The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Through the night, while others walked, wept, plotted, or grieved, they slept undisturbed.

The gray haze of dawn held back the light, shrouding the day to come, and all its demands. In the hearth, the fire simmered low, adding warmth, bringing a hint of gilded light as Sonya woke. Content, she curled a little closer to hold on to the quiet, and him.

Bodies fit, curve to angle, angle to curve.

In that gray haze, his lips found hers. Soft, slow, sleepy. And on a sigh, she answered in kind. They embraced the warmth and each other in the old bed while the sea drummed its steady beat, while the last of the stars winked out.

As his hands moved over her, slow and sure, contentment became a yearning.

With tender touches, with gentle tastes, in the stillness of that softening edge between dark and light, yearning spilled into need.

His heartbeat quickened against hers, hers against his. Answering that pulse, she moved over him, rose up. Silhouetted in the firelight, she took him in, took him, on a sigh, deep.

And she joined them together in a rhythm as sweet and dreamy as the dance they’d shared hours before.

For this dance, they glided up together, rose and fell together, rose and fell with her surrounding, him filling. As she moved, his hands slid up her sides, down again, matching her lazy morning pace.

When she sighed again, it sounded to him like music.

In those moments, their needs, like the sea’s drumming, found a rhythm more steady than urgent. Pleasure, and the desire to hold on to that pleasure, beat by beat, drew those moments out, and out.

Moments where, in the soft, silky light, their eyes met, their eyes held. When release came at the top of that glide, it swept through them in a long, slow, rising wave.

One they floated on when she lowered to him with her head cupped in the curve of his shoulder.

“I wish it were Sunday,” she murmured.

“Why Sunday?”

“Then we could stay just like this for another hour. I love my work. I love having work that needs to be done. But right now, I wish it were Sunday.”

“Why don’t we make a date for Sunday morning—right back here?”

She crossed her arms over his chest, lifted her head to look down at him. More light trickled in the windows, the terrace doors, as day passed the edge of dawn to start its blooming.

“I’d like that. I like waking up with you when everyone else, ghosts included, are sleeping.”

He brushed at her hair. “You think ghosts sleep?”

“I hope they do, or can. I hope they can dream. Well, I hope a certain one has regular nightmares, but the rest? I hope they can dream.”

Turning her head, she looked through the glass doors at the bright blooming of day. “Waking up to that every morning? It’s nothing I ever imagined for myself. Now it’s hard to imagine anything else.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d stay. Even though I could see you’d fallen for the manor, staying here? Big step, big change. I gave it about fifty-fifty.”

“Probably better odds than I gave myself. It’s strange, but I think your father knocking on my door that day came at exactly the right time. And then… the sketches my father had done of the manor made it impossible for me to not at least try.”

With some reluctance, she rolled away and got up. “Then I saw this house.” As she pulled out workout gear, she shook her head.

“Sunk. And of course the very sexy, incredibly patient lawyer son of the lawyer, who gave me my first tour of Lost Bride Manor.”

She turned to him as she dressed. “I’ll add unflappable , because you were, and nearly always are. You and your family made this tremendous change in my life easy. I didn’t imagine the easy either.”

“You took care of a lot of that yourself. And you don’t flap easily. Since you’re putting on the sexy fitness gear, I’m guessing you’re going to work out.”

“Coffee first, but it’s a hit-the-gym day for me. You’re welcome to join.”

“I need to head straight into the office from here. Shower and change there. But I’ll take the coffee.”

Understanding, she nodded. “I know Marlo’s situation preys on your mind. I wish I could help with more than flyers for a yard sale.”

“You did. You pushed me to air it out. One of my least favorite things, so it takes a push.”

“It does? Check out my surprised face!”

He did, and laughed. “Yeah, and you figured out just how to push.”

“You’re involved with a woman who insists on equal ground. I dump on you, you dump on me. Get used to it.”

“May take a little while,” he said as they started downstairs with the dogs, then the cat.

“Does the cat just not wake up Cleo?”

“Pye’s smart enough to know how things work around here. I’m going to work on those flyers once I’m at my desk. Cleo will give her input when she’s up and has had coffee.”

“Thanks for that. I mean it.”

“ It takes a village isn’t just a saying. Cleo and I are part of the Poole’s Bay village. Mookie can eat with Yoda and Pye when they come back in. It’ll save you time.”

“He appreciates it.” Trey let all three out on a sparkling after-the-rain spring morning. “I’m putting the manor on our subscription list.”

“For what? Vogue , GQ ? Porn?”

“You don’t have to subscribe to porn as long as there’s the internet. Not that I know anything about that.”

“Of course not. And this is my I-believe-that face.”

He studied it. “You need more work on that one. Anyway. Subscription for pet food and treats. Mookie eats here often enough—Jones, too, for that matter—so he’s paying for it.”

“Out of his legal consultant paycheck.”

“Naturally. It’s good stuff, and they’ll ship it out.” He took the coffee she handed him. “Thanks.”

“I’ll grab something after the gym, but you should have a bagel, or risk your life with a Toaster Strudel. Have some cereal.”

“I’ll get something when the dogs come back in.”

She walked to the window to look out. “Look, Trey, a deer. I see her now and again.”

He glanced out, saw that the dogs hadn’t noticed the visitor yet.

“I showed you the stuff you mix up for the sprayer in the shed. The deer repellant. You’ll want to start using that.”

“Oh, but…”

“Unless you want to have a garden for the deer to eat. That doe has friends and family.”

“I don’t.” And yet. “You’re sure it doesn’t hurt them?”

Finding her worry for wildlife endearing, he tugged on her hair. “Repellant, cutie, not poison.”

“All right. Owen says no bird feeders out there because the bears would come calling.”

“He’s right.”

“We’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Lucky you’re both quick at that.”

He filled the pet bowls while she finished her coffee.

“Go on, get your workout started,” he told her. “I’ll let them in and grab that bagel. I’d rather avoid possible mutilation over a pastry.”

“Cleo might give you a pass. Once.” She put her arms around him. “Since Owen’s coming to dinner, you’ll come, too?”

“I’m planning on it.”

“And you’ll let me know how things go.”

He tipped her head back, kissed her. “I’ll let you know how things go.”

When she came back just under an hour later, she found Yoda sulking outside the servants’ passage.

“Oh now, he’ll be back. I guess I could’ve told Trey to let Mookie stay, but I didn’t think of it. You’ve got me,” she reminded him as she walked down to her bedroom. “And Pye, and Cleo. And I bet Jack’ll show up to play later.”

In the bedroom, she pulled out work-at-home clothes. “I’m going to shower and change, then you can hang with me while I work.”

But when she’d showered and changed, he wasn’t sitting on his bed waiting for her. As she started down the hall, she heard the sound of the ball bouncing on the main floor.

“Looks like Jack came to play already.”

Since the boy remained skittish, she started to announce herself as she approached the stairs.

Then she saw it.

The mirror stood beside her desk. The predators framing it snapped, snarled, slithered. Its glass gleamed and showed her reflection.

A woman frozen in place, her hair loose, the tie to draw it back still around her wrist. Her face seemed pale, her eyes too big.

Then the reflection blurred so she saw only colors, vague shapes.

The pulse at her throat began to hammer.

She heard the ball bounce, the dog give chase. She heard the laughter of a young boy who’d died long before.

“I’m awake.” The sound of her own voice made her jolt. “I’m not dreaming, not sleepwalking. I’m awake.”

But as the gooseflesh ran over her arms, she started to back away. To call to Cleo.

Even as she stepped back, the glass of the mirror swirled. Those colors, those shapes shimmered behind it. She heard something—voices, music? But distant, like sounds echoing down a tunnel.

And she felt the pull.

Awake, aware, she walked to it. Though her hand trembled, she lifted it to the glass, watched it pass through as if through water.

She drew it back.

The tablet on her desk played Pink’s “Just Give Me a Reason.”

“I guess I have seven reasons,” she said, and walked through the mirror.

Into the library.

Not quite the same, she realized. A fire simmered, and a different sofa faced it. Flowers flowed over the mantel, graced the table. Lamps spread light as the windows showed the dark.

She’d walked from day to night.

Why here? she wondered. And when?

Why here, she thought again, when she heard music from…

She closed her eyes. “The third floor,” she murmured. “The ballroom?”

But she felt no need to go there, and every need to stay where she was.

“What’s here?” The sound of her own voice brought a chill to her arms.

Could the rings be here? she wondered. In the library where she worked every day? But in a different time.

She started to turn, to begin a search.

Then she heard footsteps, the distinctive click of high heels on wood.

A woman stopped in the doorway, elegant in her long midnight-blue evening gown. It flowed down her tall, slim body, with a neckline that accented a teardrop sapphire pendant framed in diamonds.

She’d dressed her sandy brown hair up in a sleek and severe French twist that left a face with knife-edged cheekbones unframed. Not a single curl or wave escaped the sparkling comb that held it in place.

Matching sapphire-and-diamond earrings dripped from her ears.

The face was striking, creamy skin, faintly flushed along those prominent cheekbones with the drama of lips painted a bold red. Her eyes, wide-set, a cool pale blue under thin, sharply angled brows, scanned the room.

But passed over Sonya without a blink.

Sonya knew the face. She’d seen pictures.

She’d seen the photo of this woman in this dress. One taken, Sonya understood, on this same night. Decades before.

Patricia Youngsboro walked into the library with the air of a woman who owned it, and everything else she wanted.

As Patricia glided through the room, fingers trailing over furniture, books, flower petals, Sonya heard the music more clearly.

A woman’s throaty voice sang. Long ago and far away, I dreamed a dream one day . The diamond on Patricia’s left hand flashed light as she turned it to admire.

She gave it a satisfied smile. “And now, within the year,” she murmured, “Mrs. Michael Poole of the Poole’s Bay Pooles. Of Poole Ships. Mrs. Patricia Youngsboro Poole, mistress of Poole Manor.”

She crossed her arms in a delighted self-hug. “And all this, when I take the Poole name, is mine. And well-earned.”

She seemed amused as she took a compact out of her evening bag, and in its mirror carefully powdered her nose.

“There, perfect. As Mrs. Patricia Youngsboro Poole of Poole’s Bay, of Poole Manor, must and will be, at all times. In all ways.”

As Patricia turned, as Sonya watched, as the orchestra in the ballroom segued into “That Old Black Magic,” Hester Dobbs stood on the steps leading to the library’s second floor.

Still holding the compact, Patricia jolted, then eyed Dobbs with unfiltered distaste.

“I believe I know all the invited guests, but perhaps we haven’t yet met. Who are you?”

“I am the mistress of the manor. As you will never be.”

Distaste snapped into anger and flooded color into her face. “What nonsense is this! You will leave this house at once, or I will have my fiancé remove you.”

“Ignorant woman. I have ruled in this house more than a hundred and thirty years.” Dobbs came down another step. Her hair, her long black dress flowed as if caught in the wind. “You will have hours only.”

She lifted her hands. Four rings gleamed on her left hand, one on her right.

“Hours to bask in your bride-white gown, to dance and drink champagne. That I’ll give you, for the end is sweeter with it. Then like these five brides before you who sought to replace me here, you’ll die a painful death in my house.”

Eyes dark, gleaming dark, Dobbs came down another step.

“And the ring, so new and shining on your finger, will shine on mine.”

“Get out!” Though she’d gone pale, red flags of temper flew on Patricia’s cheeks. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner? I’ll have you thrown out. Have you arrested.”

As she turned to stride out, Dobbs sliced a hand through the stirring air. Crying out in shock, Patricia stumbled to the floor. The compact she still held fell with her, and skidded away across the floor.

The glass in its mirror shattered.

“I give you this warning, as I gave none before you, because like me, you seek power for the sake of power. This I respect.”

Dobbs stood over Patricia now as the woman cowered, her face as white as another ghost.

“Come to the manor as a bride, die as a bride. Perhaps I will not revel in your pain as I did the others, but I will not regret giving you death.”

Dobbs smiled, tossed back her hair as it blew in the rising wind. “Come to the manor as a bride,” she repeated, “live in the manor as a wife, and know your death follows. Your pain, your blood, your tears will only feed my power.”

“Stay away from me! Stay away! You’re mad.”

“So they say.” Laughing, Dobbs lifted her arms.

Outside, thunder boomed. In the library, an ice-edged wind whirled so the flowers on the mantel, on the tables withered and died.

Books and blackened blossoms tumbled to the floor.

“So they say,” she said again, with a kind of glee. “But I am mistress here, and if you enter my house as a bride, I will make your wedding gown your shroud.”

Dobbs looked down at her, almost kindly. “He’s weak, Michael Poole, and will never be faithful. He’ll choose another, and one I’m sure to enjoy damning to death more than I would you. Go now. Make your choice.”

She laughed again as Patricia pushed herself up and ran from the room.

Much as Patricia had, Dobbs wandered the room, touching, indulging.

She stopped less than two feet from where Sonya stood, turned slowly. Stared.

“Something there, something there.” She muttered it as her dark eyes narrowed, as confusion clouded them. “A Poole. Yes, a Poole. One of the five, are you? Dead, all dead by my hand, by my power. You think to haunt me? I am mistress here!”

She stepped closer, and it seemed to Sonya looked directly into her eyes.

“Your blood, Poole bitch, on my hands. Your ring on my finger, dead whore. And your tears forever on my tongue. As will be the next and the next, generation by generation. I am mistress here and ever shall be. And damned to you.”

When she vanished, Sonya let out the breath she’d held. She could still hear the music. She could see the glittering shards of glass from the broken compact.

Following impulse, she crossed to it. Could she touch it? she wondered. She was as much a ghost here as Dobbs had been. But…

She reached down, felt the shock go through her when her hands closed around the lid. Her heart skipped as she picked it up, then the puffs: one, she noted for powder, one for blush—no, rouge, she corrected.

Both had fallen out.

Carefully, she replaced them, closed their twin lids, then the cover on the oblong of gold.

Holding it, she walked to the mirror. And through.

She lowered into her desk chair. The ball bounced along the hall downstairs as she stared at the compact in her hand. Clover greeted her with Katy Perry’s “Roar.”

She’d brought it back, she thought, dazed. She’d brought this object back through the mirror with her.

Maybe she wasn’t up to roaring because everything felt so shaky, but she’d brought it back with her.

As Cleo came down the hall, the ball stopped bouncing.

Cleo lifted a hand in her usual half wave, then stopped.

“Jesus, Sonya, you’re dead white. What happened? What—”

She broke off as she rushed in, and Sonya held up the compact.

“It’s beautiful. Art Deco. Where did you find it?” As she asked, Cleo opened it. “Oh, the mirror’s broken. That’s a shame.”

“It broke when she dropped it.”

Cleo put a hand on Sonya’s shoulder. “Who dropped it?”

“Patricia Poole. Well, not Poole yet. I think it was her engagement party. No, I know it was. The dress, like in the photo Deuce had. The same dress and hairstyle.”

“Did you dream that? Did you go through the mirror again last night?”

“No. Just now, here. In the library. I need to—”

Shifting in her chair, Sonya lowered her head between her knees.

“Are you going to be sick?” Instinctively, Cleo pulled back Sonya’s hair.

“No, no, just… a little lightheaded. A little shaky.”

“Just breathe, baby.” Gently, Cleo rubbed Sonya’s back. “I’ll get you some water.”

“No, I… I think I need air more. I’ll go outside, get some air.”

“You wait. I need shoes and a sweater. You stay right there for a minute.”

Sonya didn’t argue, but did sit up again as Cleo dashed to her room. She raced back wearing sneakers and dragging on a cardigan.

“We’ll go slow.”

“It’s already better. I just want some air.” But she picked up the compact to take with her. “I came up to shower and change after a workout. We were up pretty early. God, you haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cleo kept an arm around her as they walked down the stairs.

“Yoda, Jack.” As Sonya said his name, the dog raced back down the hall. The cat came with him. “I guess Pye, too. I was going to call out that I was coming down, then I saw it.”

When Cleo opened the front door, the cat and dog ran out ahead of them.

“God, that feels good.” Sonya took two deep gulps of fresh air. “Better, really better. I saw it, the mirror, in the library.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was going to,” Sonya said as they walked. “But then… I needed to go through. It was as if I had to go through right then. And when I did, I was in the library. But before. Different sofa, different lamps, flowers. Music and voices from upstairs. The ballroom. And it was night. Fire going, the lamps lit.

“And she walked in. Patricia came in.”

Sonya told her, from start to finish, pulling out the details. Ones she’d never forget.

“They didn’t see me, Cleo, neither of them. Patricia went from arrogant, superior, furious to terrified in a matter of minutes.”

“Being knocked down by a ghost who threatens to murder you will do that. Dobbs warned her, warned her off because she actually liked her.”

“I don’t know if she’s capable of liking anyone, but she understood and respected the thirst for power. And figured Michael Poole would pick someone else, more to her taste, I guess it is.”

“But Patricia married Michael anyway. Just didn’t come back to the manor.”

“Terrified,” Sonya concluded, “but calculating. And Dobbs had to wait a full generation more.”

“For Clover.”

“Yeah, God. Dobbs didn’t see me, Cleo, but when Patricia ran out, when she wasn’t there for Dobbs to focus on, she felt me. It confused her, pissed her off, I could see both all over her. She thought I was one of the five brides she’d killed at that point. And when she vanished, I walked over to this.”

Sonya pulled the compact out of her pocket. The gold gleamed as if freshly polished in the sunlight.

“I didn’t see how I could actually pick it up, but, like with the mirror, I felt I had to. And I did. Picked it up, picked up the puffs, closed it up.”

She stopped, turned to Cleo with the compact in her hands. “I brought it back through. From then to now. She dropped this eighty years ago, but I’m holding it.”

“In your father’s sketches, he had ones of him and Collin, as boys, exchanging toy cars. But that’s not the same. They were in different places, but the same time. You were in the same place, but different times.”

“If I could bring this back, doesn’t it mean I could bring something else back?”

“Like the rings.”

“Yes, yes! Like the rings. Somehow get them from her, or get there before she takes them. I don’t know. But I think I felt compelled to try to pick this up off the floor because I needed to see I could. I had to go through at that time so I could see what happened.”

“We know why Patricia closed the manor, refused to go back into it.”

“The thing is, Dobbs didn’t see me. She did before, even spoke to me when Marianne died. Knocked me on my ass when I tried to get to Lisbeth in the ballroom.”

“More than that. Yeah, you were awake when you went through with Owen, but you hadn’t been. And every other time, you haven’t been aware.”

Puzzling it out brought a light throb to her temple. Rubbing at it, Sonya puzzled more. “So maybe deliberate—awake, aware the whole time. I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about. But I have this.”

She looked down at the compact, ran her hand over the raised design in the gold. “And we know Dobbs scared off Patricia from moving into the manor. From having her wedding reception here, from being mistress of the manor.”

She turned the compact so the sunlight caught the gold and the raised Art Deco design on the top. “It is beautiful. I’m taking it with me when I go to see Gretta Poole. I’m going to call the memory center and make arrangements.”

“I’m going with you. I’m not taking no this time,” Cleo insisted. “I really don’t think you should make the trip alone. Look, I doubt they’ll give you much time with her. If it’s an hour, I’ll be surprised. Yoda and Pye will be fine while we’re gone.”

“Okay, all right, I just hate taking you away from your work when you’re close to finishing.”

“I’m going to be done in a day or two, ahead of deadline, so taking a morning or afternoon off is fine. And I hope it’s afternoon.”

“I’ll go up and call now. And you need your coffee.”

“All this gave me a wake-up jolt that beats the hell out of coffee. But I still want it. Oh! Look!”

Cleo pointed out to sea where a whale sounded.

“That’s never going to be a So what for me. And I’m taking it as a sign,” Sonya decided. “A good omen.”

“Now you sound like me.”

After its strange start, the rest of the day ran smooth. So smoothly, Sonya worked past her usual hour, and only surfaced when Yoda raced downstairs barking his greeting.

“I was going to change.” But the clock told her she’d missed that opportunity. “Oh well.”

She saved her work, shut down.

Clover played “It’s Raining Men,” and made her laugh.

“Fun, but it should be only two of them.”

As she went down, it occurred to her she hadn’t heard anyone come in. Since Yoda didn’t sit, wagging, by the front door, she assumed Trey or Owen or both of them went around back for the dogs.

She found Cleo in the kitchen. “You’re already cooking. I got caught up.”

“Under control. Main’s in the oven, and I’m going to mash these potatoes, do some peas—but not the mushy kind. I let Yoda and Pye out because I saw Mookie there. Trey didn’t come in?”

“Not yet.” Curious, she walked to the door herself. When she opened it, she squealed and ran out.

“What? What is it?” Cleo followed after her.

“Yoda’s house!”

She watched Trey and Owen, and the ever-obliging John Dee, muscle it around the corner.

“Side of the shed,” Owen ordered.

“Oh, but—”

He ignored Sonya. “Side of the shed. It’s got electric and the concrete pad extends under the overhang.”

Too charmed to argue, she followed them.

It looked exactly the way she’d drawn and designed, with its mansard roof, the turret, and arched windows. He’d arched the doorway, too, and above it he’d put a sign bearing Yoda’s name.

“It’s really big,” Cleo said.

“So he can have guests over. Oh, it’s just stately! I love how it reflects the manor. It’s got a little chimney!”

When they set it down, with a trio of grunts, Yoda went straight in.

“He likes it. He already likes it.”

“He’s got himself some cool digs.” John Dee scratched his beard under his grin.

Owen got down on the ground, reached between the back of the house and the shed.

“I have to see.” And Sonya crawled in after her dog. “Oh, oh, oh!”

The tray ceiling, the fancy tile floors, a regal little bed with—as she reached over and tested—a trundle for overnight guests. The little electric fireplace and a toy box, already filled.

“Hit the switch on the fireplace,” Owen called out. “On the right.”

When she did, low, simulated flames came on.

“It works! It’s wonderful.”

“Floor heat’s set on low. Leave it alone.”

Yoda snagged an orange bone out of the toy box, and wagged.

“He loves it, Owen. I love it.” She backed her way out. Before she could stand, Mookie and Jones went in.

“They all fit! It’s perfect. You’re a genius.”

“You designed it.” He nodded at his work. “Fair trade.”

“I’m going to agree,” Trey said, “since I’ve seen the oiled and polished-up desk in his workshop. It’s a beauty. Thanks, John Dee, for the hand. This thing’s a monster.”

“No problem. That’s a hell of a doghouse.”

“Stay for dinner.” Cleo bent to look through the arched window. “We’ve got plenty.”

“Ah now, that’s real nice, but Kevin’s already got that going. I’d better get on.”

“Wait just a minute.” Sonya ran into the house, then back with a bottle of wine. “For your dinner. You and Kevin.”

“Ah now, you don’t have to do that. But I’ll take it.”

When he left, Owen got down, switched off the fireplace.

“It’s a nice night. They don’t need it. What’s for dinner?”

“Crap! I need to finish.” Turning on her heel, Cleo headed inside.

“Thank you.” Sonya kissed Owen, then turned to Trey. “And thank you to the assistant builder.” And kissed him before she laughed.

The cat perched on the roof of Yoda’s house.

“Another seal of approval. Let’s go in. I’ve got another tale to tell, and I’m ready for wine.”

“Trey filled me in on the last one. What’s she cooking?”

“I don’t know. Something that goes with mashed potatoes and peas.”

As they trooped into the kitchen, Owen sniffed the air. Then he moved around Cleo while she riced boiled potatoes, and opened the oven.

“You made meatloaf.”

“I decided to try my hand at it.”

Before she could reach for another potato, he swung her around, dipped her low, and kissed her.

Then swung her back up, fluidly. “Meatloaf does that to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She went back to her potatoes, but smiled.

“And I say Cleo’s meatloaf calls for red wine,” Sonya announced.

“I’ll get it.” Trey went to the butler’s pantry for a bottle. “Let’s hear the tale.”

Sonya got out plates. “You could say the mirror came to me again. Only this morning, when I was wide awake. And in the library.”

She put the plates on the table, went back for flatware.

“Your instinct’s going to be to get upset.” She glanced over as he uncorked the wine. “Try to hold back on that until I finish.”

He poured wine, handed her a glass. “You can’t finish unless you start. Let’s hear it.”