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“It’s not what I meant,” Alice’s reflection said in a low voice. “Maybe you’re trying too hard. Your mind is all cloudy and messed up, and you aren’t thinking clearly. You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. You’re driving yourself mad. Putting up a Christmas tree might take your mind off it and give you the clarity you need.”

Alice relaxed her shoulders and leaned back against the wall. She dropped her head and exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Alice’s reflection took another sip. “Do you know what I miss?”

“The twenty-four-hour make out sessions?” Alice asked as she lifted her head.

“Well, yes,” Alice’s reflection answered. “But I miss the silence.”

“When were you two ever silent?”

“It’s the silence where you can be with someone and not have to say a word. You’re there together. Comfortable. There isn’t any uneasiness or anxiousness. Only the two of us there. Calm. A stupid grin on his face. Me biting my lip to hold back a smile. The sexual tension . . . umm?—”

Alice’s reflection gazed at an empty space in her bathroom. She took a sip. Her eyes betrayed her illicit thoughts.

Alice said, “I miss the silence too. He could wink and nod, and I was his.”

“We were theirs. We were bewitched by them.”

Alice raised her glass in a toast. “To being bewitched.”

Alice’s reflection tipped her glass and tapped the mirror. Alice tipped hers, and they both took a drink. Alice finished herglass and set it down beside her. She pulled up on the hooded sweatshirt, burying her nose inside. She inhaled, gathering in the last remaining scents of Hugo’s cologne still lingering on the cloth.

“It’s like I can still hear him,” Alice’s reflection said. “The silly little playful things we used to tell each other. I can still hear his voice.”

“Oh yeah, what did he used to tell you?”

“How he loved me. Desired me. Lusted for me. All the dirty little things he wanted to do. The deep, gravel in his voice,” her reflection said. “Mmm.”

Alice leaned her head back. Her eyes grew heavy, closing ever so slightly. The soft orchestral music of “Silent Night” filled the bathroom, lulling her to sleep. She struggled to open her eyes, but to no avail.

“Tell me what he said to you. Talk dirty to me,” Alice said as she drifted asleep.

“He used to tell me his favorite thing to do was drag his fingertips across the curves of my naked body.”

With a slumber-laden voice, Alice said, “He said he was tracing a path through my goosebumps. What else?”

“He told me he loved me and wanted to explore my every desire.”

Alice’s shoulders drooped. Her head tilted to the side. Her eyes were too heavy to awaken. She eked out one more sentence as she drifted off, “Tell me one more.”

Alice’s reflection said, “Madeline Sinclair is a banshee, and she’s building an army of ghouls.”

“What?” Alice said, snapping open her eyes. “I mean, her painting was a little disturbing, but I don’t think she’s a banshee.”

Alice’s reflection pulled back in shock, her head shifting from one side of the bathroom to the next. “No. I’m not talking about the painting. Hugo said it. I heard him say it.”

Alice sat up and leaned forward. Her eyes focused on her reflection. Max lifted her head at the sudden movement from Alice, tilted her head, and drew back her ears in an inquisitive manner.

“Hugo is here, and he’s talking,” Alice’s reflection said with a giddy glee in her voice. She hopped down from the sink.

“Don’t mess with me,” Alice said. “I’m not in the mood.”

Alice’s reflection paced around the bathroom. “I’m not! He’s here. I can hear him.”

Alice sprang to her feet and moved to the sink. Placing both hands on the porcelain pedestal, she leaned closer. “You can hear him? Where is he?”

“Slow down,” her reflection shouted. “What about Madeline?”