Page 11 of Corrupt Shadows

My apartment looks the same. The depths of night protrude through the undraped windows of my office, and I stare at the Fallenmoore family mirror. I haven’t seen it since I was young, yet it looks the same. Even the frame hasn’t weathered over time.

Yet, the reflection has changed.

My dark-brown eyes are the same color as my biological dad’s. They’re so dark, they could be black. At times, they have been. My hair rolls in waves over my shoulders and down to my navel. My cropped pajama top shows off my narrow waist and wide hips, something I inherited from my mom. I run my fingers along the skin, knowing one day it will all be covered in roses and skulls.

When did I bring this inside my apartment?

I shake my head. I didn’t. This is a dream, I remind myself, but no matter how much I concentrate on making the mirror disappear, it doesn’t.

This either is really happening, or someone else is controlling it.

The mirror surface ripples, and eyes clash with mine in the reflection. I bring my fingers to my mouth, scream, and stumble backward. A masked man appears, and shadowy figures move around him. My heart throbs in my throat as nausea builds in the pit of my stomach. Holding my breath, I hesitate to speak.

His gaze pins me. “Little witch.”

The hairs on my arms pluck into goose bumps. I freeze at the sight of him. Amusement swims in his striking, pastel-green eyes. His hair is dark, as if it’s crafted from the night sky. I can make out a shadow of a beard running the length of his chiseled jawline from under his mask. When he moves, his muscles bulge under his shirt.

The mask is terrifyingly beautiful. Black shimmery paint colors most of it, with gold dripping from the eye sockets. The cheekbones are raised to create contours like bone structure.

Edward warned me of demons, the ones that come when we play with mirrors. I was ten when I first played on the darker side. He fretted over such things, which made me want to find out more. There are dangerous things in this world. If you let them in, they’ll never let you go.

His words float back to me. I wish I heeded the warning. I found the mirror several years after my biological family died, when I ventured back to the site of my abandoned family home—or what was left of the building, anyway. It belonged to my family and had somehow survived the fire. When I stared into it, the reflection danced with shadowy figures, so I left it behind.

I escaped my family’s fate. I escaped persecution. Yet my past haunts me.

I glare at the mirror, swallowing thickly. Everything in me screams to run. The man in the mirror takes a step closer, the floorboards creaking under his boots from just behind the mirror. My eyes widen.

He tilts his head, his dark stare intensifying as he gazes into my soul. I look at his tattooed arms, the black lines peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves, and I notice his markings, like mine, are formed by shadows.

I find my voice, curled up in the back of my throat. “Why are you in my dream?” I ask, sensing the demonic power behind his eyes.

His face splits into a grin, a sadistic smirk curling those lips. He smells of ash and all things burned. “You catch on quickly, little witch.”

“What do you want?”

He tilts his head, and his smile drops. Every hair on the back of my neck stands erect. I should run. Everything in me is screaming at me to, but instead, I take two steps closer so I can touch the mirror. My fingers dance through the mirror, reaching behind it.

I pull my hand back, seeing the twitch in the corner of his snarl. The room vibrates, and everything shakes as I wake, startled, from the dream.

Gomez jumps up from where he was snuggled against my side as I gasp for air, sucking in deep breaths. Sweat beads my forehead. Pale light from the moon seeps through the gap in my drapes, illuminating my bed.

Slowly, I climb off the mattress. “It’s okay, Gomez,” I whisper as he flies off the bed. “Stay here.”

I let out a long, shaky exhale. I walk to the front door and open it. The mirror has gone. My stomach knots as I glance over my shoulder and in the direction of my office, and a chill trickles down my spine.

The demon.

Squeaking and fluttering penetrate the silence. I can feel Gomez’s fear through our familiar bond. He should be awake now, being nocturnal, yet he seems to sleep both through the day and night, with small periods of being awake. I follow the sound of his panicked flutters to my office. My stomach dips when I reach the door. Slowly, I flick on the light, and my startled reflection greets me. The mirror is standing, unpackaged, by my desk. On it, a note is taped.

I placed the mirror inside so it won’t get stolen.

It is a family heirloom after all.

FOUR

Lorcan

It’s been two days since she saw me in the mirror. She didn’t sleep much that first night. Instead she covered it with a blanket and went back to her room, but she didn’t know I could still watch her.

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