Dark Mirror (18 page)

She bit her lip. She must have traveled into the future since nothing like this carriage existed in her day or in the past. But how far in the future? Surely many years had passed. Probably so many that none of the village Irregulars were still alive.

She was heading down to the harbor when she passed the parish church, Saint Peter’s by the Sea. She felt a rush of relief at how solid and familiar it looked. Saint Peter might be the patron saint of fishermen, but maybe he would respond to prayers by a desperately lost student mage.

She climbed the steps and found that the heavy oak door opened smoothly under her hand. The interior was dark, but a surprising amount of light came through the stained glass windows.

Except they weren’t stained glass anymore. The windows had been replaced with clear glass. They did a good job admitting moonlight, but they wouldn’t fill the interior with brilliantly colored light during the day.

Even without the windows, the small church radiated peace. Feeling better than she had since the raid on the Labyrinth, she walked up the aisle to the altar. The very same cross, the same carved bench ends to the pews. She exhaled with pleasure. If the church had changed dramatically, she would have feared that God had died.

Vases of fresh flowers were set beside the altar. She brushed them with her fingertips. The flowers of May, not October. If there were still flower guilds decorating churches, the world hadn’t changed beyond recognition.

The vicar’s house had been right next door. Dare she knock on the door at this hour? Vicars were supposed to help people, and she certainly needed help. If she looked as young and confused as she knew how, he might not ask too many questions until she had a better sense of where she was. She suspected he’d be more cooperative if she didn’t wake him up in the wee hours, so she’d spend the rest of the night in the church.

Before she could get settled, the door swung open and a narrow but fierce beam of light slashed across the church. A gruff male voice barked, “Who’s there?”

CHAPTER 19

Heart pounding, Tory dived under the front pew before the light could find her. As the man walked down the aisle toward the altar, she lay as still as a terrified rabbit, hoping the stealth stone would keep him from noticing her.

The fellow muttered under his breath as he flicked the light about, keeping it low. It must be some form of mage light, though she’d never seen one that created such a narrow, powerful beam. As she opened her inner senses, she felt a soft buzz of magic.

The man hunting her was a mage. She was doomed.

He drew closer and closer, pacing back and forth as if he knew she was here. It took all her will to lie still when she desperately wanted to stand and run. But then he’d see her for sure.

“You!” He stopped by her hiding place, his shoes directly in front of her face. “You come out from under there. And don’t try anything! I have a gun.”

Looking as harmless as she knew how, Tory crawled out from under the bench and stood. The fellow’s light was so bright that she couldn’t see him clearly.

He said with surprise, “You’re just a girl!”

His voice became lighter, and she realized that he sounded young, as much boy as man. He must have been lowering his voice to sound older.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to see him despite the glare. Tallish, broad-shouldered, fair hair. In fact, he looked rather familiar. “Jack?” she asked incredulously. “Jack Rainford?”

“I’m Nick Rainford. My older brother is Joe. Do you know him?”

His trousers and shirt and knit vest were unlike any garments she was familiar with, but he did look something like the Jack she knew in the Irregulars. Like a cousin, maybe. “I only know a Jack Rainford,” she said cautiously. “Does he live around here?”

“I don’t know any Jacks. Joe is away training to be an RAF pilot.” Nick ran the light beam over her. “Who are you and why are you out in your nightgown?”

What was the RAF? “I’m Victoria Mansfield, usually called Tory, and this dress is perfectly respectable,” she retorted. “Stop pointing that light in my eyes! What is it?”

“Just an electric torch.” He pointed the beam down so it didn’t glare. “That dress might be respectable, but it still looks like a nightgown. Where do you live?”

Irritated by his manner, she asked, “What business is it of yours?”

“It’s my business because I’m part of the Lackland volunteer patrol. The local council formed it because we’re on the coast and would be the first to be invaded.”

Too much had changed for this to be the war against Napoleon, so it must be a different war. The English and the French had been fighting for centuries. “Why can’t England and France learn to be friends instead of fighting all the time?”

“We’re not fighting France,” he said with surprise. “The French are our allies. The enemy is Germany, just like it was in the Great War.” He shook his head. “How can you not know we’re fighting the Nazis? Have you been living in a cave? That would explain the dirt stains on your nightgown.”

“It’s not a nightgown!” Exasperated, she plopped down on the pew. “Don’t girls wear dresses around here?”

“Not ones that reach their ankles.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re a runaway. You can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen. Shouldn’t you go home? Or maybe I should take you to the police station.”

“I’m sixteen, and not a runaway,” she snapped. “Not that it’s your business.”

“There’s a war on. Spies are everyone’s business. That’s why I’ve volunteered to patrol one night a week. I saw you come in here, so I followed, thinking you might be a Nazi spy.” He sounded disappointed that she wasn’t.

“Is Nazi a nickname for a German?”

He shook his head at her ignorance. “The Nazis are a political party. Their leader is Hitler, a tyrant who wants to conquer the world.”

“He sounds like Napoleon, only German. Do you catch many spies?”

He grinned. “You would have been the first.”

“Do you really have a gun?”

“I lied,” he said cheerfully as he sat down on the other end of the pew. “But a spy would be armed, so I wanted to scare you. You still haven’t said where you come from.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you really are a spy. A pretty little girl would be a great choice, actually. No one would suspect you. You’re probably really twenty-eight, a champion marksman, and you speak six languages flawlessly.”

“You certainly have a good imagination! I speak French, but I’m no spy.” She scowled at him. “If you must know, I’ve been staying out at Lackland Abbey.”

His voice hardened. “The abbey has been in ruins for donkey’s years. Just the sort of place a spy would hide.”

“Would you stop this foolishness about spies!” But maybe this was a chance to learn more about the abbey. “How did the place get ruined?”

“I don’t really know. It’s been abandoned since maybe my grandparents’ time. During the Great War, a German ship shelled it and that knocked down a lot of the buildings. Then a few weeks ago, an RAF plane dropped a bomb or two there by mistake.” His voice changed. “They say once it was a school for sorcerers.”

He sounded wistful. And he did have that glow of power around him. “Do you believe in magic?” she asked experimentally.

His expression turned wary. “Magic is just superstition. But … I’ve heard stories that once there was magic in the world.”

He wished magic was real, she needed help and information, and because he was young, if he told everyone she was a lackwit, he might not be believed. It was time to take a risk. “Turn off that torch thing and I’ll show you something interesting.”

“You’ll run away!”

“How far do you think I’d get before you caught me?” She raised her hands. “See? No weapons. Nothing in my hands. You’d hear me if I tried to escape.”

“Very well.” He turned off the torch with a small click.

Thinking she wanted to look at the torch more closely later, she concentrated and created a ball of light in her right hand. “If you want to believe in magic and haven’t been able to, take a look at this mage lamp.”

“What…!” In the gentle glow of the light, his face was startled. “It’s some kind of Nazi trick that we haven’t figured out yet!”

Nick Rainford certainly had spies and Nazis on the brain. “It’s magic, Nicholas,” she said patiently. “Here, put out your hand and take it.”

Warily, he extended one hand. Tory rolled the mage lamp onto his palm. The light didn’t dim at all, confirming her guess that Nick had magical ability.

He stared raptly at the ball of light. “It
tingles.
”

“Brace yourself, Mr. Rainford,” Tory said. “Magic is real, and you have some power, though it’s undeveloped. Otherwise the mage lamp would fade out in your hand.”

“This could be science, not magic.” His gaze remained fixed on the light.

Tory took the lamp and brightened it to show his face better. “What is science?”

He looked baffled for a moment. “It’s … it’s studying how the world works and using that knowledge in practical ways.”

“That sounds like natural philosophy.” It was Tory’s turn to be baffled. “Give me an example of science. Is your torch science?”

He nodded, raising the torch for her to see. “Electrical power is stored in batteries in the handle. When I turn the torch on, they send electricity into a little wire in the bulb. That makes the wire glow and give light. At least, until the batteries run out of power.” He shook the torch, which was dimming. It brightened a bit. “Science in action.”

So the world had learned to harness electricity. In Tory’s time, it was mostly an intriguing novelty that didn’t do anything useful. “Very handy, especially for people who don’t have magic. Shall I give you another demonstration?”

“It had better be something better than a light,” he said, still unconvinced.

Floating might not be of much practical use, but it was showy. She stood, closed her eyes, and visualized herself moving upward. Her control was improving, because she glided upward at a reasonable speed, also drifting a dozen feet across the church to preserve her modesty. Then she created a fistful of tiny mage lights and tossed them into the air to float around her like candle flames. “Is this good enough?”

“Hey!” His exclamation was a strangled squawk. “It’s … another Nazi trick!”

“You really are the most pigheaded boy.” She floated down gracefully in front of the altar as the lights faded out above her. “Do you think your Nazis could have kept something like this secret? And if they could—why reveal it to you now?”

“I … I
want
to believe in magic.” His face worked. “Family stories say the Rainfords were very good at it. But everyone knows that magic is just superstition.”

“What happened to the magic?” she asked, puzzled how something that was so much a part of life had faded away. “When did people stop accepting it?”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Maybe as science grew, there was less reason for magic and it faded away. These days, magic is considered to be either superstition or parlor tricks.” His fingers whitened on his torch. “But … but there have been times when I’ve felt something inside me that might be magic, if I knew how to use it.”

“You do have power. I can feel it.” She sat again. “What year is this?”

His brows arched. “Did you fall on your head out in the abbey? Maybe the ghost of a sorcerer pushed you down some of those old steps.”

“Perhaps, but
what year is it
?”

“1940, of course.” He shook his head. “You are the strangest girl.”

She sucked in her breath. Assuming England still used the same calendar, she’d traveled—one hundred and thirty-seven years into the future!

Wondering if there was any chance he’d believe her, she said, “I was a student at Lackland Abbey, but the school tried to eliminate magic, not teach it. In my time most people liked magic, except for the nobility. Wellborn children with power were sent to Lackland to be cured so our families wouldn’t have to disown us. Students who wanted to learn more about our abilities would meet at night in the tunnels under the abbey.”

“Easier to believe you’re a Nazi spy!” he scoffed. “What year do you claim to be from?”

“1803.”

“So you danced here through time from over a hundred years ago?” he exclaimed. “You’re not just strange. You’re
mad.
”

“I didn’t
dance
here!” she snapped. “It was more like being galloped over by a team of wild horses.” She caught his gaze, willing him to believe. “Last night I went to the Labyrinth, the tunnels below the school, for tutoring. We were raided by the school authorities. I was trying to escape when I ran into a tunnel that ended in a tall mirror. I touched it and fell through, and here I am. I … I have no idea if I can go back.”

Nick’s expression changed. “Merlin’s mirror. It really exists!”

“This makes sense to you?” She stared at him. “There’s a legend that Merlin built the tunnels under the abbey, but I’ve never heard of his mirror. What is it?”

“Like I said, my family has stories of magic. There are lots of old Rainford journals. I’ve read them all, and several times there were mentions of Merlin’s mirrors.” He frowned, remembering. “There were seven mirrors. They looked like polished silver, and they could be used to travel through time and space. But that’s all I remember.”