The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

1995

I’m married. I’m a married woman, a woman married to the best man I’ve ever known. The only man I’ve ever truly loved.

From today, we’re Collin and Johanna Poole.

And why, in God’s name, did I wear these ridiculous shoes on the most important day of my life?

I laugh, pause on the stairs, pull them off. And let out a long, relieved sigh.

“Because they’re gorgeous, and I needed to be gorgeous today.”

I felt gorgeous when I saw the light and love in Collin’s eyes as I walked toward him.

A perfect day. Our perfect day.

I flex my aching toes, lay a hand on my belly.

All three of us.

I can’t wait to tell Corry, to share the news with my closest friend. I’m going to be a mom!

But today, I’m a bride, and that’s enough.

More than enough once I change my shoes!

At the top of the stairs, I turn a circle and think of all the plans Collin and I have for the manor. He’s updated some of it, a lot of it really, but we’ll do more.

And we’ll need a nursery. Absolutely not the one used by his ancestors. Too far away from our bedroom, and we want our baby close.

Plus, that room makes me sad, just so sad.

We’ll fill the house with happiness, and children, and art and music. Love, most of all love.

Collin’s been denied love for far too long.

To think his grandmother, his own and only grandparent, refused to come to the wedding. And his mother, so distant, so empty somehow, didn’t come.

Too damn weak to stand up to Patricia.

Thank God he’s had Deuce and Corry and Ace and Paula—and little Trey and Anna. All the Doyles, his real family. And now I’ll make a home, make a family for Collin, with Collin. And I’ll fill all the empty spaces he grew up with.

In the bedroom, I put my sparkling wedding shoes away, consider other choices.

“Well, the hell with shoes. Barefoot Bride suits me better anyway.”

Almost giddy, I roll down my stockings, discard them, then rush out to join the party.

A woman in black waits at the top of the stairs.

A strange dress for a wedding—almost like a bride herself, but one in mourning.

I feel the hair at the back of my neck stand up as she stares at me.

But I’m the hostess here now, so smile at her.

“Oh, hi. Are you looking for a powder room?”

“I look for you. The seventh bride.”

“Pretty sure I’m Collin’s first. Johanna Poole.” I extend my hand.

She doesn’t take it, but grips my left, and so hard! She yanks my ring from my finger.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Fury rises as I try to take back what’s mine. “Who are you?”

When she held up her hands, I saw seven rings gleaming on her fingers, and for a moment, a moment only, I thought of the curse. A strange story of witches and death and darkness I’d never believed.

But in that moment, I did believe.

My only thought now, in fear, is to get away, to find Collin.

She speaks.

“Who am I? I am, and always will be, mistress of the manor. I am your death.”

I turn to run, run down the stairs. Away.

Something grips my head, my neck. I feel a sharp shock of pain, then nothing. Nothing, as my body tumbles down and down the beautiful stairs.

Hester Dobbs looks down from the top of them, holds her hands up once more so the rings seem to fire on her fingers.

“Seven brides with seven rings, with blood and death their power sings. The rings on my hand make them mine, and I am mistress here for all time.”

She flicked a hand, and the entrance doors opened.

“Find her, grieve her. And I feast on your tears.”

Turning, she looked into Sonya’s eyes.

“I feel you, bitch whelp with Poole blood. You are far too late.”

As people rushed in, as the house filled with shouts, screams, she laughed.

“Ah, taste it. Like wine. Delicious.”

Like a shadow struck by sunlight, she vanished.

“Too late to save Johanna and the other six, but it can’t be too late to send Dobbs to hell. It can’t be.”

Because she trembled, Owen put an arm around her. “We can’t do anything here. We should go back.”

As they went back down, people moved through and around the mirror as if it didn’t exist. Before she stepped through again, she saw Collin holding Johanna’s body, weeping for her, saying her name as she’d seen the first Collin Poole hold and weep for Astrid.

It broke her heart.

When she stepped back into the now, Trey wrapped his arms around her.

“You’re cold.”

“A little. It was Johanna. The wedding. She came in to change her shoes. Her feet hurt. She was so happy.”

“Come, sit down.” He guided her into the parlor.

“I’ll make you tea.”

Sonya shook her head at Cleo. “Just water. Just some water. I always feel so off after. Owen?”

“Water’s fine. I couldn’t do anything. Not a fucking thing. I thought I’d get to Dobbs first, but I couldn’t. It’s like watching a play, but you’re trapped in your seat.”

He sat, scrubbed his hands over his face. Then was up like a shot when Cleo screamed. Screamed again with the sound of glass shattering on the floor.

She stood, frozen, her hands over her mouth as if to hold back another scream. And stared up at the man hanging from a rope near the base of the stairs in the grand foyer.

“Watch the glass.” Owen avoided most of it as he picked her up.

“Tell me you see that. You see that.”

“It’s Collin Poole.” Sonya fought to breathe as she looked up. “Astrid’s Collin.”

As the rope creaked, Astrid lay below him, her wedding dress soaked with blood.

And seconds later, Johanna lay bloody and broken beside her.

They all came, all the dead of the manor, in their moment of pain and fear and despair.

While the house filled with their cries, their sobs, their pleas, as despair clogged the air, laughter—wild, free, mad—rolled over them like thunder.