Mirror’s some kind of magic window.
Magic mirror.
Sam padded over to Stewart’s side of the crate. “Can I have that?”
“The mirror?” He finished checking the position of the purple mouse, flipped the narrow braid back over his shoulder, and shrugged. “Sure.”
That was easy.
“Can you unlatch the crate?”
“Sorry, little furry dude, not unless Arthur says it’s okay.”
Oh, well. Worth a try.
Back in the Emporium, Austin had used a mirror to talk to the magic mirror and then used the magic mirror to connect to him. Well, technically, Claire; but the basics were the same. If he could use the budgie mirror to contact the magic mirror, then he could find out where Claire was and if Diana was okay. Sam ran through that one more time, just to be certain it made sense, then had Stewart hook the mirror over the crossbar. Ignoring the dangling bell and bits of fake feather, he stared at his reflection.
His reflection stared back.
Apparently, there was a trick to it.
He leaned closer until his breath fogged the glass. Leaned a little closer until there was less than a cat-hair’s width between his nose and the mirror. He was not in the mood for tricks. “HEY!”
Blue-on-blue eyes snapped up out of nowhere. “I’m not deaf! Or I wasn’t,” Jack added petulantly as Sam jumped back. His eyes slid from one side of the mirror to the other, then widened. “Okay, this is new. Hold it!”
Sam froze, one paw in the air.
“Don’t move your reflection off the glass. It’s all that’s holding me here. Not that it should be holding me here. Or that I should be here at all.” The eyes narrowed speculatively. “Who knows, maybe our earlier connection left some residue or something. So what do you want?”
“Information.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m a mirror—not a database.”
“Information on Claire and Diana.”
“You lost both Keepers?”
Sam really didn’t like the way that sounded. “You know something.”
“Not about Claire, I haven’t seen her since you guys crossed over, but…”
Jack’s pause suggested all sorts of horrible possibilities. “But what?” Sam demanded, surging back toward the mirror.
“Diana was in the store; her and some elfin cutie. They stopped and talked, I told them what I knew, and they went into the back room. I don’t know how to break this to you, kid, but from the buzz I picked up later, they got caught.”
“By the bad guys?”
Blue-on-blue eyes rolled. “No, by the Publishers’ Clearing House prize patrol. Of course by the bad guys!”
“And?”
“Sorry, kid. That’s all I know.”
“Okay.” Sam stepped away from the mirror, and the eyes disappeared. Tail whipping from side to side, he caught Stewart in an amber gaze and growled, “Get Arthur.”
* * *
Dean knew he was dreaming because, although he had once played hockey in his underwear, he’d never had so much trouble covering the ice. It had to have been five or six kilometers between the goals and by the time he crossed the blue line, he could barely put one skate in front of the other. With all his remaining strength, he drew back his stick, set up for a slap shot, and stared in amazement as the blue light around the puck turned white and sparkly and, for no good reason that he could determine, it ascended, becoming a higher being.
“Hey, McIssac!”
He looked down at Austin, wondering how he could actually blow a whistle without lips.
“What have I told you about keeping your stick on the ice?”
It took him a moment to remember how his mouth worked. “Nothing.”
“Fine. If that’s the way you’re going to be about it, get up and feed me.”
“What?”
“I said, get up and feed me!”
A sudden sharp pain on his chin jerked his eyes open in time to see Austin pull back his paw, claws still extended.
“What’s a cat got to do to get some breakfast around here?”
Rubbing his chin with his left hand, Dean reached for his glasses with his right. “That’ll do it.” The sheet felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and after he swung his legs out of bed, it took him a moment to remember what he was supposed to do next.
“Are you all right?”
“Just some tired.” He squinted toward the bedside table. “Is that the time, then?”
“Let’s see…” Austin walked across the pillows. “Numbers on a clock; yes, I’d have to say that was the time.”
“It’s seven thirty. I slept through the alarm.” He never slept through the alarm. Had never slept through the alarm. Ever. It bordered on irresponsible. Two tries to stand up, but once he was actually on his feet, his head seemed a little clearer. Washing, shaving, dressing, refolding perfect hospital corners; by the time he set Austin’s saucer of cat food on the floor, he’d shaken off the sluggishness and was feeling more like himself.
Moving the fridge out from the wall and vacuuming the cooling coils banished the last of it.
It had probably been nothing more than a reaction to the uncomfortably warm temperature in the bedroom. He hated sleeping with a fan on and the air outside was so still and hot, an open window made little difference.
“Good morning.”
A pleasant soprano voice but not one Dean recognized unless Dr. Rebik had woken up in even worse shape than he had. He finished shouldering the fridge back against the wall, turned, and was surprised to see Meryat’s shrouded form standing alone at the end of the counter dividing kitchen and dining room.
“It is a…beautiful day.”
It was already 29 degrees C, the sun so bright on the front of the guest house he’d nearly been blinded stepping into the office. Still, for someone used to the weather in Egypt it probably felt like home.
“You’re speaking English.”
Although he still couldn’t see her face, the tilt of her hood looked confused. “England?”
“No, Canada.”
“But…English?”
“Canadians speak English. Except for those of us who speak French. We have two official languages, see, and we have people who speak both. And a Prime Minister who speaks neither. Sorry, that was kind of a joke,” he added
