on mine after transferring it.

“Yes, perhaps the day after tomorrow?” I offered, mentally working out how much time I could have before Mr. Worthe would possibly be home.

“That would be splendid,” he smiled happily. “Just bring some of those hoecakes and I’ll provide the rest, Mary.”

After final goodbyes I stole across the meadow and home, where Malvina eyed me as she laddled out rabbit stew. Iris was in heaven as she ate the leftover cake, moaning in delight with every bite. I could barely concentrate as my heart soared. The joy I felt was second to none. As though a minute in his presence could scare away years of my unhappy existence. With each appreciative glance, I could black out Mr. Worthe and dream of happier things and it didn’t even matter if it was an illusion.

Chapter 9

Kat

“I know,” I say, opening the door, and I’m not even cleared out of her way before she's storming in. “What happened?”

She is pacing back and forth and about to speak when she stops and looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “Girl, what are you wearing?”

“Huh?” I look down and laugh. I’d thrown on a bralette and a dotted, pink top that’s only half on with my boob popping out the side. Even worse, I have on striped activewear pants. “I got dressed in a hurry...to go to clown college, it appears.”

She half-laughs and then sinks down onto the bed, cradling her head in her hands. “I can’t even process what I just saw…”

I come and sit beside her on the bed and rub her back. “Tell me.”

Her eyes are red from rubbing them as she turns her head to look at me. “Cara was out and I was doing yoga in front of the mirror—”

“Of course you were,” I can’t help but say, watching her crack a smile. “I’m sorry, continue.”

“When I came up from a pose I saw this thing in the mirror behind me. It was crouched on the bed, staring at me, it was scratching the mattress with these long, raking, dirty claws. It was exactly as you described—you know, with the hair—and it looked like it wanted to fucking tear me apart,” her voice trembled, as she suddenly looked behind her on the bed, as if assuring that it hadn’t come with her. “I screamed and turned around to confront it and it was gone. I was very frightened, so I decided to leave, but when I turned again she was in the dresser mirror—right in front of me.”

“Jesus,” I whisper. “What did she do?”

“I started to run, but the mirror—the heavy AND bolted to the wall mirror—toppled over and barely missed me, Kat.”

“My god, that is frightening,” I breathe out.

“If that had fallen on my head, I would have died,” she murmurs, seemingly to herself as much as to me. “She does want to tear me apart.”

“Was she gone after that?”

“I don't know because I bolted. I went to report the fallen mirror to the front desk and then came here,” she said, putting her hands up. “If she was still there I didn’t see her, but I also wasn’t looking.”

“Well, when you’re ready I’ll tell you why I look like Instagramo the Clown,” I say, taking her hands.

She nods encouragement and I tell her my story, which must have happened at the same time as her attack. She is stunned silent and as I finish we just stare forward for a minute, our collective shock saturating the room.

“What do we do?” I ask meekly, hoping she has an answer.

“I think we don’t have a choice,” she admits. “If she can be in two places at once then surely Juniper is correct and she must be able to travel with us.”

“We go back then,” I say, resolutely standing up. “Let’s do it.”

“Are you going to at least put your boob away?” Kayla asks, nodding at my troublesome protrusion.

“If I must,” I sigh with a laugh. “I feel safer with you here, so maybe I’ll even get crazy and put on a real bra and a better shirt?”

“Go nuts,” Kayla says, pulling out her sleek phone. “I’m texting Cara to meet us there.”

Once my bits are covered and I don’t look insane, we force ourselves up to Kayla’s room to retrieve her car keys and purse and both sigh with relief that housekeeping and maintenance are in her room, furiously sweeping up the shattered remains of the mirror.

“This thing looks like it got clean ripped off the wall,” I hear the handyman remark before he sees us. “Oh ma’am, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

Before Kayla can respond, Roger, the general manager, walks in and beelines to Kayla, with concern and damage control written across his face. He lavishes her with apologies for a full minute before seeing me, and his embarrassment is palpable.

“Ms. Clary! I didn’t know that you were friends,” he says, casting his eyes down. “This is a completely unusual occurrence, I’d like to assure you.”

I respond distractedly as I notice the bed, and the tell-tale claw marks there. I walk over and see that they have scored even down through the mattress, feathers of down and stuffing bubble out, mixed with clumps of deep, black hair. I swallow heavily and look at Kayla who has taken her place beside me.

Roger has also ambled over to see what the fuss is about, and his befuddlement emerges in throat clearing and twitching. “Oh my, what has happened here?”

“It must have been from the mirror glass,” I say, knowing full well that isn’t plausible and it looks more like Kayla had wrestled with a tiger in the bed.

“Oh, um, of course,” Roger flounders, unable to counter it, though clearly doubting that as a possibility.

We hastily assure Roger that we won’t be posting negative reviews, especially since we both know “attack by urban legend” isn’t a fair critique. We don’t say the last part of course, but Kayla is happy to accept his offer of a

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