It was on the tip of Anne’s tongue to refuse, to say that if she couldn’t depend on her own will to keep her magic in check, then it shouldn’t be given free rein in any circumstance.
But then she looked upward and caught sight of the circles beneath Vincent’s eyes again, the stark halfmoons that told her he, too, was losing sleep over a potential future that was fast becoming a certainty.
She may not know all his secrets, but one thing, at least, was certain.
They both wanted the same thing in the end: to uncover the history of the ring and tuck away loose ends.
“I’ll let you,” Anne finally managed to say. “I’ll let you anchor me.”
A tension that had been hovering in the hallway eased then, so much so that Anne could hear the floorboards and wainscoting creak.
“Are you certain?” Vincent asked, the furrow between his brows growing deeper. “You won’t change your mind and slip away again?”
“Yes,” Anne said.
Vincent sighed, and some of the strain that Anne had noticed was pulling his shoulder blades together began to loosen.
“Then let’s begin,” he said, extending his free hand in invitation for Anne to follow him down the hall.
Anne didn’t know what she expected to find when Vincent stopped in front of a door that was a few steps away from the one where she could still hear the heartsong slipping through the cracks of the threshold. But as he turned the knob and she saw what awaited her on the other side, her breath caught in surprise.
Instead of clocks, the walls of the room were covered in gilded mirrors, some clear as crystal and others tarnished along the corners or cracked so that the flames licking from the fireplace seemed to scatter across the surface. Even the floor was littered with them, the quick flashes of light that twisted against the curves and cracks of the glass leaving only the barest of paths to step along.
Anne felt as if she’d fallen into a chandelier, catching only the barest fraction of her expression as her gaze flitted from one glimmer of glass to the next.
“What do we need to do?” Anne asked, startled by the strangely unfamiliar perspective that each shard managed to cast back.
“The spirits will be attracted by the feeling of catching yourself unexpectedly in a mirror,” Vincent explained as he led them toward the center of the room, his gaze fixed on the edge of Anne’s skirt train, as if he was worried she might need help keeping it from snagging on the frames.
“You’ll need to linger in that sensation to call them in,” Vincent continued. “Then think of the ring as you drift back, just as you did before.”
Anne remembered how compelled she’d been to go deeper and deeper into the past, the memories so visceral that they’d felt even more alive than the ones she was experiencing in the present.
“When you sense yourself drifting away, reach for my magic,” Vincent said, as if he could tell what direction Anne’s thoughts had turned. “And I will ground you.”
But that was precisely what Anne had always struggled with the most: accepting that she needed help from a source beyond herself.
As she slowly lifted her own hands and rested them in the warmth of Vincent’s, though, Anne started to feel her hesitation fade away, replaced by the distinct aroma of peppermint and early morning dew entangling in notes of myrrh and freshly cut cypress. She could sense Vincent’s magic brushing against hers now, and instead of pulling away, she leaned into it, encouraging her power to weave into his. Once the final thread was tethered, Anne felt as if her entire body had been dipped in gold, the strands of her magic glowing so brightly that she knew it was time to finally let go.
“Drift back when you’re ready,” Vincent whispered as he laced his fingers through hers and held them tight. “And see what you can find.”
Anne released a shaky sigh then and focused on the sensations that would help her sink into the moment unfolding before her: the way the firelight refracted along the cracks of the mirrors, the shockingly pleasant infusion of their magic, and the warmth of Vincent’s power as it anchored her.
Anne’s attention shifted outward then, and she became aware of another impression creeping along the edge of her consciousness. At first, the spirits were merely whispers, softer than the ones that had slipped between the ticking of the clocks, but then she started to see silhouettes taking shape in the corners of the glass, the textures of clothes and hair growing more vibrant with every exhaled breath.
Before Anne let herself be consumed by the memories that the ghosts were so carefully crafting together, she pulled lightlyat the threads of her magic, testing to see whether they were tethered to something that would remind her of the beauty of the present.
And when she did, she caught the barest glimpse of Vincent’s own power, a force that felt as grounded as a tree whose roots had remained fixed to the soil through centuries of thunderstorms.
“I’ve got you,” she heard Vincent say as his magic brushed against hers, soft enough to remind Anne that she was still in control.
She grasped his hands tighter, pulling him forward so that she could lay her forehead against his chest if the weight of the recollections became too great. For a moment, Anne feared he might step away, but then she felt his chin come to a gentle rest atop her head, tucking her even closer.
And then, when she felt cradled by Vincent and his power, Anne let go of the hold she’d been keeping on her magic and drifted back into a sea of sensation.
She felt the soft fur of a shawl slinking down her shoulder.
Wind whipping through her hair as she ran closer to something worth racing toward.
