Page 9 of Soulbound

...your fault....

The mirror began to change. Something pushed beyond its misty surface. A formless face lifted out of the glass, almost as if it were covered in liquid quicksilver. Only the thin surface of the obsidian held it back from her world.

Cleo began to shake. "How do I stop her? How do I find her?"

"The key to defeating the darkness lies with Sebastian," said the face. "He will tip the balance."

The driving ache behind her eye grew worse. She couldn't hold the trance much longer. Cleo blinked, and realized she was leaning toward the bloody mirror. Tendrils of black mist curled off the glass, caressing her face.

"Feed me," it whispered. "More of your sweet, sweet blood, and I'll show you more. I'll show you everything...."

"How do.... How do I stop London's doom from happening?" she whispered, her eyelids blinking sleepily. She was so tired, and it would be so easy to fall asleep on the mirror.

The black tendrils brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. One looped behind the back of her neck. "A kiss," it whispered. "A kiss is all I ask. And then I'll tell you everything...."

Premonition screamed through her.

Cleo fought, forcing her arms straight. The curl of mist in her hair tightened, becoming a noose that dragged her down, the face lifting to meet her, its mouth yawning wide open—

"Begone!" shouted a firm voice. "Let her go!"

Lightning crackled. Cleo felt strange hands catch hold of her, and then they were tearing her away from the mirror's hungry face. It sank back into the black mist of the mirror's surface, like a thwarted whale leaping from the sea and plunging back down.

Little tendrils of mist crept over the edges of the mirror, crawling for her hands and her bloodied finger. Blood dripped from her nose, and Cleo fought to close her Third Eye as the mirror pulled at her.

"Stand back." She recognized the voice now. Lady Rathbourne.

Relief flooded through her, leaving her hiccupping, and then something flashed through her field of vision—

Glass shattered. There was an enormous impact of power hitting the mirror's heart, and it blew Cleo back onto her hands. A shimmering ward enveloped her, protecting her from the shards of black glass. The mist screamed a high-pitched scream, and then it withdrew abruptly within the frame from whence it had come. Cleo slammed her hands over her ears as the mirror died a slow death.

Panting, Lady Rathbourne stepped around her, lowering the staff she wielded. She looked to have come directly from bed, her open robe fluttering around her nightgown, and her black hair tumbling down her back. "Is it destroyed?"

Cleo reached for the frame. Shattered pieces of glass lay strewn around it, but the frame was lifeless now. Inert. The little glowing eyes of the snake had faded. "What was that thing?"

"An Ouroboros sees directly into the Shadow Dimensions, and summons something there to answer your questions. Something that can pierce the veil of time," Ianthe said, kneeling at her side and helping her to sit up. "What were you thinking? It could have killed you."

"Noted." Cleo pressed her hand to her forehead, pushing against her eyes. Everything in her ached. "It was somewhat stronger than I'd anticipated."

Or maybe she was weaker.

Doubt flushed through her again. She'd lost so much. The failure dug sharp claws into her. A year ago she would have wielded the mirror without a concern. A year ago she'd been the mighty Cassandra, the Order's most gifted seer.

"Your fault...," whispered the mirror.

"How did you know?" she murmured, trying not to shake.

Ianthe helped her sit up. "The cellar's warded," she said dryly. "I felt you breach the wards and came to investigate. Learn anything important?"

"Time's running out. I don't know when, but my Vision happens when there is snow on the ground."

They both exchanged a look.

"Winter won't last much longer," Ianthe murmured. "Today was warmer than last week. The snow will melt soon."

"Two weeks at most," Cleo added. "Unless we get another storm."

Ianthe covered the dead mirror with her night-robe, refusing to look at it. "What else?"