Chapter 1

The Other Side of the Mirror

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"So are you going to call me or what? Do the James Bond types still have time to socialise?"

Sabina Pleasure had asked the question with a slightly suggestive hint to it, and the boy to whom she was speaking was momentarily stumped.

Alex Rider half-smiled as he considered the question and pushed his fair hair out of his eyes before answering.

"Yeah, I'll call you. If you can tear yourself away from your riding lessons for half a day."

Sabina laughed. It wasn't the fake girly laugh that most of the female population of Brookland School adopted these days. It was strong and truthful, much like her.

"That's rich, coming from the boy who's never at school, let alone out and about in the real world. I will find out one of these days you know … you can't stay Mr Elusive forever."

Alex felt a momentary twinge of guilt as he realised that, try as he might, he could never have a proper conversation with Sabina until she learnt the truth about his life – and yet he could not tell her.

"It's not that exciting, trust me," he said with a twisted smile; a private joke for himself only.

Sabina's blue eyes twinkled. "Well, I'm going to bed now. You've kept me out too long."

"Such a travesty."

"I'll see you around, Alex," she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek and he felt his head grow cloudy. He could smell her flowery perfume and her fragranced hair as she drew away, her smile lighting up her whole face.

"I … I'll – um, I'll call you," he said in a muddle.

Sabina turned her back on him and climbed the elaborate steps leading up to her grand front door in the most affluent street in London. She keyed in the security code and the great black gates swung open underneath the security cameras. Alex remained standing where he was until she had disappeared through her oak front door.

He touched the spot on his face where she had kissed him, as though unsure as to quite what had just happened, and reached for his bike, which was leaning against the lamppost.

It was surely past ten; Alex and Sabina had been to the cinema and the film had finished at half past nine. It was a wonderful feeling to a boy like Alex, able to go to the cinema and do such normal things, considering that his life was one of the most abnormal lives that a fifteen year old boy could lead.

Alex Rider, nephew of Ian Rider, was the youngest spy to ever be recruited into MI6. Approached by Alan Blunt, the Head of Special Operations, only days after his uncle's death, Alex had been caught up in a world that he had hoped he would never stumble across. Since then, he had been shot at, held against his will, hospitalised, and plainly used by a company who would never divulge what they were doing to anyone.

Most teenage schoolboys dream of becoming a spy. Alex Rider was a spy who dreamed of being a teenage schoolboy. Then again, MI6 had not contacted him for quite a long while; perhaps they had no more use for him. Perhaps the nightmarish profession that he had been blackmailed into from the beginning could finally end.

He clambered onto his bike and pushed off in the direction of his house. The streetlights above his head cast a garish orange glare over his head so that he looked strangely ghostly beneath them. There was not much traffic around on the roads as it was quite late. He passed a few taxis and a few older teenagers trying to gain entry into the local bars. They sounded quite rowdy and were probably drunk, but Alex wasn't worried. The black belt that he had gained in karate, in what felt to him like a previous life, kept him feeling fairly secure as he rode through the London streets at night.

Alex knew as soon as he had closed the door of his London home that there was something not right; most obviously, the keys hanging from the hooks in the lobby had been disturbed. Less obviously, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, letting him know that something was very wrong.

Alex stood stock still in the dark hallway, his ears straining for the slightest sound, but there was none. And yet … he knew that there was someone in the house.

It wasn't Jack Starbright, the housekeeper and only guardian he had; she was on vacation with her parents in Florida.

Was it somebody out for revenge? Somebody he had stopped in the past? A flash of memories ran incoherently through his mind of people he had crossed, perhaps unwisely … Herod Sayle … Dr Grief … Savrov … Yassan Gregorvitch … it could be something to do with any one of them. Being involved with MI6 was very dangerous and could follow you home.

Alex reached out a hand, hoping to find something he could defend himself with as he had nothing remotely weapon-like on him. He had become too complacent … how naïve had it been to hope that he could leave this world behind but for a few weeks?

As naïve as a school kid, he thought bitterly.

It was then that the iron fire poker came swinging out of nowhere and thwacked him in the stomach. Alex cried out in shock and pain; the person wielding it had swung from his right – behind the door of the living room.

Alex sank to his knees; the pain was so sickening that it momentarily blinded him. Clutching his stomach, he screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds, opening them only to see someone in a dark hood swinging the poker above their head, back for another shot, this time attempting to crack it over his head and no doubt finish the job.

Eyes watering, Alex flung himself backwards and onto his back, rolling as he went, the pain in his stomach causing him to draw breath in sharp, painful stabs.

Now on his feet, Alex straightened up as best he could, raising his fists in defence. It was impossible to see who his attacker was; he, or she, was dressed entirely in black with a dark hood over their face. Now they came at Alex with the poker again, holding it over one shoulder like a baseball bat.

The hooded assailant swung it down at Alex again, who this time caught the attacker by the arms, blocking them from catching him. Whoever it was who was trying to kill him was very strong; Alex struggled to force their arms back again, his own limbs shaking with the force it took to hold them there. Knowing that the person with the poker was stronger than him caused him to bring his right knee up sharply, striking the attacker in the groin. There was a low grunt of pain as their arms lowered, and Alex realised in that instant that the assassin was male.

Taking advantage of this, Alex struck out with his fist, sharply backhanding the attacker across his masked face. As he felt cartilage shatter under his hand, Alex raised his own fist again for another strike, but this one was blocked by a stronger arm. Alex felt as though his whole right arm was on fire as bone connected with bone with astonishing force.

Reaching out instinctively for some kind of weapon to match the poker, Alex's left hand closed around something cold and smooth; the porcelain lamp that he and Jack had bought in New Zealand some years previously. He threw it now at the attacker, cracking it over his shoulder.

Rather than slowing him down, the attacker followed this with a fluid punch that caught Alex roughly above his right eye before he had even the chance to block it with his free hand. As his head snapped back with the force of the blow, Alex felt his eyebrow split open and hot blood begin to pump out of the open wound. Momentarily dazed, Alex had not the option to dive out of the way as the attacker surged forwards, poker forgotten, ramming his shoulder into Alex's body, barrelling him backwards and into the kitchen. They crashed into the work surface, scattering pots, pans and china plates that shattered on the tiled floor. Alex recovered first from the collision, shoving the attacker in the chest away from him and striking out with the front of his foot, kicking the male in the chest. He followed it up with a classic karate combo; a punch with his palm and an elbow crack to the side of the attacker's head.

The attacker however seemed to know that Alex's elbow was coming and caught it in both hands, twisting it in a direction that it did not want to go. There was a loud crack, louder than either of them would have thought possible to come from a limb, and in an instant, Alex's right arm was completely useless. It hurt more than anything Alex had ever felt in his life; his very arm felt as though somebody had just crushed it in a metal vice, like a car at the breakers yard. The attacker, still with Alex's arm in his grasp, twisted it around so that he was forced face down onto the work surface, his face inches from the sharp kitchen knife on the edge of the sink …

Alex brought his head back sharply, butting the man in the chin, who let go of him instantly. Knowing that he had to follow it up to stay on the advantage, Alex turned sideways and drove his foot into the man's stomach, sending him flying backwards into a glass cabinet, which shattered upon impact, showering them both in glass.

Alex made up his mind in an instant; he had to get to his bedroom, where there was a weapon he could use. It was not a weapon that Blunt even knew he had, in fact, Alex had been sure that Blunt would not have let him keep it had he known that it was in his possession from a previous mission.

Alex shot out into the hallway and scrambled up the stairs, but even as he neared the top, he heard a louder crack behind him. A gunshot! So the man had a gun too. Alex didn't get a chance to wonder why the attacker hadn't just shot him as he came through the door in the first place, as he felt a searing pain somewhere near his hip as the bullet grazed him and stuck in the wall, firing plaster everywhere.

Alex did not even want to feel if there was blood; he was too frightened as to how much damage he had actually done. All he knew was that the bullet had caused a dull ache to spread all over his body.

The attacker was hot on his heels and as Alex reached his room, he only had time to open the right drawer before he turned around to find a gun in his face. Bringing his hands up as quickly as possible, he somehow miraculously managed to drive the gun away towards the wall, where it fired off another shot which hit the large mirror. Alex kicked the man as hard as he could in the shins who grunted in pain. He dropped the gun, which Alex kicked away, clattering down the stairs.

The attacker barrelled into Alex once more easily, as he was much heavier than him, throwing Alex backwards into the shattered mirror. Alex felt all the breath knocked out of him and was only dimly aware that shards were cutting him all over as he struggled to draw breath. He was tiring fast and he knew it; there were only so many more times he could keep this up.

Alex had not time to blink blood out of his eyes before the hooded man placed his thick sausage-like hands around Alex's throat. Alex's hands scrabbled about on the floor, searching for something, anything, to stop him. His fingers closed around a large, sharp shard of glass from the mirror. He gripped it tightly and slashed through the air at the man who was trying to strangle him. Blood spurted from a wound that Alex made in the man's shoulder, who now staggered upwards, clutching his crimson arm.

The man finally pulled off his hood; he had short cropped black hair and a beard with black eyes, shining with anger. He was bleeding from the nose and had a livid bruise blossoming underneath one eye. He looked furious.

As the newly revealed man started towards Alex once more, he knew, with absolute conviction, that this was it; unless he somehow killed the man, the man was going to kill him. Absolutely exhausted and hardly able to move any of his screaming limbs, Alex saw the scene unfold before him in slow motion as though he were watching it on TV, not actually living it. Groggily, as though it had a life of its own, his left arm flung out to the side and closed on something cold and hard that had fallen out of the drawer.

The man stopped, almost as exhausted. His eyes were on Alex's face, as though trying to determine whether or not he would really pull the trigger of the Wolfram PP. It seemed he'd come to a decision at the last second and lurched forwards.

Alex closed his eyes and squeezed with his finger on the trigger. There was an almighty crack and a huge recoil which travelled all the way up Alex's arm, making his brain shake.

He didn't even open his eyes. His hand dropped uselessly to the floor, the gun rolled away. Alex felt the last of his remaining strength leave him and he slumped back into the shards of glass, welcoming the blackened silence that followed.

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AN: This is my first Alex Rider fic, so I'd be really really grateful of some feedback if people could spare the time! I've only just discovered the books after seeing the recent film Stormbreaker, and I had to write something!

So it's that little box there, down on the left. Go on, press it.