Chapter Two: Mirror

Arendelle, December the 7th, Outskirts

Kristoff Bjorgman woke up sharply from a fitful sleep, shivers running down his spine. It must have been his shivering that woke him up. His teeth chattered as he reached for the thicker quilt at the end of the bed, draping it over his shoulders atop his already quite thick duvet. He stood, socked feet finding wooden slippers, the hems of his pyjamas hanging higher than he would like as a cold breeze found the bare flesh at his calves. A grunt sounded to his left, and a smile graced his features as he recognized his antlered companion's sleeping form. Huddled under a blanket by the window, a thin strip of moonlight coming through to show Kristoff the flick of an ear and the content twitching of a nose, Sven the reindeer didn't seem too bothered by the encroaching cold.

"I'll be right back, buddy..." He whispered as he patted the animal's flank.

Still slightly befuddled by drowsiness, he made his way to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and splash some water to his face. It stung like ice, making him fully alert. Back in the corridor, he grabbed a scarf from the coat rack to use as a sash, making it easier for him to move while still conserving the sweet warmth of the blankets. Eyes sharp and frown deep, he made his way to the staircase at the other end.

"It's getting worse..." he breathed, as he took in the sight before him.

The steps sparkled from what little light came through the window above the front door, from the light he'd left on in the bathroom, from the low-glowing safety bulb in the stairwell. He didn't need to dispel the dark shadows to know that each and every one of the steps was covered in ice. He could hear it crackling as a patch of wall darkened, frost growing before his very eyes.

"Come on Kristoff, you can do this..." The blond man spoke in a slightly gruffer voice, giving it a goofy lilt as gingerly took the first step. Stretching his arms out, he braced himself between the two walls one step at a time. Sometimes his shoe would slip and slide, banging noisily against the sideboard. Hissing, he would stop, take a deep breath and adjust his position. Just a few more steps and he'd be half way. He heard a door click shut come from above. Now he definitely needed to make it up there.

Things got trickier once he reached the landing. Sliding across the flat part of floor was straight forward enough. He was used to keeping his balance on slippery ground. It was the spikes appearing in the second part of the stairwell that had him wincing.

"Damn it Elsa..." Gripping the handrail this time, his bare hands protesting at the touch of cold metal, he hoisted himself up three steps in one swing, quilt cover snagging but not quite catching on one of the lower ice spikes. Another two swings and he was crunching over frost flowers and thick snow. He'd made it to the upper floor.

"Elsa..." He could hear the small voice pleading. It still gripped his heart as painfully as it had first five months prior. "Elsa, please..."

The bedroom door to his right was open, and he had to shield his eyes from the streetlight coming in the hall window to see. Peering into the darkness, he could make out a dark trail in amongst a thick blanket of white. Flakes danced in the air above the elevated shape of the bed. The covers were white and blue, their owner a tangled ball beneath. The only hint of dark there was a small head of hair, belonging to what looked like a child. The little girl was pleading with the person under the blankets, and Kristoff felt his heart shatter. She looked so small and cold, shivering in her nightdress, her hands reaching out desperately to the head of platinum hair he could just barely make out.

"Anna..." He whispered, as he gingerly stepped through the door, untangling the quilt from himself so that he could wrap it around her. The child jumped, startled, and then looked at him with those big eyes, gratitude prompting the small nod.

He sat at the end of the bed, waiting. He knew from past experience that he wouldn't be much use doing the waking. He still had a mark where the frost had burnt into his forearm. All he could do was be patient and watch as little Anna tried to rouse Elsa from her nightmares. He didn't have much light to see by, but from the way the blonde woman under the covers creased her brow and bit her lip, he knew that tonight's dreams were bad.

"I'll turn the light on," he whispered as he stepped around the bed. He heard a small thanks as he fumbled for the light switch, the bed light's cord lost behind the nightstand. He heard a whimper from behind him. The sleeper was starting to come to.

"I've got you Elsa, I'm right here..." Anna's voice sounded hoarse as she wrapped her arms around Elsa's head. The woman flinched as the light came on, but her trembling stopped, the snowflakes stilled and dropped. Her breath caught and she started taking deep breathes as though she had just been diving in the sea. Kristoff stood back as he watched the blonde blink her eyes open, squinting against the glare of the bulb before her hand reached out from under the covers to grab Anna in a tight embrace.

"Anna."

"Hush... I'm here. I'm okay."

There was something surreal about watching a grown woman being reassured by a child, but then, Anna was no child, not really. He suspected that this was in part cause for the nightmares. He knew he'd certainly had his share of sleepless nights agonizing over the fact. Glancing around the room, he once more had to hold his breath at the sheer bitter-sweet beauty of the wintry wonderland it had been turned into. Elsa's magic never ceased to amaze him. Kristoff just wished that the fates would just give the two sisters a break from heartache.

Sensing that he was no longer needed in the room, the snow starting to disperse in flurries of warm air as Elsa relaxed into her sister's embrace, he made his way to the door.

"I'll go make some hot cocoa."

It was routine now, whenever the nights turned unreasonably cold, for him to make them a brew. He hadn't expected to be making one again quite this soon. It had been a while since the last bad spell, but he understood. As much as she tried to hide it, Elsa worried.

The news about people looking into Hans had certainly got him worried too.

Oslo, December the 7th, Southern Isle Ferries Headquarters (closed)

This was their fourth day...

It was their fourth day and already Shinichi Kudo had impressed her, as he invariably would.
She had been sitting in the lobby of the shut down office for the Southern Isles Ferries Company in Oslo, going over a list of Norwegian words with Europol agent Oaken. Shiho was fighting off yawns, her body having by now recovered enough from their latest trip to regain its aversion to early mornings. Her breakfast sat uncomfortably in her stomach as she glanced towards the dark sky outside. Even if it hadn't been overcast, it still would have been dark as night. What time did the sun rise during winter in these northern parts already?

"This word here, ya?" The Norwegian official rumbled on patiently, working his way down the list. "It is a Danish brand of shoe polish I believe. My other half is quite keen on it."

"Shoe polish, huh? Thanks." Numbly she wrote down this information next to the relevant word on her own copy of the list, her notepad sat upon her thigh. The young woman found herself squinting at the Scandinavian terms and their translations.

Shiho was eager for Shinichi to return from his phone call. The young detective, shortly after the three had begun this futile exercise, had excused himself in order to return a missed call from his childhood friend miss Mouri. Even now the auburn haired scientist could hear his voice, now deeper than it once was, echoing slightly down the corridor as he conversed in Japanese. In response she felt feelings stirring in her chest that surprised her. The young woman had thought them long buried: pangs of guilt that she had thought exorcised once and for all the day she had completed Kudo's antidote. She had freed him from the curse her poison had once placed upon him. Now she was attempting to do the same for others around the world. She didn't want anyone else to be forced to live a half-life because of her mistake. She couldn't allow herself to sit idly by and fail them, like that young girl back in China...

Shiho Miyano hissed at the memory, her hand pressing itself to her mouth as she bit back the bitter taste of the recollection. They had arrived too late, she had... She shook her head. Not only was the auburn-haired scientist failing complete strangers, Shiho was also depriving the kind-hearted Ran Mouri of her beloved detective as he accompanied her upon her selfish and foolish quest. No wonder she couldn't rid herself of the pain in her breast.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

It took her a moment to register Mister Oaken's heavily accented English, her thoughts frantically running through her mind in her more fluent Japanese tongue. The young woman took a deep breath, adopting far too easily the mask of calm control that had been her armour around the likes of Gin and Vodka.

"I'm fine." She winced inwardly at the sharp terseness of her reply, a strong hint of a Japanese accent betraying her heightened emotional state. Keen to distract that bulky Europol agent, she pointed at the next entry upon their list. "Can you help us with this word next?"

To be honest, Shiho wasn't holding much hope for the usefulness of this list. So far it had turned out to be nothing more than an inventory of luxury products the deposed president of the company had enjoyed, not exactly the hottest source for clues. After half a week searching for clues, the two travellers were now clutching for straws in their attempt to break through the last of Aquavit's passwords. It was the last remaining obstacle between them and the secret files the man had kept as an active member of the black organisation that had once fostered her. The late CEO had clearly taken great pleasure in employing layer upon layer of deception and misdirection in securing his information.

It was as she was writing down Oaken's latest translation that Kudo finally returned from his long distance phone call, a smile on his face for too wide for this side of dawn.

"I have it!" The Japanese man cried out in his native tongue.

Wait, it wasn't a smile. It was a smirk, a triumphant smirk that she recognized, hope fluttering through her as she looked upon it. Realising that the Europol agent seemed confused at this exclamation in a language he didn't speak, she offered him an explanation.
"I do believe my colleague has found our missing key. Would you allow us back into Mister Westergard's office, please?"

Bemused, the tall blond man rose from his seat and obliged. Once he'd unlocked the door, he nodded and then left, giving them the privacy they'd asked for, as he had the three days prior.

The young woman watched in wonder as Kudo sat smartly in the desk chair, flipping his dictionary open as he waited for the Mac computer to boot up. He found the word he was looking for, and, after whizzing through several security prompts, he confidently typed it into the box on the screen asking for this final password.

"Speil?"

Looking at the translation shown in the dictionary and then glancing up at the reflective surfaces surrounding them on every wall, Shiho smirked in turn.

The Norwegian word for Mirror was Aquavit's last password? How appropriate...

Arendelle, December the 7th, Gyllenblom Mansion

The keys rattled as the woman with charcoal coloured hair turned them in the lock. Gloved hands fought against cold stiff bolts, but the matronly figure was soon allowed in. The door was solid wood, heavy hinges creaking slightly as she squeezed through. In the past she would have swiftly arranged for them to be oiled, but these days she had more important fish to fry.

"Marm," she bobbed expertly as she faced the large portrait in the mansion's lobby. It was a lovely picture, beautifully framed and positioned upon the wall facing the door. It depicted a handsome couple, the man looking smart in his military uniform, medals from his time in the navy gleaming brightly across his breast. Next to him his wife wore a beautifully embroidered dress, rich details adorning the hems and borders in dark purples, reds and blues as she reached for her husband's hand. A pearlescent brooch helped the aqua colour of her eyes glow from beneath her dark brown fringe, the man's eyes a sharp dark contrast to the golden hue of his own locks.

The photographer had done a fantastic job capturing their tenderness for one another, along with their natural beauty. The picture was definitely too lovely for the black veil that sat over it.

The portly woman wondered once more why the couple's daughters hadn't sought to move it from this place. It was a painful reminder that the pair had left the world too soon. Yet she couldn't fault them for it. She doubted she would have had the heart to remove it were it her place to consider doing so. Lovingly she glanced at the two smaller portraits on the desk beneath the main picture. It was only the crinkle of paper underfoot that drew her eyes away from the pictures of the two young girls she had seen growing up in this very house. The elderly woman, Gerda, was startled to see that the postman had been by sharp today. She picked up the small pile of envelopes, looking over them quickly as she neared the table. Smartly she sorted them into the piles already piling high between the girls' two photographs. She kept underarm the one marked urgent and whisked away the unwanted flyers to the nearest bin. She made a mental note to ask that nice young man to come over and collect the backlog of mail, if only for the girls to have something else to think about.

Gerda ignored the red blinking light upon the answer phone as she made her way through the wide halls and into the sitting room. There she tucked the letter neatly into a pocket before reaching for a feather duster in the corner. She made quick work of the shelving, dusting the many books, ornaments and odd collection of liquors lined up upon them. Once finished, she found a small ornamental mermaid and gently lifted up its tail. An ominous creak and the whistling whir of gears turning could be heard in response.

"I really must get some oil into that system," she muttered darkly, shaking her head. "We can't be having that sort of racket."

Putting the duster away, she made for the only section of wall not covered by cabinets, shelving or the fireplace. A large tapestry covered it from floor to ceiling, geometric patterns of flowers and spring adorning it in the fashion traditional for these parts. It fluttered slightly, a tell-tale indication that the wall behind it had slid aside. Gingerly pulling the fabric towards her, Gerda made her way into the secret passage hidden behind. She smiled melancholically as she recalled the numerous times she had been tasked with preventing a young and bored red-head from occidentally discovering the concealed entrance. Many a ceramic ornament had shattered in this endeavour, much to her passed dismay.

Now, however, she was using this very same doorway to try and help that young lady from a spot of bother no one could have foreseen. Entering the dark stairwell, she pulled a small torch from her pocket and found the lever that would return the panelled wall to his previous state. Next to it was a small light switch, which she flicked on. Gerda took a small moment to exam the section of wall hiding the mechanism that had been so noisy. Satisfied that she would be able to remove it in order to grease the gears behind it later on, she carefully began to descend the stairs.

With each step her back straightened. The further down she went, the higher her chin rose. Every trip to this secret room was a reminder of the young woman she once was, the young scientist. Gerda Baesen hadn't worked bloods in many years, but as she cleared the stairwell, she confidently pulled out a case containing two small vials of red liquid. Her eyes sharpened as she reached the equipment in the lab now surrounding her. Good, her latest test results were in.

Putting the most recently acquired vials in the small fridge on the counter, next to which she also placed the envelope she had been carrying, Gerda brushed back a lock of hair, her normally cheerful demeanour replaced by an intense focus that hadn't been seen by another soul in over three years.

She winced as she caught herself searching for a pair of aqua-blue eyes in the mirrored surface of the machine she was operating and finding none.

The lab felt so empty without them. Gerda missed Idun. She had thought herself beyond the grief after three years had passed since her death. Sadly, these past six months, with these repeated trips to the mistress's lab, had hammered home the sad reality...

Some losses, one will never get used to.

Taking a deep breath, the greying woman resumed her inspection of the machine's results. She had to make this work, somehow.

Oslo, December the 7th, Southern Isle Ferries Headquarters (closed)

This was it. They had found it.

'Metode: APTX 4869.'

The entry was short; a timestamp indicated that it had been added remotely from a hand-held mobile device, most likely a smart phone or tablet of some sort. It was hard to make it exactly what from the Norwegian abbreviations that they were unfamiliar with, but it wouldn't be difficult to get around that if they did need to. The date was clear enough.

'Juli 26. 17:12'

Shinichi watched as Miyano's face hardened, her gaze taking on the cold harshness he associated with her past persona, Sherry. It was during moments like this that he realized just how truly little he understood of her time in the black organisation that had brought them together. It only intensified his urge to learn, to find out more... It was a feeling he found himself fighting against. He couldn't, shouldn't, he didn't... Even his reaction to how she made him feel was a mystery to him.

'Emne: Anna Gyllenblom, 18 år.'

"No older than you and I..." She whispered. Her auburn hair glowed gold as the rising sun through the window behind them caught each strand, contrasting heavily with the grey-like colour her eyes had taken from facing the monitor.

' Nåværende status: mangler, ukjent.'

"What's does this bit say?" Shinichi pointed at the foreign text, the word status filling him with both dread and anticipation. Please don't let it say dead. Please...

Flicking through the dictionary with jittery fingers, Miyano quickly found the translation, her jaw line softening a touch. Clearly she seemed relieved.
"Missing, unknown." The answer left her lips like a prayer as she leaned back into the desk chair, her eyes closing gently as she massaged her temple. Shinichi couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in her other hand. He kept quiet however. She had been through this before. "Now starts the hard bit."

"Yes," he smiled drily. "We're going to need to let Oaken assist us from here. Are you okay with that?"

She smirked, clearly amused, her dark green irises emerging from under their lids to eye him sardonically. The young Japanese detective resisted the urge to pout. She knew full well that if it weren't for the language barrier, he would rather they continue the investigation solo.

"Do you trust him?"

Enok Oaken, Europol agent, forty-three years old, lives two hours drive away from Oslo. Happily married with at least three children, he is clearly used to working long hours, starting early in the morning. As a Europol agent, he seems experienced but low-ranking, clearly spending a lot of time performing some other job, possibly behind a desk or counter, to make ends meet while maintaining his contacts and an ear to the ground. He has no way of knowing if the man could be trusted, truly trusted, but he highly doubted that Agent Oaken was in any way malicious.

"Yes," he replied, after a calculating pause. "I trust him."

"Good, then I'm okay with it. Let's get him in here so we can find this Anna Gyllenblom."

Unspoken was the statement: before it is too late.

To be continued...

Author's note:

For those who might be confused by names, Kai & Gerda are named in the credits of Frozen and are respectively the manservant and the maidservant often seen next to him. Any surnames I give them are of my own invention, as are the first names of Oaken and his family.
Many, many apologies if I have somehow butchered the Norwegian text included.