She spent the rest of the day avoiding him altogether.
It was better that way.
As night fell, she lay in her bed with the wide french doors thrown open onto her balcony. Darkness poured into her room like ink. She did her best to ignore it, comfortably sandwiched between Molly and Judd. Judd dozed on his back, belly up and legs curled in the air. Molly, as always, lay facing the door. Ears perked. Eyes alert. Poised to spring.
Amelia and Philip had gone out hours ago, headed in a stretch limousine to a gala in the city, her mother swathed in sequins and Philip in one of his custom-tailored suits. Nonprofit work, they called it, but the truth was that all they did was drown themselves in champagne until they weren’t embarrassed to fight in public anymore.
The night was warm and windless, and even with the window open the air in her room felt stale. Deep inside her belly, there was the familiar clench of something hungry.
Something dead inside something living.
Just thinking about it made her itch.
Restless, she climbed out of bed, swinging her legs over Judd’s belly and sliding onto the floor. Beneath her skin, she felt like she was peeling apart. Splitting open like a pomegranate. She crept on tiptoes past the vanity, where the covered mirror was slung with several pairs of battered pointe shoes. The barest glimmer of glass shone through the scarf she’d repurposed as a shroud. In the light, she could just make out the outline of her reflection. A faceless figure, shifting beneath the veil. It stretched itself out like a cat waking from a nap. Spine arched. Head tilted to the side.
“Don’t go to sleep,” it said, its voice raw with lack of use. “It’s too dark tonight. The shadows make pools deep enough for Him to search in.”
On the bed, Molly lifted her head. A snarl rippled in the back of her throat. The room veered oddly, stars bursting along Vivienne’s periphery. Not even midnight and she was already unraveling. Usually, she held on to herself just a little bit better. Usually, she was stronger. Tonight, she reached for the shroud and peeled it back. She was met with her own face, sharp and unsettling.
“Hello,” said the thing in the glass, and she in unison. Her stomach did a free fall. The scarf trembled in her fist. The longer she looked at her reflection, the more the girl on the other side seemed to distort, her features warping.
“Who do you mean?” Her voice came out in a croak. “Who’s searching for me?”
The creature bared its teeth. “You know who.”
She shook her head. Fear crawled up her throat, suffocating and sour.
“The House,” said her awful likeness. “Or else what sleeps beneath it. He is looking for you everywhere, and that rotten Reed knows it. That fool will lead you right to Him.”
Vivienne clutched at her throat. Her mouth was sand. Her tongue thick. In the mirror, the creature wrung its own neck, fingers gray and grasping.
“I am the only one you can trust,” it said. “Not yourself. Not the boy downstairs. Not that doctor you’ve got wrapped around your little finger.”
That horrible smile spread from one ear to the next, splitting the creature’s face in two. Its teeth seemed to elongate, forcing back its head, until it looked as though some secondary creature was oozing out from the soft shell of her body.
As if she’d only ever existed as a chrysalis for something else.
“You think I don’t know what you’re planning?” It pressed a curled fist against the glass. You think I don’t know your mind?” Its goblin fist rapped once upon the mirror. “Iam the reason you’re alive.”Rap.“I am your savior.”Rap.“Your lifeline. Your god. You cannot carve me out.”
Rap. Rap. Rap.
Glass shattered, exploding over her hand in stinging fragments. Judd woke with a woof and rolled over onto his belly, nearly flopping out of bed. At his side, Molly began to howl.
Out in the hall, there came the sound of running. The door to her room slammed open. The dogs went wild, their teeth bared, slaver hanging from their jowls. In her daze, it took Vivienne several seconds to realize they were barking at Thomas. He stood framed in the open door, dressed for a workout in gym shorts and athletic socks, a thin line of sweat darkening his T-shirt.
He pushed past the dogs, silently taking in the mess of her vanity. The mirror sat crunched in its frame, slippers knocked askew and the remaining glass as jagged as fangs. Several atomizers had been knocked over in the impact. They lay strewn across the floor in a thousand glittering pieces, perfume seeping into her rug.
Slowly, Thomas’s gaze traveled to where she stood. She peered back at him, clutching her bleeding fist to her chest and doing her best to think of something clever to say. Something cruel. Nothing came to her.
He took her in slowly, worry chasing out the confusion on his face. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her this way. If there was something monstrous peering out from behind her eyes, or if she’d managed to pack it all away in time. She hoped so. He was looking at her far too closely, taking silent note of every detail—chronicling the nicks and scrapes, the broken glass like stardust at her feet.
“What happened?”
I tripped.
It was a lie, and both of them knew it.
“You’re bleeding.”
