Page 78 of Lucifer's Mirror

“Go on,” she says. “Try them on.”

She turns away while I kick off my sneakers and strip off my clothes. I pull on the panties first—no bra, but I’ve gotten used to that. Then I tug on the pants; they feel soft and supple, like a second skin, and they fit perfectly. I put on the tank top next, then Hecate hands me a pair of long black leather boots, and I tug them on. I feel... right.

She moves behind me, and I feel her hands in my hair. For a second, I stiffen, but then I force myself to relax. She braids my hair and ties it with a ribbon. Then she takes my shoulders and turns me so I’m facing the tall mirror—an ordinary mirror this time, I presume. Though who knows?

“There. What do you think?” she says.

I look different. Like someone else. But unfortunately, someone else I don’t know. I stare at my face. It looks the same but different—my emerald eyes are brighter. My black hair hangs in a thick braid over my shoulder. I glance behind me in the mirror and meet Hecate’s gaze. There’s a wistful expression in her eyes—a sadness tinged with something else I can’t put my finger on.

“What is it?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You remind me so much of…” She trails off.

“Who? Who do I remind you of?”

She looks away, then gives a little shrug. “Your father. You have his eyes.”

Shock flares through me. “You knew my father?”

“I did. A long time ago. But I won’t talk of him now.”

But I want to know.I keep the words inside because, although I only met her yesterday, I already know her well enough to be aware that she won’t be swayed by my begging. I sigh and turn away from the mirror. “Just tell me one thing,” I say. “Was he a good man?”

A wistful expression crosses her face. “I always thought him the best of all of us.” She sighs. “Come, let’s find your sword.”

I have a sword?

She steps closer to the wall where all the swords hang, and I don’t need her to tell me which is mine. It calls to me. It draws me in. I reach up to a sword hanging in the center of the wall and touch it reverently. A tingle runs down my arm, through my body, and settles in my heart.

“I see you recognize each other,” she says.

The sword is slightly shorter than most of the others on the wall, which is just as well since I’m guessing I’m more than slightly shorter than the usual people who wield them. The blade is broad, and the hilt is silver inlaid with gold and what looks like a huge emerald. Aw—it matches my eyes.

She takes the sword down, along with the accompanying scabbard, and slides the blade into the sheath. “Its name is Nightfall.”

“Swords have names?”

“Of course. It’s very old and has an illustrious past. Use it well.” She holds it out to me, and I take it. Another shiver of electricity runs through me. She shows me how to fasten the scabbard, so the sword hangs down my back. I reach up, wrap my hand around the hilt, and draw my sword.

And it’s just like when I got on Stella for the first time. This feels right, like I’ve done it many times. I turn slowly back to the mirror.

And I grin.

I look like a total badass.

Chapter 37

Swords and Chickens

“Nomore,”Igasp.

It’s late afternoon, and I’m bone-deep weary. My sides are heaving, and every muscle aches.

Hecate has worked with me all day outside in the warm sunshine in a clearing just beyond the village. No actual fighting, but exercise after exercise, swinging my sword—stabbing, pivoting. She’s right. I remember, in some deep part of my mind and body, how to do this. I thrill to the knowledge that if this memory is in there, then so are the rest.

But while I know how to do it, I haven’t actuallydoneit in three years, and my muscles are non-existent. Swinging a sword is not easy work. I wish I’d hit the gym more often.

We broke briefly for a lunch of bread and fruit, then more exercise. She said she wanted to see what I could do—which wasn’t much—so she could set me a training schedule.