woods.”

He body-wagged, licked her cheek, and didn’t look the least bit penitent.

Heading back, she carried him until she felt reasonably sure they were close enough to the edge of the woods to risk setting him down again.

“Pull that one again, and it’s the leash for you, puppy.”

Maybe she should buy a compass, she considered, then realized she’d probably find one somewhere in the house.

Of course, she didn’t actually know how to use a compass, but she could learn.

Maybe she felt a wave of relief when she saw the manor, heard the sea, stepped out into the stronger light. But it wouldn’t stop her from walking in the woods—sometime.

“They’re ours, right, Yoda? I can learn to use a compass. I can buy hiking boots. Because they’re ours.”

She pulled out her phone, checked the time.

“Let’s go find Cleo.”