Page 25 of Hemlock & Silver

Probably there’s multiple lessons there, but the one I took away was Don’t rummage through your daughter’s things or she might run off and become a nun .

(Okay, I’m being overly flippant about it. The truth is that Lucia’s mother scared me a little. She had wanted to find something terrible, if only so that it would justify all her paranoia in retrospect. Even twenty years later, the memory makes me uncomfortable.)

I knew that I was going to have to go through Snow’s possessions if I couldn’t find another source of poison, and I knew that it was in an infinitely better cause, and I still felt a little ill at the thought.

One more day watching, I decided. Then I’ll get down to work on the spices. Then I’ll worry about the rest.

I put my notes away, cleaned my teeth with sage and salt, then got into bed and blew out the candle.

Cool air crept through the gap between the balcony doors, as light-footed and elusive as the one-eyed cat.

I pulled the blankets over my shoulders, enjoying the contrast between the warm bed and cool air.

I was nearly asleep when I felt a cold prickle along my scalp and realized that someone was watching me.

I was lying on my side with my back to the balcony.

I kept my eyes almost closed, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t notice that I was awake.

If it was an assassin, that might make the difference between…

well, realistically, between dying in the next five seconds or the next five minutes.

If they knew that I was awake, surely they’d strike at once.

Still, I’d take the five minutes. There was always a chance that I could roll off the bed and sprint out the door, screaming, before they got me.

(Why didn’t I start screaming now? Simple, because I hadn’t seen the assassin.

It was possible that I was imagining things, in which case I’d wake the house over nothing.

Was I really picking death over embarrassment?

Yes. Yes, I was. I am not saying that I was making good choices in that moment.)

I feigned fidgeting in my sleep and moved just enough so that I could see the mirror opposite the bed. My shoulder blades itched, waiting for the knife.

Through slitted eyelids, I studied the mirror. It looked onto an unfamiliar landscape, the humped shapes of furniture gone shadowy and strange. I couldn’t see the balcony at this angle, but… There!

Something glowed white in the mirror. It took a moment to realize that it was the reflection of a face, and worse, it was the face of someone bending over me .

I knotted my fingers in the sheets, concentrating on keeping my breathing slow and shallow as I studied it.

I couldn’t make out any details. It was too dark, and I didn’t dare open my eyes more than a fraction.

Just that white oval and a suggestion of clothing underneath it, but that was enough to set my heart hammering.

It felt as if my whole body must be shaking with every beat.

The face tilted as the assassin cocked their head.

I looked in vain for the knife that must be in their hand.

Unless they’re going to use poison. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?

Though poison isn’t the best weapon for something like this.

A needle coated in toxin seems like a good idea, but depending on where it goes in, more or less might actually get into the victim’s blood.

It could certainly make me very sick, of course, and depending on the localized swelling, I might wind up getting sliced open and dying of infection, but that’s a risky thing to count on.

And there aren’t too many substances so potent that a single needle would kill an adult woman my size.

They exist, but they’re extremely expensive.

Of course, if you were hiring an assassin, maybe money was no object—

The face moved again. They turned to the side, showing me a glimpse of a pale profile. Moonlight turned their hair the white-blond color of Snow’s.

They took a half dozen steps, passing out of my line of sight. I froze, forgetting not to hold my breath. If I moved my head to follow, they’d know I was awake. But if I didn’t…

Move! I screamed at myself. Roll off the bed! They’re coming for you! Why are you making it easy for them?

But moving was hard. As long as I stayed still, I was safe in this little bubble of inaction. If I moved, everything would start happening all at once.

That is ridiculous, I told myself crisply. Move. Now.

I threw myself sideways, rolled off the bed, and found my legs wrapped up in the blankets. I fell heavily on my forearms, cursing, and tried to fight my way free, rolling to face the foot of the bed where even now… even now…

There was no one there.

I kicked my legs free and frantically scanned the room, searching for the figure that I had seen , damn it, I knew I had, there was no question …

Nothing. There was no one else there.

I got to my feet and lit a candle with shaking hands.

I looked under the bed but saw only dust bunnies.

I yanked open the curtain to the little washroom and saw only my own face in the mirror.

The candle illuminated it from underneath and cast sinister shadows in my eye sockets.

I turned away hastily and opened the door to the privy. It, too, was empty.

At last I went to the balcony, looking for a rope or a grappling hook or a ladder—some way that the assassin had climbed up to the second floor.

Nothing there either. The house had stucco walls, but I couldn’t imagine anything larger than a gecko climbing them, and they certainly hadn’t jumped up from ground level.

I peered over the railing, trying to think. The gibbous moon turned the gardens into a pale boneyard, the hedges dark bands etched across pale earth. Nothing moved. The distance across to the next room’s balcony was perhaps eight feet. Could they have leaped to it?

If they had, they were long gone now. There was no trace of anything or anyone, not even a conveniently scuffed footprint on the tiles.

I circled my room two or three more times, arguing with myself over whether I’d really seen what I thought I saw. Could I have dreamed it? It hadn’t felt like a dream. That indistinct white face in the mirror… could it have been the moon reflecting on something, then drifting slowly out of range?

I hunted for anything on the wall or balcony that would have given the impression of a face, or even a pale blob, but found nothing. I gave up and went to the mirror itself, studying it as if I would see the figure’s tracks left on the glass.

The longer I looked, the stranger and more distorted the shadows became. My face looked less and less like it belonged to me, and more like some unkind stranger. Damn it. I hate mirrors at night, and this is why.

Yet something was nagging at me, so I didn’t turn away, though I tried not to look at myself.

I searched the reflected bed-curtain and nightstand and the great humped shadow of the clothes trunk.

Indistinct shapes seemed to bleed together until the room might have been carved from a single block of stone, the furniture rooted to the floor, the rugs chiseled carefully into rock.

I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it, then opened them again. Nothing. Nothing but my own face looking out.

My face.

It dawned on me slowly that the intruder couldn’t have been looking at me, because if they had been, the back of their head would have been reflected in the glass. Instead, they’d been looking at the mirror.

Had they been watching me in it while I was watching them? Had they suspected that I was awake and fled?

It made no sense. Why would you creep into your victim’s room and then just… not kill them? Unless they hadn’t been an assassin at all, but someone… what? Staring at my reflection while I slept?

Creepy, but at least not lethal. But are you sure someone was actually there?

I wasn’t. The whole encounter was beginning to seem more and more like a dream. Perhaps I had simply woken myself up by falling out of bed.

I sighed. I had to wrestle the blankets back up before I could climb into bed. In the morning, the maids would probably wonder what on earth I had been doing.

Eventually I fell asleep, but I left the candle burning all night long.