MIRROR, MIRROR

  Candace Robinson

  Copyright © 2023 by Candace Robinson

  Cover Design by Candace Robinson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Epilogue

  For those who would do anything for love

  Chapter One

  Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  Killian counted backward as Clove pressed her delicate fingertips to his closed eyelids. Seven had always been his lucky number. Always. Seven o’clock on the seventh day of the seventh month of the year 1887 was when he had married her.

  “Eyes are the window to the soul,” Clove whispered as those perfect fingers of hers drifted to his ears, her touch like silk, sending tingles down his spine. “Ears are the portal to the mind.” Her fingers trailed sparks to his lips, and his breathing hitched. “And the mouth is the doorway to the body.”

  Killian’s heart pounded while Clove’s fingers traced his neck, sliding down his bare chest, over his abdomen, heat building within him, lighting a crackling fire.

  He finally opened his eyes as her hand gripped him between his legs. Clove’s gaze met his, her features soft, her lips crimson and plump, her raven hair falling to her waist against creamy pale skin. He wanted to kiss every single inch of her naked flesh right then, run his tongue across each curve, but her eyes danced, letting him know that would have to come later.

  “And the mouth can also do wicked, wicked things,” Clove murmured, her warm brown eyes still latched onto his. “Like this.” She pressed her lips to his throat, giving him an open-mouth kiss. “And this.” Her voice was husky as her hot mouth reached the center of his chest. Then her tongue flicked the sensitive area, and Killian shivered. “Oh, and certainly this.”

  And then, he was in her mouth, her tongue doing things he had never dreamed of, had never experienced with any of his past lovers before his wife. He released a deep groan as the woman he loved, his one good thing in this world, showed him how much she loved him too.

  Clove stopped.

  As she clutched the side of her head, she went into a coughing spell.

  “Clove? Are you all right?” Killian rushed the words out, grabbing her by the shoulders. When she didn’t respond, he shouted, “Clove!”

  “It’s my head again,” she said, her voice strained while she swayed.

  He scooped her up in his arms, bringing her naked body to his chest. As she glanced up, bright crimson spilled from her nose, over her ruby lips. The warmth of her blood ran down the front of him, but he ignored it.

  “We’re going to see the doctor, Clove.”

  “No,” she said, her voice serious. “Every time we go, he keeps giving me medicines that do nothing except make me feel more ill.”

  “Please. We need to see if there’s something else he can do.” Richard was the only doctor in their village, and Killian trusted him.

  He lowered her to the wooden floor and grabbed a rumpled old shirt for her to hold to her nose. Killian then picked up her dress that lay crumpled on the floor and helped her put it on. He fastened each button as quickly as he could before throwing on his long sleeve shirt and trousers, leaving his vest behind.

  “I can walk,” she said, stumbling, her face paling further.

  “I know you could, but let’s not try that now.” Killian didn’t wait for her to argue—he lifted her once more and cradled her close. Clove’s breaths grew ragged as he carried her out of their small cottage and into the warm sunlight of the afternoon.

  In that moment, he knew Clove’s sickness was becoming worse. The episodes had been occurring for the past three months. When she had these spells, she told him she couldn’t think clearly, that her words remained trapped in her throat. The last time they had gone to visit Richard, he had told them to keep what was happening to themselves. Villagers tended to whisper to one another, and sometimes malicious gossip made things worse. Killian didn’t believe in witchcraft or the supernatural or anything of that nature. He only believed in Clove.

  Over the past few weeks, her body had become more frail, her dresses hanging looser on her thin frame with each passing day. They were both twenty-five years of age—she was much too young for this.

  A gentle breeze rumpled Killian’s hair and he peered down at Clove, her eyes shut. For the moment, the blood only seeped out from her nose and not her ears or mouth as it had the last time.

  The medicine may not have helped, but at least she was able to rest with it. On the nights Clove couldn’t sleep, she would get up and pace back and forth in their craft room, saying it helped the blood stay in her veins.

  Their chickens squawked and pecked at the ground in front of the house. The other animals were in the barn being just as loud. Killian liked that he had built their home a short distance from the other villagers, close enough they could go when things were needed, but far enough away so he and his wife could keep to themselves.

  “Killian, I’m fine,” Clove rasped. “It’s gone now.” Yet when she looked up at him, her eyes rolled back in her head and blood seeped from her ears.

  Damn it. Killian ran, holding his wife close as he passed through the trees and over fallen limbs into the village. Wooden and stone houses slipped into view, and smoke billowed out of the chimneys of several. In the distance, children’s laughter echoed. It was a Sunday, and after church service had ended, most everyone stayed in their homes and did what they could to make up for their sins.

  Richard’s home was on the very edge of the village, so Killian wouldn’t have to carry Clove much farther. As he walked up the creaking steps of Richard’s porch, Killian glanced at the single fern that was always there. Lifting his fist, Killian banged on the door, not once stopping until Richard pulled it open.

  “What are you doing, Killian?” The doctor frowned, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his gray hair disheveled. Richard’s gaze fell to Clove and he waved them in. “Hurry, bring her to the table.”

  Richard’s home was neat and tidy, and he lived alone. His wife had passed a few years prior from an illness that had taken almost half of the village, which might have been why Richard continued to put extra effort into helping Clove. Richard knew what it was like to lose someone he loved—he kept the lone fern on his porch because it had been his wife’s favorite.

  Clove shivered, peering at them, seeming too tired to speak at the moment. Her eyes closed, her breaths became even, and Killian knew she had fallen asleep. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, and he relaxed a fraction. He lowered his wife, careful not to disturb her, onto the doctor’s table and took a step back to leave Richard enough room to help her.

  Richard pressed his stethoscope to Clove’s chest and took a listen. “Her heart still sounds healthy.” He cleaned the blood from her face with a wet rag, then placed a wrinkled hand to her forehead. “Temperature isn’t high. But by looking at her, I know something is wrong.” Richard studied Killian as though he was warring with himself about something. “You don’t know yet, do you?”

  Killian furrowed his brow. “Know what?”

  “She’s carrying your child.”

  Everything within him stilled. “Child?”

  “She came to me a few days ago. I know it’s not my place to tell you, but I would want to know if it was my wife.” Richard paused and changed the subject as if he hadn’t just confessed this news. “Let’s try something else this time.”

  Richard left Clove and headed to a small cabinet across the room while Killian’s mind spun.

  A child? They had discussed children before, but neither had been ready. As he thought about a boy with Clove’s dark hair or a girl with her deep brown eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. But then he thought about how weak she had become, and he didn’t know if she would truly be able to carry a child to full term.

  He clasped Clove’s clammy hand while Richard moved around several glass jars. Richard took two small ones, along with a bundle of sage—twine wrapped around the herb’s middle.

  Killian frowned at the bundle. “Why do we need sage?”

  “It’s said it keeps the Devil away.”

  Killian didn’t believe in the Devil, but he kept his lips sealed, trying to stay polite. Any talk of that would be blasphemy, and he wouldn’t risk the villagers gossiping about Clove. His wife believed in all those things, though—Heaven, Hell, God, the Devil, angels, demons. Because of her beliefs, he would burn the sage for her.

  After accepting the items, Killian reached into his pocket to draw out payment.

  Richard stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Not today. It’s on me. I’ll pray for her tonight, as I do every night. And I’ll pray for the child growing in her belly.”

  “Thank you,” Killian said, not believing in prayers, either. Why would he? They had never been answered in his past. Not when his sister died, not when his twin brother died, not when his parents died, nor when Clove’s parents died. His aunt and uncle still lived in the village, but he rarely spoke to them.

  “Remember, don’t say anything about what she’s facing to anyone,” Ri chard said.

  “I won’t.” Killian lifted Clove from the table, her eyes remaining shut, her breathing still even.

  As she slept in his arms, he slowly walked back through the forest, careful not to jostle her too much.

  The chickens lifted their heads when Killian passed them, as though sensing something was wrong. Clove went outside every morning and spent long hours with the animals, especially the chickens and goats. She would read her Bible, sew, or dance in circles with her hair down, rain or shine.

  Killian opened the door and set Clove on the bed in their room. A small squeak escaped her mouth, but she didn’t stir.

  He then went into their craft room and tossed the sage on his desk before sinking into his chair. He glanced at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall, noticing the heavy bags beneath his green eyes. His thoughts turned to his wife. Ever since their childhood, Clove had been a free spirit, but it wasn’t until they were twelve that a deep friendship formed between them. He hadn’t loved her at first—he was stupid then. For years he didn’t see it, until one day it had hit him all at once.

  Clove still had her whole life in front of her, and she was fighting not only for herself, but their child. He would burn the sage that night, yet for now, he would pray for her, even though it had never helped him before. “I will do anything for her to live. I would sacrifice myself for her. I need my wife to be all right. Please.”

  “Do you now?” a deep voice whispered.

  Killian whirled around and stood, his wide eyes searching the room for where the voice had come from. He grabbed his rifle from his desk. But no one was there.

  “You want to know what is truly wrong with your wife, do you not?” the male voice purred.

  Killian glanced toward the mirror, where the voice seemed to have come from this time. Yet only Killian’s image reflected back at him. The oval mirror looked the same as it always did, ordinary—a bronze leafy pattern framed its clear glass. The antique had belonged to his parents, which had been handed down for generations. There had never been anything unusual about it before, but it was no ordinary mirror now.

  He reached for the sage, preparing to light it, when the mirror spoke. “That is not going to do anything.” The male voice had clearly come from the mirror, but no face appeared.

  “Who are you?” Killian asked, inching closer with his rifle raised.

  “You called on me, did you not?” the mirror cooed. “You want your precious love to heal. I can help you with that.”

  “A devil would never speak the truth.”

  “Her illness cannot be cured by a human. She will die before winter comes.”

  Killian’s hands shook as he lowered his rifle a fraction. His wife... Their child... “I will not let her die.”

  “Then you will have to trust me.” The voice paused. “Grab her handheld mirror from her sewing desk and break it.”

  Furrowing his brow, Killian stared at the mirror, trying to see the face beyond the glass. “That is devil tricks.”

  “Fine, then do not believe me.”

  Killian clenched his teeth and tightened his fists to stop from trembling. He didn’t quite believe what this being was saying, but he knew with his whole heart that his love was dying. And that she would die while carrying their child.

  At the moment, Killian wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if he was awake, but he decided that if his wife could be healed, he would believe anything—he would dream forever. He set the rifle on the table and lifted Clove’s silver mirror, then slammed it against the desk with a crash, shattering its glass, shards falling against the wooden floor.

  Something tugged at Killian. It wasn’t pain—it was as if some unknown, invisible force was pulling at his body. In an instant, his feet left the floor, and he was no longer in his home. He now stood directly across from the Devil himself in a room of mirrored walls.

  Chapter Two

  Killian’s mother had always been superstitious, saying that breaking a mirror would bring seven years of bad luck. He hadn’t believed in any of her superstitions, and if Clove died, he would already be getting more than seven years of bad luck anyway.

  He sucked in a sharp breath as he studied the man—no, not a man, but something else—before him in a warm room filled with mirror walls, floor, and ceiling. The male stood tall, staring back at him with irises of silver. Two small pointed horns that appeared to be mirror glass rested on his forehead. His lips were a pale blue, white hair hung to his waist, and pearlescent scales covered his body. The only clothing he wore on his lean and toned form was a pair of tight dark leather pants—even his feet were bare.

  Perhaps the Devil does exist.

  “Where am I? What did you do?” Killian demanded, clenching his fists so they wouldn’t shake. “You’re the Devil, aren’t you?”

  The male’s lips twitched, and Killian’s gaze drifted back to the stranger’s horns, where his own desperate image reflected.

  “I am a demon,” the male finally said, “but I am not the Devil you speak of. He is in another place and would not provide you the opportunity that I am. Humans go to him. I do not collect them here. You are in Veidrodis.” His eyes sparked, the silver in them shining as though they were made from glass too.

  “You said you would help Clove,” Killian said through gritted teeth. “You lied!”

  “I did no such thing.” The demon sauntered forward. “And you may call me Nuodėmė. I will help you save your wife. That is no lie. But you will have to complete several tasks for me first. Something of this nature will not come without payment.”

  Nuodėmė had only said the word tasks, but Killian knew it wouldn’t be something as simple as cleaning the mirrors in this room. A demon shouldn’t be trusted so easily, but Killian was curious, desperate. “What do you want me to do?”

  “A couple of things today. A couple tomorrow. Two more on day three. A final task on the fourth day. Then your wife will be saved.”

  Four days. Killian would only have to be here four days, but did time here work the same? Four days here could be twenty years at home. It would be bad enough to leave Clove in her condition for a short period, but any longer than that... “Four days, in my world?”

  “Yes.”

  Then, if what the demon spoke was true, Clove would live. He couldn’t let hope seep in just yet, not until she was no longer sick. But ... there was a chance.

  Killian nodded and glanced behind him, finding the wall held an oval mirror that matched the one in the craft room. Its glass reflected Clove’s rocking chair.

  Nuodėmė cleared his throat and Killian turned to face him. “If you prefer to do nothing, I can leave.” The demon arched a brow.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Nuodėmė motioned him to follow, and with a wave of his hand, a door within the mirror wall slid open.

  Killian swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart slamming against his rib cage as his gaze studied the new room in its entirety. Males and females, not the least bit human, filled the large space, each one appearing different than the other. Some with tails, their bodies the size of humans or small dolls, others the size of giants, their massive heads nearly touching the room’s high-vaulted ceiling. Scales covered several, fur others. Their skin colors all varied, but the one thing they had in common was the mirror horns protruding from their foreheads. Even then, those were different too.

  The couple nearest Killian lazily sipped from their silver goblets, and the female wiped a streak of red from her chin that looked suspiciously like blood. A shirtless demon relaxed on a chaise, his eyes closed, his head tipped back while a female wearing a corset and a male in a loincloth fed him grapes.

  Killian had never seen such sin in his life. Naked bodies were mounted atop one another throughout the entire room. On one side, a female straddled a male, rocking her hips forward, her back arching. In a corner, a muscular male thrust into a tall male demon against the wall. On the other side, two females joined another male. He gripped one’s neck and kissed her wickedly while the other performed a different kind of kissing between his thighs. His village would yell blasphemy, but Killian would only call it pleasure, just as he would when he and Clove would do acts of sin with their own bodies.

 

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