I could still see her standing under the streetlight, red hair so bright it almost hurt to look at. "I got this one, Iz," she'd told me before nodding at the book in my lap. "Finish your chapter." A dimple had appeared in her cheek when she grinned. "I know you're dying to."
I had been. The heroine had just been kidnapped by pirates, so things were clearly about to get awesome. And it had seemed like such an easy job, and Finley had swaggered off toward the coven's house with such confidence that I hadn't worried, not really. Not until I'd sat in the car for over an hour and Finley still hadn't come out. Not until I'd walked into the house and found it completely empty, the smell of smoke and sulfur heavy in the air, Finley's weapon belt on the floor in front of a sagging sofa.
Mom and I looked for her for six months. Six months of tracking down leads and sleeping in motel rooms and researching other cases like Finley's, and it all led nowhere. My sister was just...gone.
And then one day, Mom had just packed up our things and announced we were going home. "We have a job to do," she'd said. "Brannicks hunt monsters. It's what we do, and what we need to get back to. Finley would want that."
That had been the last time Mom had said Finley's name.
Now Mom sat across the table from me, and her coffee mug turned, turned, turned.
"Maybe we should take it easy for a while," she said at last. "Let you go on a few more missions with me, get your legs back under you."
Finley had been doing solo missions since she was fourteen. I was almost sixteen now, and this had been the first time Mom had let me out in the field by myself. I really didn't want it to be the last time, too.
I shoved my own mug. "Mom, I can do this. I just... Look, the vamp, he could read my mind, and I wasn't ready for that. But now I know! And I can be better on my guard next time."
Mom lifted her gaze from the table. "What did he see?"
I knew what she meant. Picking at the Formica tabletop, I shrugged. "I thought about Finn for a sec. He...saw that, I guess. It just distracted me."
I didn't add the bit about how Pascal had mentioned the boy in the mirror. Bringing up Finn was going to bother Mom enough.
Just like I'd thought, her eyes suddenly seemed a million miles away. "Okay," she said gruffly, her chair shrieking on the linoleum as she shoved it back and stood. "Well, just...just go to bed. We'll think about our next move tomorrow."
Deep parentheses bracketed Mom's mouth, and her shoulders seemed more slumped than they had been just a few moments ago. As she passed my chair, for just a moment, Mom laid a hand on my head. "I'm glad you're okay," she murmured. And then, with a ruffle of my hair, she was gone.
Sighing, I picked up my cup and swirled the dregs of tea still left in it. Every bone in my body ached to go upstairs, take a shower, and crawl into my bunk.
But there was something I had to do first.
Our house wasn't much. A few bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom that hadn't been updated since the 1960s. Once upon a time, it had been the Brannick family compound. Back when there had been more Brannicks. Now it was just a house surrounded by thick woods. But there was one room that really set it apart from your normal home.
We had a War Room.
It sounded cooler than it actually was. It was really just an extra bedroom stuffed with a bunch of boxes, a large round table, and a mirror.
It was the mirror I walked to now, yanking off the heavy canvas cover. Inside the glass, a warlock stared back at me.
His name was Torin, and he looked a couple years older than me, maybe eighteen or so. But since he'd gotten trapped in the mirror back in 1583, he was technically over four hundred years old.
"Isolde!" he called happily, leaning back, his hands on the table. "To what do I owe this lovely visit?" It was always bizarre watching Torin. Trapped in the mirror, he appeared to be sitting at the table in the middle of the War Room. But the actual table was empty. Even though I'd seen the phenomenon my whole life, I still caught myself glancing back and forth, as though Torin would magically appear on our side of the glass.
The thought made my head hurt all over again. In his own time, Torin had been an extremely powerful dark warlock. No one knew what spell he was attempting when he'd trapped himself inside the mirror, but one of my ancestors, Avis Brannick, had found him and taken responsibility for him.
The fact that Torin made the occasional prophecy had probably had something to do with that. His ability to see the future had come in handy for a few Brannicks over the years; easier to fight a witch or a faerie when you know what it's going to do.
But I hadn't come to have my fortune told. Climbing up onto the table, I crossed my legs and propped my chin in my hand. "I got bitten by a vampire tonight."
Frowning, Torin leaned forward. "Oh," he said, once his eyes settled on the bite mark. "So you did. That... What is the word you use?"
I couldn't help but smile a little as I rolled my eyes. "Sucks."
Torin nodded. "Even so." He mimicked my pose, ruby pinkie ring flashing in the dim light. Shaggy blond hair fell over his forehead, and when he smiled at me, his teeth were just the slightest bit crooked. "Tell me the whole story."
So I did, the way I always had, ever since I was old enough to go with Mom and Finley on missions. There was something...I don't know, relaxing about telling the story to Torin. I knew he wasn't looking for all the flaws in my mission, all the places where I had zigged when I should have zagged.
Unlike Mom, Torin didn't frown through the entire thing. Instead, he chuckled when I described Pascal's lair, grimaced when I mentioned the body glitter, and raised his eyebrows when I talked about chasing the vamp up the stairs.
"But you're all right. And you lived to fight another day."
Sighing, I pulled my braid over my shoulder, fiddling with the ends of my hair. "Yeah, but if Mom hadn't come in... She thinks I shouldn't be doing jobs on my own. Which, I mean, I should. This one got a little out of hand, but if she'd just trust me a little more-"
"If she had trusted you completely, she wouldn't have followed you, which means she wouldn't have burst in when she did," Torin said, lifting his shoulders. "And you, my lovely Isolde, would either be exsanguinated on what I can only guess was truly dreadful carpet, or the bride of the undead." He narrowed his eyes. "Neither fate suits you. Or me, for that matter."