Emily blinked, stammering, “Ret-tribution?”
“Death. We don’t die readily. In fact, since the cessation of war, our home world has become so populated we can only stand on one foot at a time. Death is a rarity. It is unheard of in our young.” He moved faster than she would have believed. In an instant, he stood behind her, speaking softly in her ear. “But you killed a child, didn’t you? Put an arrow through his heart. Why did you do that? Did you hear him say he wanted to know what it felt like to die? Are you the deity?”
It was a trap. No matter how she answered, she was doomed. She glanced at April, and then said carefully, “If I were a supernatural being, you wouldn’t have caught me. Unless I wanted you to.”
He struck her from behind, the blow raking the back of her head. April cried out. Emily fell on her face. Satan picked her up by her coat, holding her in the air like a soiled puppy.
“Blasphemy!” he roared. “You dare mock our beliefs?”
Emily’s lip felt fat. She met his gaze and said in a low voice, “Who are you kidding? You don’t believe in that stuff.” Inspiration struck her, and she added, “Perhaps I should inform your countrymen. They might be interested in your lack of faith.”
Satan pulled her eye-to-eye and said in perfect English, “You could do that. Unfortunately, I wear the only translator. They hear but my side of the conversation.”
Emily’s jaw dropped, amazed that he spoke her language. “What sort of creature are you?”
“Creature?” he bellowed, again in his dual voice. “We are not creatures.”
He threw her. She landed hard and rolled. Vaguely, she was aware of other demons leaping out of her path. She staggered to her feet, panting. Her thoughts whirled.
She could not stand in a toe-to-toe brawl with Satan. Her escape route was the dungeon, not only because of the protection the prisoners afforded her but because it led to the tunnels. Therefore, her target should not be Satan but the demon who restrained her little girl.
Her gaze flicked to her bow and quiver beside Satan’s throne. There was one arrow left.
Satan seized her moment of inattention. He streaked toward her, catching her with an uppercut. She never saw it coming. The blow sent her flying. Emily struck the golden throne, tumbling over the armrest. As she fell, she groped for the quiver. Before she landed on her back, she drew her bow, and as she came to rest, she loosed the arrow.
Satan flinched, but her shot was not aimed at him. The target demon turned as if in slow motion, eyes widening, mouth falling open. She’d aimed for his throat, knowing it to be vulnerable. She missed. Instead, her arrow struck inside his gaping mouth. His head snapped back. He fell, his hands slipping from April’s shoulders.
Satan roared, his yellow eyes flashing. He stepped toward April. Emily didn’t know if he headed toward his fallen guard or if he intended to harm the girl. With a shriek of fury, she unsheathed her knife and ran at him.
He turned as she leapt, her knife slashing down. The blade glanced off his shoulder. He swatted her away. She fell in a crouch, and then leapt again.
He caught her knife hand and twisted. Pain radiated up her forearm. The knife clattered to the floor. He backhanded her across the face, sending her skidding on her bottom. Emily felt her teeth loosen.
She ran at him once more. With all her strength, she kicked him in the groin. Pain shot through her. For a moment, she was certain she’d broken her leg.
He grasped her throat as she stumbled back, lifting her to meet his gaze. “They’re retractable,” he said, snuffling with demon laughter. His fingers tightened. His thick claws dug into her neck.
Emily pried at his hand. She kicked, trying to free herself.
A terrible pressure built inside her head. Her eyes bulged. Her tongue jutted from her lips. A buzzing sound grew. Louder. Louder. Darkness clouded her vision.
Her legs gave a final twitch. Her hands fell away. She felt herself falling, falling, like an unwanted rag doll. She struck the floor, bounced, and then lay still.
Satan’s booming voice washed over her, but she couldn’t understand what he said.
Gentle fingers touched her hair, her face. From far away, April’s voice wept, “Mommy, please. You can’t die.”
A little voice inside her echoed the words. No, she couldn’t die. Satan could put a spear through her heart, and it would hurt, but she wouldn’t die. That was his undoing.
With tremendous effort, she drew a breath. Pain wracked her chest.
Satan’s monologue paused.
She felt him pick her up by the back of her coat and swing her into the air. As he did so, Emily pulled the arrow out of her boot, the dead shaft that wouldn’t fly. Raising it high over her head, she plunged it into his eye.
Bellowing, Satan dropped her. As she fell, Emily grabbed the pendant he wore and ripped it from his neck. Trapped in their stupor, the surrounding demons were slow to react. She wasn’t sure they even knew what had happened.
With April in tow, Emily ran to the statue with the hidden control panel. She slammed the pendant into the slot. The pentagram lit obediently.
Satan turned. Blood dripped down his face. Baring his teeth, he shouted at her.
His guards moved, but too late. Snatching April by her waist, Emily leapt through the growing portal. The world exploded. A blast of heat stole her breath. Emily and April shot through the wormhole at incredible speed.
Emily felt her cheeks crisp and blister. She smelled her hair singe, and imagined it trailing from her head in red cinders. She held her daughter close, protecting her with her coat.
“Don’t look at the light, baby,” she murmured. “Keep your eyes closed.”
The mirror spat them out into shockingly cold air. Emily struck the wooden floor. One glance about the room told her she was in the haunted house in Saint Augustine. The conduit Joey used.
Sitting quickly, Emily examined her little girl. April sobbed, her lower lip sucking in and out. Her skin was red and raw; smoke rose from her thin arms.
“Are you okay?” Emily asked. As she spoke, she realized her own nose and mouth bled profusely.
April’s eyes bulged. She gave a high-pitched shriek, pointing over Emily’s shoulder.
Leaping up, Emily spun to face Satan’s Mirror. She saw Satan, his empty eye socket streaming blood, teeth bared in a grimace of pain and rage. His visage blurred as if he lunged forward, as if he intended to reach through and drag them back.
Emily threw herself in front of her daughter, arms out to shield her. She realized she still had the devil’s pendant, the golden chain wrapped about her wrist.
Without thinking, she slammed the pendant to the floor and crushed it beneath the heel of her boot. The Mirror didn’t pop out of existence as before. It went out screaming. Air raged in a whirlwind, sucked down the portal as it collapsed upon itself.
Fighting for balance, Emily slid forward. She clung to her daughter. The screech of air rose in pitch as the portal diminished. In the depth of the Mirror, something small and white moved toward them. She stared, mesmerized, and realized too late what it was.
Before she could move, her bone knife shot out of the collapsing Mirror and buried itself in her chest. It struck with such force it lifted her off her feet, knocking April out of her arms. She never felt herself hit the floor.
* * * *
Officer Harris leaned his forearms on the gate, looking up at the Weeden house. Early morning turned the windows gold. He blew on his hands, wishing he’d thought to wear gloves. Damned winter cold snap. It couldn’t be more than forty-five degrees.
Smith, his partner, emerged from between the buildings and walked toward him across the yard, leaving footprints in the shimmering dew.
“Anything?” Harris asked.
He shook his head. “Locked up tight as ever. I don’t see why we have to keep coming over here.”
Harris shrugged. “If the captain says we check the house every day, we check the house. Keep it free of vandals. Pacify the press. You know how hysterical those historical buffs can be.”
“If you ask me, it’s a damned waste of—”
His words were cut off by the sound of a smashing window and a child’s scream for help.
“What the—” Harris blinked at the sunlit windows. He burst through the gate and up the walk.
The front door had a lock box similar to a realtor’s but painted with the Saint Augustine Police logo. Harris fumbled with the key. “I thought you checked the back.”
“I d-did,” his partner stammered. “No one around.”
“Then how did a kid get in there?” Harris kicked open the door and entered the room with his gun drawn. He smelled a strong, sulfurous odor. “Call for back-up.”
“A bit premature, don’t you think?” Smith muttered. But he keyed in his shoulder radio.
Cautiously, Harris crept up the stairs toward the sounds of weeping and continued cries for help. When he reached the landing, he pressed against the wall. At an internal count of three, he hurdled into the room.
He saw a young girl who looked like she’d been through a fire. A woman lay on the floor. She was burned and bloodied.
He stepped forward, weapon ready. “Is anyone else here?”
“No,” the girl said. “Please help my mother.”
Harris stepped closer, and his stomach fell. “My God. Emily.”
Behind him, Smith called for an ambulance. It surprised him—he hadn’t heard Smith come up.
Holstering his weapon, Harris knelt over Emily Goodman. He opened her coat. “Knife wound.” He put pressure on the gash. He knew it had hit a lung because blood bubbled from her nose with every breath.
His partner entered the room. “See the weapon anywhere?”
“I pulled it out,” said the girl, holding the blade like an offering. “I used it to break the window.”
Smith took the knife. The girl said something more, but tears obscured the words. Her narrow shoulders convulsed with sobs. Harris wanted to console her, but her skin looked so raw he was afraid to touch her.
Emily’s eyes opened into slits. “April?”
The girl dropped to her knees. “I’m here, Mommy.”
Harris frowned. A thousand questions listed themselves in his mind—not the least of which was where the hell had she been the past four months. Sirens approached, so he said only, “Hold on, Emily. Help is coming.”
She cast her bleary eyes upon him. “Officer Harris.” Her teeth were shattered, turning her smile grisly. “This is my daughter.”
“You found her.” He nodded.
Emily pulled the girl into a hug, her disfigured face transformed. “Hell couldn’t keep me away.”
EPILOGUE
Six Months Later
Emily followed the realtor up the stairs of the bright and sunny Pennsylvania farmhouse. April clung to her arm. Emily gave her daughter a reassuring smile, but she looked away.
Except for her haunted expression, April appeared almost normal. Her hair was three inches long, and clothes hid most of the scars from her burns.
Emily was not so lucky—she sported several shiny, pink patches on her hands and face, and so far, her eyebrows hadn’t grown back. But she’d had reconstructive surgery to repair her teeth, and her smile never looked brighter. She smiled a lot these days.
“Here we have the master bedroom,” said the realtor, her beribboned ponytail bobbing. “It has a lovely view of the backyard.” She waited until Emily and April stepped beside her and then pointed out the window. “There’s the rose garden you were interested in, and the old oak with the tire swing. Just right for you, young lady. The barn is over there. Did you say you wanted to make it a studio?”
“An office.” Emily looked out at an expanse of summer green. “I plan to write a novel.”
That wasn’t all she intended to do, of course. She hoped to host a website in search of Gun, make it a sort of support group for survivors of the Mirror. Chastity had already signed on to help.
“A novelist. Don’t think we have one of them in these parts.” The realtor crossed the room. “Here’s a nice, walk-in closet. Obviously an addition. They didn’t think of closet space back in the day.”
April tugged Emily’s arm. Emily knelt before her, gently smoothing the girl’s hair.
“What will happen to our real home?” April whispered. “What about Esmeralda?”
“She found a new job,” Emily said. “I explained that to you.”
“Won’t we see Uncle Ross anymore?”
Emily glanced away. She couldn’t bear to be near Ross Devine. She blamed him for everything. Aside from that, she couldn’t imagine continuing her job. How could she work to disprove a myth when she herself had seen so many unbelievable things?
“No,” she said. “But if we rent this place, we will be near Grandpa. You can see him whenever you like. That will be nice, won’t it?”
April nodded, but her eyes were unsure. “Why can’t we tell Grampy where we were?”
Sighing, Emily pulled her into a hug. “If Grandpa knew what happened to us, he would be sad. You don’t want that, right?” She felt her daughter squirm and held her tighter. “It has to be our secret.”
From across the room, the realtor said, “If you will follow me, I will show you the other two bedrooms on this floor.”
Emily stood.
But April refused to move. “I don’t want my own room. I want to sleep with you.”
Emily chuckled. “You can stay in my room until you’re twenty-six years old. After that, I think we’ll both be safe.”
April gave one of her rare smiles, and they walked into the hallway.
On the wall of the bedroom, unseen by either, came a faint shimmer. Like a vertical pool of water.
Or a mirror.
ABOUT AUTHOR ROXANNE SMOLEN
Roxanne Smolen was born in Detroit, the eldest daughter of five children. She learned to read at an early age and read voraciously, be it classic novels, comic books, or cereal boxes. As a child, her summers were spent on a farm with her favorite aunt, a devout woman who encouraged her to read the Bible. Smolen became obsessed with Revelation and the apocalypse. She turned to science in an attempt to explain the phenomenon.