had once been, both stepping through.
“A mirror.” My hand had passed through Caleb's mirror easily enough, but it had been too small to let anything but my hand through. “Will any mirror big enough do?”
Still not looking at me, Allie said, “It's your magic. You'd know better than us.”
I glanced at Matthew. His eyes went wide. “Gram's mirror,” he said.
I nodded. Kate's mirror was taller than any of us.
“Gram said the mirror was a family heirloom, that she couldn't bear to destroy it during the War,” Matthew said. “Do you think it would work, Liza? Gram doesn't have any magic, but she does understand about healing. She might know what to do.”
Allie dropped Tallow and gazed into the water. “It looks deep.” She stepped back, shivering in spite of the heat.
“I know,” I said, thinking that Allie and I both knew too much about drowning. “If my magic fails—”
The girl whirled to face me, her expression fierce. “But if we stay here we'll die for sure.”
“That makes it easy, then.” I tried to laugh, but the sound came out strangled and strange.
Mom's coughing quieted. She didn't struggle as Matthew and I helped her to her feet, but she didn't look at us, either. Sun glinted off Caleb's quarter. I picked up the necklace and draped it around my own neck again. I left Mom leaning on Matthew and tied Rebecca's sling around my neck. Rebecca whimpered. Mom strained toward the sound. “Rebecca. Lizzy. My babies, my girls …”
I took Mom's hand. Matthew kept supporting her from the other side. Allie set Tallow on her shoulders, then reached for Matthew in turn. She clutched his hand as tightly as she'd clutched the guide ropes over the river. Matthew turned to me. His face and hair were soot- darkened, his eyes puffy, as if he wanted to cry but didn't dare. Yet somehow he managed to smile—as if saying without words that he trusted me still, as much as I trusted him.
I drew a breath and looked into the burning lake, seeking visions to guide us home.
Chapter 15 
The visions didn't come.
Hesitantly I stepped into the water, my eyes on the flames beneath its surface. The water didn't burn. It flowed over my boots, warm but not hot. Light reflected from the sun above the water and the flames below. I took another step, and in the lake's light I saw—but then flames erupted near my elbow, and the vision vanished. I jerked my arm back, ignoring the stench of charred wool. Rebecca cried softly. Mom stumbled, trying to pull free of my grasp. I tightened my grip and looked into the lake once more. Somehow I knew that this water—that any water—was different from metal or glass, harder to see in and harder to control. I looked into the lake and pictured Kate's mirror: its gold frame, its silvered glass. I pictured my own perfect reflection staring back at me. The water grew brighter. I stared into the brightness and saw—
Mom—the young woman who became Mom— kneeling in a green forest beside a blue lake, playing a flute. Caleb walked up behind her, and Karin as well, and they added their voices to the music—
Mom's hand tightened in mine, and I knew that we saw together once more.
Saw Mom running amid a ragged stream of refugees, fleeing a city that burned and crumbled behind her—
Mom at the edge of our town, her eyes cast downward as Father and Jayce tried to turn her away. But Kate stood there, too, saying, “She's little more than a child. For pity's sake, let her stay —”
Father, holding Mom close, whispering, “I will keep you safe.” They were both older, but not a lot older—
Water rose past my waist. I clung to Mom's hand. Kate's mirror, I thought. I held my gaze steady, and I saw—
Mom and Kate staring at the ruins of a burned house while Kate whispered, “Cam's not the only one, Tara. I need your help—”
Mom and Kate watching as Matthew growled and shifted in his sleep, as Stefan and Emma's son called corn husks through the air to his outstretched hand, as Jayce's granddaughter set dry wood aflame at a glance. “Stay hidden,” Mom warned each of them in turn. “Stay safe—”
Mom frowning as Father led me out to hunt with bow and arrow, but turning away when Kyle, Brianna's youngest, tugged on her sleeve. “I can talk to ants,” the boy said. “Want to see?”
Mom's frown deepened. She put a finger to her lips. “Don't tell,” she said.
“Course not,” Kyle answered. “We don't tell anyone but you and Kate. Every kid knows that —”
Every kid but me. While Father had taught me to hunt, Mom had taught the other children how to hide their magic. And when she left, she'd spoken to Kate— but not me. Never me.
Mom's hand slipped from my grasp. I grabbed it again. “Not this time,” I said. “You're not leaving me this time.” I held on as water soaked through my sweater. The vision nearly slid away, but somehow I caught it once more and saw—
Kate standing at the foot of Mom's bed, her expression fierce. “Let it go,” Kate said. “Even if you could find your way back to Faerie, even if anyone survived there— and you know how unlikely that is, given the weapons we used—they wouldn't welcome you.”
Mom sat up in bed. Her face was drawn and pale, her hair unbrushed. “They won't turn the children away, not once they know about their magic. Don't you see, Kate? Rebecca won't be the last, any more than Cam was. The children aren't safe here anymore. We have to find someplace else for them.”
“What about your other daughter?” Kate demanded. “Will you leave her here to wonder where you've gone?”
Mom shut her eyes. “You know I can't tell Liza. If she let anything slip to Ian—no. He'd kill them all. I just give thanks she doesn't have any magic of her own. We could never keep that from Ian. I'm protecting her, too.”
Kate's mouth twisted into an angry frown. “If you want to protect her, take her with you. Take her away from him.”
Mom shook her head and turned away. Instead I saw—
Father walking down the stairs, a bundle in his arms. I watched from my room, silent as a shadow, knowing there was nothing I could do—
Water rose around me. The weight of the sling dug into my neck. An icy hand touched my cheek. I had to do something—
I ran after Father, into the hall, down the stairs. But even as I ran I knew I was too late—
“You're late, Liza.” Father turned to me, belt in hand. I wanted to make him go away, like I'd made the trees go away, but words stuck in my throat. I was weak, just like he said. Too weak to fight him, too weak to run. The belt came down on my back. I fell to my knees, fighting not to cry out. If I cried out I would drown, and if I drowned I would never find—
Find what? Father's belt broke skin as I struggled to think. The sling grew heavier, filling with water. They were all depending on me, trusting me—
I stood, forcing my head above water.
Father froze with his belt in midair. I walked past him, away from him: across the room and out the door. My back ached, but I wasn't so weak that I couldn't do what needed to be done. I walked through the town, slow as if moving through water, but I walked. I opened Kate's door, crossed her living room, and drew her wall hangings aside. The mirror stood there. I kept walking, toward the silvered glass—
