Page 25 of Lucifer's Mirror
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask as the door closes.
“No. You’ll see soon enough.”
“Don’t want to spoil the excitement, huh?”
His mouth quirks. “Something like that. Come, Brown will bring your friend.”
I follow him out of the room, expecting to head for the door and the car parked out front. Instead he takes a left turn in the hallway, walks for what seems like a mile, and then pauses at a set of double doors made of dark wood embossed with darker metal. He murmurs a few words I can’t catch, and the doors swing open, revealing stone walls and a broad stone staircase curving down into the darkness.
He heads down, and I stay put, my feet locked in place. Is he taking me to the basement to murder me and bury my body, never to be seen again? I know he saved my life, but maybe he’s decided that was a mistake. I mean, what do I really know about him?
“Are you coming?”
With a shrug, I follow. It’s not like I have a better option right now.
Torches set in stone sconces burst into life as Khaosti passes—and I thought the day couldn’t get any stranger. At least I’m not scared anymore. I think my brain has been overloaded with craziness and moved to the stage where it’s just accepting everything, or more likely storing it all away so I can bring it out later and have the screaming heebie-jeebies.
We go down and down. I count the steps for the first fifty and then give up. The air is chilly, getting colder as we descend until it bites into my bones, and I tug my jacket around me. Khaosti is far ahead of me now, though I can hear his soft footfalls on the stone. Finally, they halt, and the only sound is the crackle of the burning torches.
When I catch up with him, the staircase has come to an abrupt end, and the way is blocked by a metal door. He does the creepy whispering thing again, and it swings open, revealing a dimly lit chamber. The only light comes from the flickering flame of a single torch across the room.
I step inside, following Khaosti. The room is empty except for a tall mirror, which stands in the far corner. It is about seven feet tall and two feet wide, and it has a plain dark wooden frame.
But when I draw up close to it, I have no reflection. Nothing. My heart rate picks up.
“Is this Lucifer’s Mirror?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Khaosti snaps back.
Something moves behind me, and I almost jump out of my skin. But it’s only Zayne, looking very smart in clean black jeans and a matching T-shirt that appears to fit him perfectly. He has a vaguely bewildered look on his face—probably the same one I have on mine.
Khaosti turns to us. “A warning,” he says. “When we get through, do not speak until we reach the other side.”
I open my mouth to ask,through where, but he holds up a hand. “In fact, don’t speak until I tell you to. Starting now.”
Freaking control freak.
Zayne snorts. “Not happening.”
Khaosti takes a step toward him, suddenly seeming bigger, his eyes glowing. Oh, no. Maybe I should have warned Zayne about the werewolf thing. But I hadn’t wanted to put him off coming with us, because… well, I don’t think that would go down well. And it’s a comfort to have a familiar face nearby.
“If you want to survive this,” Khaosti says, “you would do well to take the advice of someone who knows what he’s talking about.”
“You, I suppose,” Zayne sneers. He’s never been good with authority figures.
I put my hand on his arm and stare him in the face, willing him to cooperate. Because Khaosti is right; at this point, he’s the only one here who has the slightest clue about what’s going on.
I feel the moment the tension seeps out of Zayne’s muscles, and he gives me a brief nod.
Khaosti turns back to the mirror that isn’t a mirror. He murmurs something low down that I can’t catch and the glass ripples, reminding me of a stone tossed in a lake.
Zayne’s hand slips into mine and he squeezes. I can’t take my eyes off the ripples; the mirror is starting to glow with a golden tinge that forms in the center and radiates out.
“Go,” Khaosti says.
Go where?
But I know, deep down. I step toward the mirror. Zayne’s hand tightens in mine, but I tug free, drawn toward that golden glow. I expect some form of resistance, but there’s nothing; in fact, the thing seems to suck me in…
