Indexing: Reflections (Kindle Serials) (Indexing Series Book 2) (29 page)

My hair was too long. I didn’t feel comfortable cutting it, not when it was growing out of someone else’s head, and so I grabbed a scrunchie from the bin by the door and moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror, tying it back. Then I jumped.

I wasn’t alone in the locker room.

The woman standing behind my reflection was skinny and disheveled, dressed in a paisley-print sundress that looked like it had come straight out of the late seventies. Her hair was dirty blonde and stick-straight, hanging to almost cover her face.

I spun around. There was no one there. I was alone. But when I looked back to the mirror, the woman was closer, standing so near to me that I should have been able to reach out and touch her.

“Uh,” I said. “Hello?”

The woman responded by lifting her head and pushing her hair aside, revealing her eyes. They were light brown, the color of dust on glass, and utterly lovely, if I ignored the rings of blood around them. Streaks of it ran down her cheeks, like she had been crying the stuff. It was utterly chilling. I didn’t dare allow myself to look away.

“You’re in the mirror,” I said.

The woman nodded.

“You’re not a Snow White.”

She shook her head. Then she pointed to me and nodded.

“That’s right,” I said. “I’m a Snow White. I had to pass through a mirror to get here. Is that why I can see you now? I’ve never seen you before.”

She nodded again.

“Have you always been here?”

She paused before making a “sort of” gesture with her right hand, wobbling it from side to side like a small child trying to get a point across.

Right. “Does the deputy director know about you?”

A single bloody tear rolled down her cheek as she nodded, mouthing the word ‘yes’ this time, just in case I missed the point. I found myself wishing for Judi. Maybe she could have found a less binary way of communicating with this strange mirror-girl, one that didn’t make her cry. I couldn’t even turn to face her, or she would disappear.

“I’m Henry Marchen,” I said, and the mirror-girl nodded again, agreeing that this was true. That was . . . something of a relief, actually, even if it wasn’t much of a surprise. This woman lived
inside
the mirror. If anyone would be able to see the reality in my reflection, it was her.

Wait. That meant . . . I took a deep breath, and said, “This isn’t my usual body. I’m supposed to be taller, and thinner, and a little older. Have you seen my body recently?”

She nodded.

Now for the ten thousand dollar question: “Was someone else wearing it?”

She nodded again.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. It had been long enough that Adrianna was up and out of the hospital. I had no way of knowing how much damage she’d done, and I still needed to convince Deputy Director Brewer that I was the real deal. “Thanks for letting me know. She’s dangerous, that lady. It’s probably best if you don’t show yourself to her, if you have a choice in the matter.”

The woman nodded.

“Look, I need to get going. I need to help my friends. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?”

The woman hesitated. Then she reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew a folded piece of paper. It was marked with bloody fingerprints. I guess that was unavoidable. She unfolded it and held it up for me to see.

Her handwriting was large and unsteady, more the handwriting of a child than an adult—but then I realized I could
read
it. It was mirror writing, designed to be read in a reflection. No wonder it looked so childish. She’d been drawing the letters, not printing them.

TELL DAN MARY SAYS HI, said the note.

“Deputy Director Brewer?” I asked.

She nodded, lowering the piece of paper.

“All right,” I said, and turned, and she was gone.

Dressed once more in black and white, with shoes that fit and a bra that kept my breasts from being quite so much of a distraction every time I moved, I started toward the door. It was time to save my team and get my life back, hopefully in that order.

Piotr turned his head when I stepped out into the hall, giving me an appraising up-and-down look before he said, “You look more like Marchen now. I guess the clothes really do make the woman.”

“I hope that next time, the wolf eats you,” I said, earning a snort of laughter from Agent Névé. Piotr shot a glare at the taller man, who shrugged. Funny was funny, even when it was coming from the mouth of the woman who might or might not be who she said she was. I sighed. “Look, fun as it is to stand out here and banter with the two of you—or the one of you, since tall, dark, and quiet doesn’t know me well enough to engage—I need to get back into the field, which means I need to convince the deputy director I’m the real deal. Can we get moving?”

“If you were really Henrietta Marchen, you’d know he hates it when people treat stories as interchangeable just because they have the same tale type,” said Piotr. “Not all Snow White archetypes are created equal.”

“True,” I said. “For example, this one is running out of patience. Please. Take me to the man who can actually help me. You can snark at me later. You and Sloane can tag-team me for all that I care. I need to get to my people.”

Piotr’s usual expression of vague superiority wavered, replaced by uncertainty. “I’m not saying I believe you just yet. But I might be starting to.”

“Good enough for me.” If I could convince Piotr, who lived his life by the book, that I was who I said I was, I could convince anybody.

We walked down the hall toward the deputy director’s office. Heads poked out of doors as we passed. News travels fast in an office like ours, and everyone wants to see the latest twist in the tale. A stranger with Snow White coloration showing up and claiming to be an established agent was definitely new. I tried not to glare at them. It wasn’t their fault they were hungry for novelty.

Deputy Director Brewer’s door was open. Piotr leaned past me to knock on the doorframe. “Sir, she’s here.”

The deputy director looked up. Like Piotr, he looked me up and down before he spoke. “Agent Remus, Agent Névé, thank you both. You are excused. Miss, please come in.”

“I have a name, you know,” I said, pulling the door shut behind me as I stepped into the office. The doorknob felt too high in relation to my hand, when really, it was exactly where it needed to be for someone of my new height. The world was out of kilter, and I didn’t like it.

Deputy Director Brewer looked at me calmly. “Not until you’ve proven that you deserve it. Unless you have something else you’d like to be called?”

I knew him. He already had people calling the local hospitals and checking for missing coma patients who fit my description. Either he hadn’t called the right one or they hadn’t noticed my absence yet. It didn’t matter. Eventually, he’d find someone who knew this body’s name, a family member or friend, and they would have questions I couldn’t answer.

“I don’t know this body’s name, and even if I did, it would be describing the flesh, not the person inside it,” I said. “My name is Henrietta. Most people call me Henry. I need help. I need to find my team.”

“I’ve been working with the Bureau for a long time, miss. I’ve seen a lot of things that people might consider unlikely, even impossible. Lots of white-skinned girls with red lips and wild stories have passed through those doors. But I have to say, this is a first for me.” He still looked so
calm
. I hated him for that, even as I admired his restraint. “Assuming for a moment that I was willing to believe you might be Henrietta Marchen, and that I was willing to take my belief a step further, and say that someone else was currently occupying your original body . . . how? This strains credulity, even for me.”

“Mirrors,” I said. He seemed to flinch. I narrowed my eyes. Interesting.

When he didn’t say anything, I continued.

“The Snow White story involves a lot of glass, and a lot of reflective surfaces. When a seven-oh-nine goes into her coma, she winds up inside the mirrors.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough to cover the basics, and I didn’t want to tell him about the whiteout wood. The Snow Whites who lived there had kept their slice of the monomyth secret for centuries. I was a loyal agent of the ATI Management Bureau. I was also a Snow White, and I owed it to my involuntary sisters to protect what little peace they had left. “It turns out some of those past stories are still active. When I lost consciousness, I was ambushed by a Snow White who’d been looking for an opportunity to get out of the glass. By the time I recovered, my body was gone.”

“So what, you did the same to another woman? You stole a body? Two wrongs don’t make a right, miss. If you were truly a Bureau agent, you would know that.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, but not all Snow White figures want to wake up,” I said. “The mirrors led me to this body because its owner wasn’t interested in regaining consciousness. We should be looking at our location protocols, sir. I woke up at a private hospital, inside city limits.” Inwardly, I winced at giving him any information he could use to identify my current form. I had to do it. I had to give him whatever he needed to believe that I was really myself, and not some imposter.

“Why didn’t the woman you claim stole your body take one of the unused ones, if it was that simple? It seems like stealing a body is a lot of trouble to go to, if there are bodies just lying around, waiting to be claimed.”

I frowned. “I already told you who took my body. Adrianna. You have files on her, I know you do, because I’ve seen them. She’s a mass-murderer. She can’t be trusted. And right now, she’s wearing my face and targeting my team. Every minute I spend trying to convince you who I am is a minute where I’m not tracking her down and
stopping
her. You’re my boss, sir, whether you’re currently acknowledging my identity or not. That isn’t going to earn you a scrap of forgiveness from me if she hurts my people because you kept me here longer than you should have.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“She took my body because this,” I gestured around me, “is what she wanted! She wanted to be inside the Bureau, she wanted access to my
team
. Demi is powerful as all hell. Jeff is more important than even he realizes. Andy may not be connected to the narrative, but losing him would hurt us incalculably. And Sloane . . .” I trailed off, unsure how to continue without revealing secrets that it wasn’t my place to share. Secrets even Sloane didn’t know I knew.

Sloane had been with the Bureau since its inception—since
before
its inception. She had seen the stories shift and change for centuries. She was a good agent. She was a good friend. She could be an amazing weapon, if she was aimed correctly.

“You know a great deal about this team, miss,” said the deputy director.

I glared at him. “I’d better. I’ve been leading them for quite some time.”

“So you seriously expect me to believe you passed through a mirror, and as a consequence, Adrianna—who has been dead for a long time; not in a glass coffin, not sleeping, deceased—was able to seize your body, which she is now using to infiltrate the Bureau.” Deputy Director Brewer settled in his seat. “I’m sorry, but this story is a little difficult to believe.”

I sat up a little straighter. “The mirror,” I said.

Deputy Director Brewer frowned. “Excuse me?”

“This whole story hinges on my having passed through a mirror,” I said. “If you believed that, would you believe I am who I say I am?”

His frown deepened. “I make no promises, but I might be more inclined to grant credence to your words.”

“Did you know we have a woman inside the mirror in the women’s locker room?”

The change in him was immediate. His face went white as his shoulders sank, eyes widening to almost comic proportions. His mouth moved for a moment, silently, before he managed to say, “What?”

“A woman. Inside the mirror. Maybe she’s in more than just the one—I don’t know, I never saw her before today, maybe because I’d never traveled through a mirror before. She said to tell you Mary says hello.”

The deputy director paled further. “What did she look like?” he asked.

“Pale. Dark blonde hair, brown eyes. Pretty. She was dressed like a flashback to the nineteen seventies. If you asked me to identify her story, I’d need more information, but I’d be willing to wager a guess that it started sometime between seventy-seven and eighty-two.”

“Why such a precise range?” His voice was virtually a whisper. This seemed to be hurting him. I just didn’t know why.

“Her shoes,” I said. “The rest of the outfit looked like she’d been wearing it for a few years—worn seams, a little mending. The sort of thing you wear because you love it. But she was wearing sturdy-looking sneakers, and they were newer than the rest of it. Means she can’t have had them for that long.”

“Was there anything else that stood out about her? Anything at all?”

Given how upset he seemed to be by her existence, I didn’t want to tell him about the blood. But my team needed me, and I owed nothing to the strange woman in the mirror. “She was sad. She was crying when I saw her, but not tears. Blood. She was crying blood.”

He slumped, staring at me. Then he asked, in a rough voice, “Did Sloane tell you about Mary? Is that what this is? Did she say ‘if you ever need to get something out of him, just bring up the girl in the mirror’?”

“No, sir.” I shook my head. “Sloane doesn’t like to talk about her past. Or her present. Or much of anything that’s not available on eBay. She’s careful that way. I’d never even heard a rumor.” But that wasn’t quite true, was it? There were always rumors. I just hadn’t given them any credence or seen any value in trying to follow up on them. They’d seemed harmless, the sort of thing that would inevitably spring up around a building filled with people who fought fairy tales for a living.

Deputy Director Brewer must have read that afterthought on my face. He actually laughed, dropping his forehead into his hand. “Dear God,” he said. “You know, when they told me the Bureau was going into the business of foster care, I thought they’d lost their minds. We’re not equipped to raise children, I said. We’re barely equipped to keep adults among the living. And look at you, you and your brother. You’re both so comfortable living in stories that it never occurs to you that something doesn’t make sense. You never investigated because it was never dangerous.”