Page 3

Chapter Three

I open my eyes to find a pair of blue eyes staring down at me. I scream, of course, and then scramble to a sitting position, only then noting that there aren’t cuts all over my arms like I would expect having just fallen through a mirror.

Through a mirror?

I must have hit my head.

The man—who is not the guy I saw outside my apartment last night—holds out a hand toward me like I’m a skittish cat he’s trying to coax back to him. Is he an EMT? Who called 911? Morgan? Is she here? How long have I been knocked out if she was worried enough to call for help?

“Everything is fine,” the guy says in a soothing voice. He’s really good-looking and familiar in a way I can’t put my finger on. Probably the knock to my head.

That’s when I notice he’s not wearing the usual EMT uniform. His clothes are weird—a double-breasted vest, a white shirt with a high, stiff collar, and a wide … scarf? No, it’s an old-fashioned tie, the ones that I’ve seen when I do costume posts for men’s fashion around the 1900s. A cravat! Yes. That’s it. His slacks are normal, although his thick, dark hair is parted right down the middle in a dorky way that also matches men’s fashion at the turn of the century. Maybe he’s an actor or something who lives in the building and he just got home from work? Did he hear me fall?

What is going on?

“Who are you?” I ask. “How did you get into my condo?”

“I’m Ben Mitchell, and we’re not in your condo. Well, I mean, I guess that depends on which condo you live in—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “This is going to be kind of hard to explain, so I need you to just go with it.” The modern way he’s speaking is really at odds with his outfit, and it’s kind of making my head hurt.

That might actually be because I knocked myself out.

“Ben Mitchell,” I repeat, the name finally clicking in my brain. “But you’re missing. What are you doing here? Wait, did you say I’m not in my condo? Did you move me? What is going on?” My voice gets shrill at the end, and Ben raises another hand in a defensive position like I’m about to go feral.

Which … maybe I am.

“Listen, yes, I’m Ben Mitchell and I’ve probably been missing from the future.” He says this in a rush, and when I open my mouth to try and make sense of what he just said, he shakes his head and goes on before I can speak. “You fell through the mirror into the past, the same way I did. It’s 1901, but neither of us have to worry about that if you can repeat what you did to get here and take us back to 2024.”

I blink at him. His eyes are stormy, and he has this broody look that’s sexy. Especially with the whole historical costume thing he’s got going on. It’s very Mr. Darcy, and if I weren’t already a bit worked up, that would be the reason I’m about to swoon.

“I think I might have a concussion,” I say instead.

Ben closes his eyes, and when he opens them, the storm is gone, just desperate blue eyes. “Go with this. I promise I’ll explain later, but I don’t want to waste any time just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” I scrunch my nose at him. None of this makes sense.

“Please,” he says in a soft voice that I think might be working weird magic on me because I nod.

He takes my hand and helps me up, guiding me a few steps forward and standing me in front of a mirror, which automatically makes me flinch. It looks like an exact replica of the one I just fell through.

Fell through? What did happen? A glance around the room tells me he’s right. I’m not in my condo. This room looks like the condo did when Aunt Vi lived there before the remodel, only everything’s on the opposite side as mine. So I’m at least on the other side of the hallway from my condo. Also, like this man, this room looks like it appeared right out of the original glory of The Villa. It’s a replica of the pictures I’ve seen of the hotel rooms back in The Villa’s heyday. I know everything about The Villa, so I think I would know if they had a restored room that’s like a museum or something. Staffed by a gorgeous, sexy man in full costume.

“Am I hallucinating?” I ask.

Ben chuckles. “No. Sorry.”

Why is he apologizing? That should probably be good news.

“Here we go,” he says in a singsong voice, taking my hands in his and then placing my hands palm down on the surface of the mirror. Exactly like those handprints I saw … Energy dances through my fingers, but with a lot less force than the shock I felt before I fell⁠—

Through the mirror.

Why does my brain keep insisting that’s what happened?

“Come on, come on, come on,” Ben whispers beside me, his grip tightening on my arm.

“What’s going on?” I ask in a small voice. “If not a hallucination, is this a dream? I’m dreaming, right? I knocked myself unconscious and I’m dreaming.”

Ben drops his hands from my arms and turns away from the mirror. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, that stormy look back in his eyes. If this is a dream, it’s not a big deal if I fan myself, right? Mussing up that weird part in his hair just increased his hotness factor by at least ten.