I didn’t have to wonder for long. Aggie comes marching into the room and stares at me, her nose almost touching the glass.
If only she knew she was staring deep into my eyes, her lips fractions away from mine as she hisses her declaration of war.
“I don’t know what’s in this mess,” she snarls, grabbing her forehead in one hand. “But it’s better than it ever has been. A strange noise? Ha! A trick of the light? Troxler Syndrome? What the hell ever. I. Don’t. Care. Because you know what? Let me go crazy here, in Pine Ridge, with Gloria, Georgia, Claire, Cindy, and Cathy to watch my back. With Albain and Alan. Albain and Ellen. Alban and Alain!” She slurs the words and shoves herself away from me, throwing her jacket and book on the bed.
I think she’s tipsy.
“I’m so drunk. Claire gave me a ride home, and Cindy drove my car back. They’re so nice, and I’m practically a stranger. Nicer than my stepdad. I’m sh-taying here, Berry. If I gotta go crazy, I’m gonna go crazy here, where I can have a cat and my own couch. My own bed. No slimy Arnie who likes to examine sick girlsshhhh. Shhh. Shhh, I’m gonna have a hangover tomorrow because I don’t drink, Berry. Berry, I don’t drink because it’s bad when you take pills like I take—but I’m taking less now. The ones that are ‘as needed’? I don’t needs ‘em.”
Oh, she’s not tipsy. She’stoppled.
And that gives me an idea. Maybe this once... Maybethisis the time I can trick someone into letting me out. Once they’ve grown afraid of their own reflection, afraid of my voice, they never ask. No matter how cunning I am, my victims shout at me to leave, stay back, or go away.
This time, my first strike will be a different sort of blow.
“Why would you go crazy?” I whisper.
Aggie looks around, and her eyes settle on the cat. “Berry?”
And she blames the voice on the cat? Fine. As if that little thing could ever have my rich, sultry tones. Oh, well, you work with what the humans give you. “Yes. Tell me.”
“Oh. I never told you? That’s fair. I didn’t even know you could shpeak.” Aggie hiccups and crashes down next to her “talking” kitten. “Well... I had a breakdown in college. Too much stress. All the hard classes. Honor society. So many extra... extra.... Extracurriculars. I wanted to be perfect, so I would get a scholarship, keep the scholarship, get an intership—internshop—the thing before they give you a job. My dad was overseas. My boyfriend—serious boyfriend, not like some fling—cheated on me. I almost,” she pauses and drags a finger across her neck with a spluttering hiss. “But I didn’t. But ever since then, my stepdad has been messing with my meds. Yeah! Yeah, like I say that, and no one believes me. Everyone just thinks he’s helping me, but what wouldyoucall it when someone takes you off your meds, and says ‘Try this one, try that one’? I don’t trust him. I don’t trust him for so many reasons, Strawberry. Listen, I’m going to tell you all the reasons.”
I HAD NO IDEA MY CATcould talk.
She probably can’t, but I’m so drunk that Ithinkshe can, and that’s not crazy. That’s just hammered. I haven’t had a drink since I was twenty-one. Tonight’s book club came with three glasses of wine, and... nope. I can’t hold my liquor. Or grapes.
“But I can hold my Berry,” I giggle hysterically, holding the kitten and continuing my list. I’ve lost count, but I think I’m on reason seventy-three why I hate Arnie and don’t trust him.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, and change into a nightgown that looks like it belongs on a Hollywood starlet instead of a poorparalegal. “It’s nice to have my own style. My own brain. Even my drunk-ass brain. How can your ass be in your brain, Berry? Well, I don’t know, but Arnie’s a butthead.”
Laughing so hard my knees give out, I collapse onto the bed. “Good night, kitty.”
“AGGIE?” I WHISPER THEwords, licking my lips. This is dicey, but I can do it.
I think.
“Mhm?” Aggie is almost asleep. Her speech slurs, and alcohol has dulled all of her senses. I’ve seen her body twitch in those last hazy moments of wakefulness, and sleep will be here soon.
“Aggie, you’re not mad. Not now. Not crazy,” I use the word modern Americans use. I was Roman. Once.
I don’t know if phantasms have a nationality. There’s no mortal blood to flow in my veins, so I suppose not.
“That’s what Junie said.”
After tonight’s drunken tirade, I know that Junie is her stepmother (she sounds wonderful, we like her) and Arnie is her stepfather. He’s evil. I’m convinced he has sinister designs on Agatha... and that’s not allowable. Agatha is mine to destroy. Or play with.
Or even protect.
“Not every voice you hear means madness, you know. Sometimes there are other things in the world.”
“Like cats?”
“Or... ghosts.” I don’t bother to explain that I’m not a ghost. Humans know about ghosts. The other supernatural things in this world? Not so much. I continue, “There are lonely spirits, my dear. People who just want to be your friend.” I smile as I lieto her. I’m far from her friend, but she must trust me if I’m to escape my prison—at least for a few hours each night.
“I was lonely. I was lonely until I came here. What’s your name?”
This is going better than I'd hoped. Names have power, of a sort. Once I have someone's name I can call them into my world—but that's a stupid trick. The mirror, even though it is my prison, is also my safety net. I'm bound to it. I'll cease to exist without it. It's mine. To have another invade my space, live forever, or possibly end my existence? Who knows if phantasms can harm one another?
