Shannon Hale, a young American girl bordering on the brink of adulthood, has many reservations about her family's untimely move to Europe, just before her senior year of high school – particularly, to the outskirts of Surrey, England. In her opinion, said English county is a completely boorish community without a semblance of humour and an over emphasis on regality, at least in comparison to the laid back nature of the beach community where she had grown up.
In Ventura, California, an agriculturally inclined beach community just above Los Angeles, there is no need to be wary of your presentation or how you are perceived by others. It is a surfing and ag community that values vintage cars and late-night seas-side bonfires, fresh fruit and short hikes, early morning surfing and authentic Mexican food. The downtown is retro and the vibe is easy, the fashion thrifted and boutiqued yet always casual. Slow paced and non-judgemental, Shannon had thrived in the laid-back environment with the friends she had known practically her whole life.
In comparison, Surrey seems to be just as a certain family had been described in her favourite books – pretentious and well-to-do, extremely prejudiced, intrusively curious, bound by convention, etc. Instead of the unique craftsman homes that she had grown accustomed to, the Surrey streets are lined with cookie-cutter suburban homes with perfect lawns and little to no character – and the people are no different. Since moving in a month prior, Shannon is certain she had caught a few of their new neighbours watching her and her parents from their kitchen windows, half hidden behind sheer drapes and gossiping over cups of tea. Even if there had been others her age in the neighbourhood, she isn't sure she would find them agreeable given the caricature of those she had so far come across.
That isn't to say that Shannon did not understand the reasoning behind the unpleasant move a continent away from her comfort zone. Her father had received an offer of a job promotion located just outside London, and seeing as he has distantly related family located across England, Ireland, and Scotland and that his only daughter is in her last year of schooling, it seemed an advantageous opportunity to accept such an appealing offer. His family, once the Logan's, were a Scot-Irish family that had come to America in the late 1600's to be the secretary to William Pen, but in doing so, left many inherited properties behind in the hands of relatives. Shannon herself has never been to any of the properties nor met any of these relatives, but given the excitement in her parents' eyes at the prospect of uprooting to Europe while nearing their retirement gave her pause in her protest. She would be heading off to college come the following Fall and would have to say goodbye to her friends and home anyway; what could one year abroad hurt?
A lot quite frankly, but she has never been one to voice such concerns.
As such, Shannon spent the time leading up to her senior year – or rather Upper Sixth, as everyone keeps reminding her – walking the area in search of parks and hidden alcoves to read and tending to the herbs and young vegetables in her small garden behind the house. While lonely without her friends and missing the ocean breeze and scent of the strawberry fields, Shannon found herself content in the pages of familiar novels and series, the well-loved characters giving her companionship no matter where she found herself.
This day in particular, a mere two weeks before the start of school, Shannon found herself with her parents visiting her father's relatives that live in the countryside on a vast property, or rather, the original Logan estate as her father gleefully informed her as they packed their overnight bags into the trunk of their new 'English' vehicle as her mother liked to call it. Shannon isn't particularly sure where this estate is located, not knowing the geography of England well, only that this particular land is the oldest of the Logan properties and is seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
What Shannon doesn't know is that her mere presence on her ancestor's property will set in motion an ancient magic that will rewrite her life and so many others in the process, challenging her perception of reality, truth, and destiny.
This is where her story begins: cramped in the backseat of an antique Austin.
"I'm sure you'll love it, Shannon," Thomas Hale chimes with an encouraging grin as he drives their small (and rather impractical) car down the winding country road. "Your Aunt Carrol and Uncle Vincent are looking forward to meeting you as well."
"You've met them before?" Shannon asks in muted surprise, giving her father a curious and doubtful glance before turning back to look out the window, one headphone placed in her ear as she listens to the Beach Boys, the music wrapping her in a blanket of nostalgia as she studies the expansive moor.
"Well, no," Thomas replies, glancing awkwardly at his wife, Guadalupe, who gives him a knowing grin. "But I've spoken to them extensively over the years. They are quite agreeable and not as pretentious as some of the others I've been in contact with."
Shannon hmms non-committedly and gives him a soft smile, unsure about the whole excursion. In truth, she'd rather be back in Surrey with her books and the small garden she tended than spend an afternoon making nice with relatives she's never met. As a naturally reserved teen, she found peace in solitude or in the company of those she felt familiar with, whereas the idea of being interrogated and judged by cultured Brits made her squirm. Even so, the eagerness of her father's voice had her agreeing to the visit, if only to make him happy.
"Carrol has been telling me all about the extensive history of the house. It's been around since the 10th century," Thomas informs his small family, his eyes sparkling with interest. The sight of his eager demeanour alone tells Shannon she's made the right decision to come along, despite her discomfort with the whole ordeal.
"So you've said," Guadalupe chimes with an amused chuckle as Thomas continues.
"And did I mention that the garden is supposed to be amazing? James Logan was supposedly a renowned botanist before he came to America and –"
"And cultivated his own specimens at this estate for medical use. Yes, you might have mentioned it," Shannon finishes for him, casting a similarly amused grin at her mother, who chuckles softly from the passenger seat.
"Yes, but did I tell you that there's a legend that the estate is haunted?" Thomas continues, glancing back at his daughter in expectation. "Or that there's a hidden library somewhere in the house that no one has been able to find for hundreds of years?"
These statements are news to Shannon and her mother, who turn to the man in surprise.
"Did you just say haunted?" Guadalupe asks with a grin, her curly brown hair bouncing as she considers her husband's profile for any sign of jovial mischief.
"Did you just say a library?" Shannon questions with an eagerness that reaches her hazel eyes, causing them to sparkle in the light pouring through her window.
Seeing the positive reactions of his family, Thomas smirks.
"Ye-es," he sing-songs, his blue eyes catching his daughter's in the rear view mirror. "You'll have to ask Carrol and Vincent about them."
As he says this, the small family of three pull onto a dirt road leading through a thinly wooded grove. The scenery around them causes Shannon's heart to swell, the enchanting nature of the sun shining through the gaps in the leaves stunning her, especially when they open to a beautiful ancient-looking manor located at the end of the road, perfectly nestled in the trees. While not exceedingly large, it would be remiss to call the building small in any sense of the word. Shannon cannot help but compare it to the manor in her favourite childhood classic, the Secret Garden, for she felt as though she had just stepped through its pages. The vegetation, while neat and colourful in its placement, is a bit wild in its growth, the beautiful vines encroaching on swallowing the face of the building whole while flowers bloom sporadically throughout.
Mystified bewilderment falls over the young girl as the car pulls up to the timeless structure, dumbstruck by the elegant tranquillity of the area. As she exits the vehicle, an aged and refined couple appear at the doorway, the woman bounding with hidden youth toward the small family while the man remains paced, slowly following after his wife with a fond and tempered smile.
"Thomas dear!" The woman cries, her neat skirt flowing as she rushes forward, pausing just before the family. "It's so lovely to finally meet you! Guadalupe, you're just as enchanting as I've heard. And this must be your daughter – oh my, how stunning! She's a heart breaker, this one, wouldn't you say, Vincent – Vincent?" The woman turns, pausing in her rambling to glance back at her husband as he saunters his way toward them, nonplussed by the urgency in his wife's expression.
At the compliment, Shannon gives the woman a meek (albeit somewhat stunned) smile as a blush paints her cheeks a soft pink. In her opinion, the woman (who she can only assume must be her Aunt Carrol) is completely off about the young teen's status as a heart breaker, but to be called one is flattering all the same. Shannon had had a couple of dalliances over the last couple years, but not so many or so deep that she believed significant enough to earn said title. Shannon knew she could be pretty if she tried, but more often than not she preferred her sweatpants and sweatshirts and her hair pulled back in a sloppy bun to anything trendy or particularly fashionable – a stark contrast to the culture in England she has come to learn. Today she had put in a bit more of an effort to her appearance at her mother's request, but her heart yearns for her worn-in overalls and sneakers.
In Shannon's opinion, her Aunt Carrol should be called the heart breaker, despite her age. The woman who greets her parents and herself with sincere vivacity is surprisingly spry and fashionable, contrary to her greying hair and the image the teen had conjured in her mind of an old crotchety woman with an appearance similar to Nanny McFee. Instead, an ageing woman who has seemingly mastered the art of looking effortlessly elegant stands before her, her familiar hazel eyes glowing in the afternoon sun – familiar in the sense that they are the mirror image of Shannon's.
Similarly, Uncle Vincent has an air of effortless regality, yet lacks the stuffiness that Shannon naturally associates with such poise. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back, the slightly darker colouring taking away from the fine lines on his face, as does the warmth that exudes from his expression as he approaches his wife.
"Yes, love," Vincent says as he gives me a once over. "She reminds me of you when we first met. Nice to meet you, Thomas, Guadalupe. And you, too, Shannon dear. Carrol here has been anticipating your arrival with bated breath."
His words cause Carrol to blush as she waves him off, "Oh please, you old flirt. If anything she looks exactly like her mother – an exotic beauty if I ever saw one!" She declares with a knowing glance at Guadalupe, who smiles gracefully and insists that they both call her 'Lupe.
"Although, Shannon does seem to have the Logan eyes," Carrol adds between introductions, giving Shannon another once over as she retrieves her bag from the back of the car, an odd emotion gleaming in her own hazel eyes that matches the young girl's to a tee. A moment later the gleam is gone and the woman turns to Thomas with a smile. "Now please, come in, come in! I've already put on a pot of tea and I've biscuits just out of the oven!"
A bit nonplussed by the excessively exuberant nature of their greeting, Shannon follows her family into the house, her attention wandering to the detail of the architecture and the satisfying feeling that falls on her chest the further she walks. Her Aunt Carrol chatters as she leads the group, pointing out quick historical facts and asking personal questions as she does. It's quite disconcerting and Shannon feels a bit put on the spot when questions are suddenly aimed her way, but she takes them with grace, answering as politely and accurately as she can with a warm smile, which is met with eager grins from the older woman. Although Shannon makes the effort (and is successful each time), answering is particularly difficult for the teen because her attention keeps drifting to the beauty of the interior of the house, which in her opinion has an ancient, homey feel – warm and mysterious in its elegance, as though innumerable secrets reside within its walls.
Eventually they are all led to what appears to be a sitting room with windows that stretch to the ceiling, bringing in natural light and a wide scale view of the garden in the back, in the middle of which looms a large greenhouse. The sight immediately enraptures Shannon's attention as she takes a seat beside her mother, who is engrossed in conversation with the aged couple.
Shannon considers the garden, her mind wandering to the unfamiliar vegetation that she can make out from her seat. Although not an expert by any means, Shannon has always felt comfortable and intune with maintaining certain plants, particularly herbs and vegetables, so seeing the ancient greenhouse garners some of her curiosity, albeit no more than the rest of the building does. Although a novice gardener, Shannon much prefers books and her personal vice, food, which had been the reason she had garnered an interest in gardening in the first place; it simply made it easier to acquire fresh ingredients if she grew them herself. If anything, her true hobby is cooking, if only to make a snack to accompany her adventures within the countless novels that her heart holds dear.
After an hour or so of light get-to-know-you conversation and tea, Shannon's attentiveness fades, which does not go unnoticed by her aunt, who with a mysterious glint in her eye encourages the young teen to explore the historic building on her own.
"Oh Shannon, this must be so boring for you," the spry older woman claims, turning her piercing gaze to the young girl. "We'll probably be here a while, so why don't you go explore the manor. I'm sure you'll find something that tickles your fancy – there are many secrets hidden within these old walls."
Filled with relief at the out that her distantly-related aunt has provided, Shannon thanks her and quickly rises to her feet, exiting the room without a second thought and unaware of the meaningful look that is shared between her aunt and uncle at her retreat.
Once alone in the entry, Shannon breathes easy, the stiffness in her shoulders dissipating as her social battery begins to recharge. It's not that she didn't enjoy her family's company or felt that she was not capable of being charming or charismatic as a guest, but as an introvert, she could only take so much social interaction before she felt overwhelmed and overstimulated.
Feeling a bit more relaxed, Shannon begins to explore the estate and finds herself once more astounded by the historic elegance of the grand building. It truly feels as though she has been transported back in time. It is not surprising that there had been rumours of a hidden library or that the entire estate was haunted; the whole place felt like the setting of a murder mystery. The young teen couldn't help but anticipate that at any moment one of the many statues could come to life or a hidden passageway would appear behind the meticulously painted portraits. As one curious by nature, she felt as though she had entered an elaborate escape room, a common pastime she had enjoyed with her friends back in California.
Shannon spent most of her afternoon investigating the Logan Manor, it's expansive square footage holding an elaborate history that she eagerly immersed herself in. In her exploration, she found two sitting rooms apart from the one her family currently enjoyed their tea (for what reason there are three she could not fathom), a large servant's kitchen with antique equipment that are surprisingly functional, an expansive dining hall with a chandelier she was sure values more than their house in Surrey, countless bedrooms and baths with varying degrees of elegance and refinement, a more modest servants quarters on the same level as the kitchen (which don't appear to have been used in quite some time), a conservatory with a harp and grand piano that overlook the green house and what appears to be a stable in the distance, and three studies with fully stocked libraries, most of which contain records of the past heads of house – diaries of sorts of the events of the times and the drama that occurred during their reign. The whole place gives her a very Downton Abbey vibe that makes her feel quite 'posh' in the knowledge that she is technically a Logan descendant, no matter how distantly related.
Noting that dusk is on the horizon, Shannon reenters the smallest of the three drawing rooms with the intention of giving that particular library a more serious perusal before setting off in search of her parents, knowing that dinner must be soon. Of the three, Shannon felt that despite being more quaint than grand, the smallest study has the most ancient and oddly comforting atmosphere. It is also the only study that seems a bit more hidden away, only able to be accessed through the conservatory whereas the other two are accessible from the hall.
Not much larger than her childhood bedroom, the smallest study is inviting with a large leather armchair and ottoman beside the singular expansive window that gives the impression that many have spent hours pouring over literature in its shadow while basking in the natural light it provided. Unlike the other studies whose focus centred on their writing desks and their efficient use of space (even with the dramatic decor), the walls here are lined with shelves upon shelves housing hundreds if not thousands of well worn books and oddly shaped antiques, many of which Shannon can not even begin to fathom their purpose. The most peculiar thing about this study that immediately catches the teen's attention happens to be the large antique mirror that practically encompasses the whole wall opposite the window, its intricate silver edging stopping barely a foot all around.
Enjoying the tranquil melancholy that the solitary silence of the study provides, Shannon enters the room once more and turns to the first bookshelf, trailing her fingers along the spines in hopes of recognizing any of the titles. To her surprise most have none and those that do are heavily faded, so much so that only a letter here and there are legible. Further investigation proves ill fated, seeing as most are apparently in Latin – some even hand written by the look of them. A few here and there are in English, but none seem interesting to the teen, most having to do with the past finances of the estate, some dated as far back as 1012. While intriguing because of the history they hold, accounting has never been Shannon's strong suit and she quickly returns the diaries to their place.
Moving on, Shannon peruses the antiques, her befuddlement increasing as she moves between the shelves. Her brows furrow more deeply with each object that she studies, handling a few carefully in her desire to understand their purpose. After quickly setting back a gilded top with an abnormally large scarlet marble on its side, the point of which had pricked her finger and drawn blood, she turns to face the mirror, once more taken aback by its massive nature; she isn't sure she's ever seen it's equal.
Hesitantly, Shannon approaches the mirror, observing the intricate detail of its silver border.
Upon closer inspection, she finds its peak is ordained with the image of an hourglass with nonsense writing beneath it, the letters apparently randomly engraved into the silver. At its base is a plaque with two short sentences written in Latin:
'Ego sum janitor lineae fundatoris verum haeredem quaerens. Solus hseres per me transibit, ut ad majorum suorum orbem redeam.'
Beneath it on the wall, a separate, newer-looking plaque is what Shannon can only assume must be the translation of the former, which reads:
'I am the gatekeeper of the founder's line, in search of the true heir. Only the heir shall pass through my panes to return to the world of her ancestors.'
The words, while intriguing, leave the young teen with more questions than answers about the piece. Adding the mirror to the list of questions for her aunt, Shannon moves her attention to her reflection, studying her appearance in the grandiose mirror. In her opinion, she looked rather put together compared to her normal appearance. Dressed in a floral skirt and pastel cardigan, she looked feminine and proper – not a look she has ever been one to normally sport, but at the bequest of her mother she had donned the uncomfortable clothes willingly.
Compared to the year before, Shannon's somewhat wild dark and curly locks that she inherited from her mother had grown, elongating the ringlets into softer curls that fell just short of her waist, frizzing softly in the summer humidity. Her complexion maintained its former tan from her time spent in the California sun, but she doubted she would be able to sustain it given the persistent gloom that seemed to encompass the sky here. Despite the tan, she could just make out the light dusting of freckles across her nose that matched her father – the only trait besides the slight point of her ears that she seems to have inherited from him.
Shannon pauses, reconsidering that thought. Meeting her Aunt Carrol, she found that while her father may not have her uniquely colored eyes, he had definitely passed them on to his daughter. Grinning at the realisation, she leans in to study her eye colour a bit more closely, noting the light green-gold interior and the dark rim around the exterior. Her entire life she had been complimented on her eyes, so much as to believe they were her most attractive feature, but she had never quite known where the colour could have come from given her father's blue eyes and her mother's deep brown ones. Now it appears she has her answer.
Leaning a bit closer into the mirror, Shannon stumbles slightly and attempts to catch herself with her injured hand against the cool surface of the glass. The instinctual action stops her fall but also smears the small amount of blood from her finger across the mirror in a small, jagged arc. Frowning at her own clumsiness, Shannon moves to pull her hand back, only to find her hand had begun to pass through the pane.
Startled, Shannon jerks her hand back in surprise, her heart in her throat as she stares at the mirror in shock, not quite sure if she believes her eyes. Surely she must have imagined the sensation of slipping her hand into an icy and oddly dense pool. Hesitantly, she brings the tip of her finger back to the mirror expecting to meet resistance, only it never comes. Instead, her finger passes softly through the reflective surface, disappearing into her own image. Bewildered, she pulls her hand back and inspects it, finding no change to the appendage, at least none that she can see.
Shannon chews the inside of her cheek as she considers the mirror, returning her attention to the letters that are engraved at the peak:
Ynitsed Erofeb Llaf Ecnatsid Dna, Ega, Emit.
As she mutters the seemingly nonsense words to herself, recognition sparks in her chest when she remembers the Mirror of Erised and attempts to read the words backwards, which proves fruitful.
"'Time, Age, and Distance fall before Destiny,'" Shannon quotes under her breath, the words sending an unfamiliar electricity down her spine at their utterance. Surprised, she turns back to her reflection and runs her fingers across the mirror, the motion causing ripples to skate across the surface. "What the hell is this. . ." she whispers to herself, a small smile pulling at her lips at the seemingly magical nature of the object before her – and the fact that her avid knowledge of Harry Potter had led her to read the silver engraving.
After a few moments, curiosity gets the best of the teen and she plunges her hand into the mirror, wiggling her fingers in the icy and somewhat thick substance. A bit more confident, Shannon thrusts her arm in deeper, wondering how far back the mirror extends. To her surprise, her fingers grasp at nothing, clawing uselessly in the cold liquid-like void. Eager amusement lighting her features, Shannon moves to pull her arm out of the mirror, only to gasp when she finds herself unable to do so.
Panicking, Shannon yanks at her arm, struggling to free herself from the mirror's grasp. Fear curling in her chest, she turns to her own reflection, only to find her image smiling at her with a somewhat mirthful and excitable grin. Before she can truly register what is going on, her arm is yanked and she stumbles forward through the mirror, engulfed completely by the ancient object and leaving no trace that she had ever stepped foot in the smallest drawing room of the Logan Manor.
