pool of mercury. The Quicksilver Mirror seethed with the forces locked deep inside.
Dread and fascination consumed her. She looked deeper. Terrible afterimages appeared and disappeared like moving photographs trapped in the strange glass. She caught fleeting glimpses of the dead and the dying.
She saw fire as well, hot flames of silver and gold. The scorching, dazzling flames crashed and cascaded in the depths of the mirror. Her senses sang in response to the wild energy, urging her to unleash the forces in the glass.
She knew then with her glass-reader’s intuition that any strong talent could use the mirror to blind or even kill. For a person with psychical abilities, the artifact was the equivalent of a gun. But someone endowed with a very special kind of talent could do much more with the device. She could set free the full power locked in the looking glass.
Someone with her kind of talent.
But what would one do with the strange energy that burned in the Quicksilver Mirror, she wondered. Then she thought about the weak energy that the killer had infused into the mirrors on Ratford’s and Hackett’s dressing tables and in the looking glasses on the walls of the terrible chamber beneath the Hollister mansion. Again the question arose in her mind. Why would anyone try to lock power into a looking glass?
From out of nowhere she recalled something her mother had said a long time ago:
“Virginia.”
Owen spoke in his sleep, uttering her name in a raw, rasping voice that shattered the spell of the mirror.
She closed down her senses. The mirror darkened to an opaque gray. She inserted the artifact into the sack with shaking fingers and tied the cord.
Setting the sack on top of the chest of drawers, she went back to the bed and gripped Owen’s hand. His fingers tightened around hers, but he did not awaken.
She contemplated the moonlit night on the other side of the window and thought about what she had seen in the Quicksilver Mirror.
THIRTY-FIVE
At ten minutes to five in the morning, Virginia sensed the subtle but distinct change in Owen’s energy that told her he had surfaced completely from the depths. His breathing was relaxed, and his pulse was calm and steady. He was still asleep, but now his sleep felt entirely normal.
She released his hand.
“Virginia,” he muttered. He did not open his eyes.
“I’m here,” she said gently. “All is well. Go back to sleep.”
He stirred, turned on his side and did as she instructed.
After a while she let herself out of the room and walked down the hall. She knew that Charlotte was asleep in the bedroom at the far end. She thought she heard Mrs. Crofton in the kitchen.
When she reached the foot of the stairs Matt spoke softly out of the shadows.
“Is Uncle Owen all right, Miss Dean?”
“He’s quite well but still asleep. Where are Tony and Nick?”
“Tony’s watching the back of the house. Uncle Nick is asleep in the parlor. Mrs. Crofton is in the kitchen. She came down a few minutes ago. Said she wanted to get an early start on breakfast because there were so many of us to feed.”
Virginia winced. “It is very decent of her to make breakfast for all of us before she gives notice.”
“She didn’t say anything about handing in her notice. Are you still certain that Uncle Owen will awaken with all of his senses?”
“Quite certain.”
“That is very good news, indeed,” Matt said. “We weren’t looking forward to dealing with him if that turned out not to be the case.”
Matt’s obvious relief made her pause. “I understand your concern about the possible loss of his talent. It would be deeply disturbing for any strong sensitive to wake up and discover that his para-senses were blind. But what do you mean when you say that you weren’t looking forward to dealing with him?”
Nick spoke from the shadowed door of the parlor. “You’ve said enough, Matt.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said quickly. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that Miss Dean isn’t family yet.”
And that was all she was going to get out of him for now, Virginia realized. She turned toward Nick. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” Nick said. He rubbed his jaw, testing his morning beard. “All is well upstairs, I take it?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Thank you,” Nick said. He lowered his hand and looked at her with an intent expression. “The Sweetwaters owe you. We always pay our debts.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said, losing patience. “No one owes me a thing. For the last time, Mr. Sweetwater would have recovered on his own.”
“Perhaps,” Nick said. “Perhaps not.”
“I give up,” she said. “I’ll see you both at breakfast.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said meekly.
“Right, then,” Nick said. “Breakfast. Sounds like an excellent notion.”
Virginia went down the hall to the kitchen, mentally bracing herself for the next challenge of what was shaping up to be a difficult morning. The smell of hot coffee greeted her. She swept into the room, electing to go for a straightforward approach. There was no longer any point in pretending that hers would ever be a respectable household.
“Good morning, Mrs. Crofton,” she said.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Mrs. Crofton took a large frying pan down off a wall hook and set it on the stove. “Young Matt and Tony have been awake all night and are no doubt famished. I have a hunch the rest of your guests will wake up soon. What with one thing and another, I decided it would be best to plan an early breakfast. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“I think I’ve had enough for a while,” Virginia said. “I drank so much during the night that I doubt that I will sleep for a week.”
“Some peppermint tea, then?”
“That sounds very good, thank you.”
Mrs. Crofton disappeared into the pantry. “Mr. Sweetwater has recovered, I take it?”
“Yes, but he’s still asleep. I expect he’ll be down for breakfast.”
“Very good.” Mrs. Crofton reappeared with a small canister in one hand. She opened the container and ladled the herbal tea into a pot.
Virginia sat down on one of the long benches at the large wooden table. “Mrs. Crofton, I realize that the goings-on in this household, especially of late, are not at all what you are accustomed to.”
“No, ma’am.” Mrs. Crofton picked up the steaming kettle and filled the teapot. “This household is most unusual in a number of ways. Certainly not like any I’ve worked in previously.”
“I know that you have been obliged to tolerate certain activities that you find unseemly and no doubt offensive to your high standards.”
“I admit that I was somewhat unsettled by the notion of working for a psychical practitioner at first.” Mrs. Crofton set the kettle aside and carried the pot to the table. “I was very sure that you were a fraud. But I soon changed my mind.”
“You did?”
