The Glass Magician

Ceony jumped up from her chair and linked arms with Delilah, pulling her toward the ladies’ room.

This is my fight now, she thought, hurrying from the lobby, my chance of atonement. It’s time to end this, once and for all.





CHAPTER 9



THE WOMEN’S LAVATORY, WHICH was composed of two rooms, looked just as elegant as the lobby. The entry opened onto a small sitting area illuminated by a frosted window dressed in maroon drapes, as well as a small white-crystal chandelier buzzing with electric lights. Wallpaper adorned with yellow cowslips covered the walls, trimmed at ceiling and floor by a narrow maroon border. A glass makeup stand rested in the corner with a rosewood bench and small, round mirror, and a narrow dresser sat against the west wall between two cushioned chairs. Above the dresser hung a large, rectangular mirror in a gold frame. Exotic ferns decorated the other corners of the room. The next room held a few modest stalls.

Ceony approached the larger mirror, checking its surface for any flaws, though she felt sure she was looking for all the wrong things. Delilah chewed on her thumbnail, looking even more distraught than she had in the lobby.

Ceony turned to her. “Will it work?”

Delilah approached the mirror and gave it a quick perusal. “Well, it should, but . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence, only reached out and tapped her nails against the glass, first in the center, then on the edges.

“Please, Delilah,” Ceony begged. “Can you find the mirror in the lobby of my complex?”

Delilah nodded. “I might as well act like a real magician, too,” she said. She pressed her hands to the glass and closed her eyes. “Search,” she said, and the mirror fogged beneath her touch. The image began to flash from image to image. Ceony could only suppose they were reflections of other mirrors in the city; she saw a white dust cloth, a cluttered attic, two little girls sitting in a pink-painted room having a tea party. She saw the startled face of a man, a woman desperately trying to zip up the back of her dress, and then the staircase in the lobby of her block of flats.

“There, there!” Ceony cried, and Delilah ripped her hands from the mirror, taking a step back to see for herself.

Ceony recognized the walnut-glazed staircase, the short table holding both a telephone and a telegraph, the slip of hallway on the edge of the picture that led back into the landlord’s rooms. The mirror hung on the wall near the receiving desk. If Ceony could stick her head through it and look to the left, she’d see the front doors of the building.

“Can they see us?” Ceony asked.

“Anyone who walks by will,” Delilah said. She heaved a deep breath and said, “Well, come on. Let’s hurry before we’re caught.”

Delilah pulled over one of the cushioned chairs and stood on it, then traced the tip of her right index finger just inside the mirror’s gilded frame clockwise, counterclockwise, then clockwise again. She said, “Transport, pass through.”

The image of the lobby shivered and faded, and the glass of the lavatory mirror started to ripple.

“I hope the mirror on the other side is big enough,” Delilah said.

“It is,” Ceony promised.

Delilah grabbed her hand, sucked in another breath, and held it. She stepped up on the dresser—pulling Ceony onto the chair, their hands still linked together—and slowly slipped through the silvery glass.

Ceony squeezed her friend’s hand tighter and gasped at the coldness of the glass as her hand, arm, and shoulder squeezed through it. She closed her eyes as the rest of her body slipped onto the other side. It felt wet, yet the wetness didn’t stick. The lighting around her changed to a more orange tone, and she tripped as she tumbled down from the frame of the lobby’s mirror. Delilah steadied her.

Ceony opened her eyes and parted her lips in wonder. She really was standing in the lobby of her block of flats!

Whirling back to face the mirror, Ceony saw it ripple for only half a second before the glass returned to normal, reflecting her image and Delilah’s, not the Parliament lavatory.

Ceony cried out and flung her arms around Delilah.

“Amazing!” she said, stepping back just as quickly. “I can’t believe you can do that! How remarkable to be a Gaffer, Delilah!”

Delilah smiled. “Not a Gaffer yet, technically.”

Ceony grabbed Delilah’s hand and pulled her past the stairs to the lift, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of a man who had obviously witnessed them pop out of the mirror as easily as if it had been a door. She drew the lift doors shut, but as it slowly climbed to the twelfth floor, her excitement about mirror-to-mirror transport gradually slipped away, replaced by a stirring anxiety.

Grath.