Songs of Love & Death

I turned back to the bed. Circe was sitting there, staring at me with her brilliant green eyes. She let out a little chirp and I sat beside her, scratching her under the chin. Her eyes were closed—cat bliss—and I let out a long sigh, looking over at the mirror.

Galen was late tonight. He usually appeared an hour or so before I went to sleep and we spent the time together, quietly pressing hands through the mirror or I would read to him, wondering if he could hear me. Right now, I was reading to him from Tennyson and was set to read The Lady of Shalott next.

Circe suddenly hissed, her hackles rising as she stared at the mirror, poised for a fight. I slowly stood, wondering whether Galen was coming. Even though I knew she didn’t like him, she’d never acted like this before.

I slowly approached the mirror, and there he was, standing, his hand against the glass. He looked upset, and I leaned closer, bringing my hand up to the cool glass.

“Is something wrong?” I stared into his eyes, my hand against his. “What’s wrong?”

He stared at me, his gaze fastened on mine, as the clock chimed the hour. At the first stroke of midnight, the mirror began to melt as his hand closed over mine. Startled, I screamed, as Circe leaped into my other arm.

The looking glass vanished and I became Alice.

GALEN SHOOK HIS head, dazed. Had it really happened? Was he free from the mirror? Could he move on, out of the house, to whatever afterlife waited for him? And then memory hit. He let out sharp gasp.

No… no… please no. Don’t let it be true. His heart spoke before his mind and he turned toward the mirror, dreading what he knew he would see.

There, behind the glass, pounding against it, stood Laurel, Circe at her feet. Her body and the cat’s lay in front of the mirror, near him, both seizing.

I’m free suddenly became mingled with I just killed the best thing that ever happened to me.

Galen shook his head. “No… no… please…” It came out a whimper, lost in the silence of All Hallow’s night. It came out a scream from the back of his throat.

“Laurel! Laurel!” He tried to pound on the mirror but here he was spirit, unable to touch the glass except… except for one way. “Please, tell me I didn’t do this to you…”

And then he stopped. The clock was chiming the final strokes of midnight. He slammed his hand against the pane and motioned for Laurel to do the same. A look of terror in her eyes, she obeyed. As their hands met, he could feel her fingers sliding through the glass. Behind her, he caught a glimpse of Jason, watching them, seething.

“You can’t have her!” With all his strength, Galen yanked Laurel by the wrist and she tumbled out, back into her body, Circe following suit. And just as quickly, he was swept into the mirror, his spirit captured once more.

The clock fell silent. Midnight was over. The veils between the worlds had closed for another year and he was still trapped, but this time, it was his choice. He’d made the decision that his own captor chose not to make.

Galen turned as his cousin came up behind him. There would be no forgiveness. Jason had been whispering in his ear too long. Galen let out a single laugh and as the mists swirled, he grappled Jason, who slipped out of his grasp and faded from sight.

“You didn’t win,” Galen whispered. “You won’t ever win, because I’ll always watch out for her. As long as she lives in this house, I’ll be there to watch over her!”

I WOKE UP on the floor, aching and feeling bruised. What the hell had happened? As I rubbed my head, vague images drifted through my mind. Touching the glass, feeling Galen’s delight as he traded places with me…

But if that was true… then what was I doing sitting on the floor? Circe was sitting next to me, nosing me with her sandpaper tongue. I scratched her between the ears.

“Hey, baby, what happened? Did I pass out?” Maybe I was more tired than I thought.

She stared at me, unblinking, then walked over to the mirror. As she reached up to scratch it, she yowled. Startled, I fell forward, knocking the mirror to the floor. The glass broke into shards, and I leaped away to avoid getting cut. Circe raced off, her tail high in the air.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay—it’s just an old mirror.” But as I looked for the dustpan and broom, an odd feeling settled in my stomach. I looked back at the mirror. The nerves were gone.

I walked into the bedroom and swept up the glass. For a moment, I thought I saw Galen’s image in the broken shards, but then it vanished. Once my floor was free from glass slivers and the broken frame, I headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I looked into the mirror, a mist formed on the other side and there he was. My beloved. I pressed my hand against the glass.

“Galen,” I whispered. “I wish there was a way we could touch.”

He gazed back sadly, and pressed his hand against the glass on the other side.

Diana Gabaldon

International bestseller Diana Gabaldon is a winner of the Quill Award and of the Corine International Award for fiction. She’s the author of the hugely popular Outlander series, including Cross Stitch, Dragonfly in Amber, Voyager, Drums of Autumn, The Fiery Cross, A Breath of Snow and Ashes, and An Echo in the Bone. Her historical series about the strange adventures of Lord John Grey include the novels Lord John and the Private Matter; Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade; and a collection of Lord John stories, Lord John and the Hand of Devils. The Outlandish Companion is a nonfiction guidebook and commentary to the Outlander series. Her most recent book is a graphic novel titled The Exile, a new story based on Outlander.

Here she gives us the bittersweet tale of a man torn out of his proper time and place who will go to almost any length, and endure any hardship, to make it home again.

A Leaf on the Wind of All Hallows

It was two weeks yet to Hallowe’en, but the gremlins were already at work.

Jerry MacKenzie turned Dolly II onto the runway—full-throttle, shoulder-hunched, blood-thumping, already halfway up Green leader’s arse—pulled back on the stick, and got a choking shudder instead of the giddy lift of takeoff. Alarmed, he eased back, but before he could try again, there was a bang that made him jerk by reflex, smacking his head against the Perspex. It hadn’t been a bullet, though; the off tire had blown, and a sickening tilt looped them off the runway, bumping and jolting into the grass.

There was a strong smell of petrol, and Jerry popped the Spitfire’s hood and hopped out in panic, envisioning imminent incineration, just as the last plane of Green flight roared past him and took wing, its engine fading to a buzz within seconds.

A mechanic was pelting down from the hangar to see what the trouble was, but Jerry’d already opened Dolly’s belly and the trouble was plain: The fuel line was punctured. Well, thank Christ he hadn’t got into the air with it, that was one thing, but he grabbed the line to see how bad the puncture was, and it came apart in his hands and soaked his sleeve nearly to the shoulder with high-test petrol. Good job the mechanic hadn’t come loping up with a lit cigarette in his mouth.

He rolled out from under the plane, sneezing, and Gregory the mechanic stepped over him.

“Not flying her today, mate,” Greg said, squatting down to look up into the engine, and shaking his head at what he saw.

“Aye, tell me something I don’t know.” He held his soaked sleeve gingerly away from his body. “How long to fix her?”

Greg shrugged, eyes squinted against the cold wind as he surveyed Dolly’s guts.