Chapter 11: Beyond the Looking Glass

"What do you think, Foxy?" I asked the small dog as I ran my fingers through her long fur. "Can you make any sense out of this gibberish?" Foxy looked up at me with glistening, dark eyes. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth with a yawn. "I didn't think so." I muttered, folding the torn page into a tiny square for the eighth time in the last hour.

I gazed at Christopher's face over the expanse of room that divided us as I sat in a chair by the window. He was sleeping, although not peacefully it would seem. He thrashed around as he slept, fighting with the blankets and muttering random words: roses, wine, shadows, mirror, key, and finally Isabel tumbled from his lips. In fact, my name came up quite often and each time my frown grew deeper. Poor Christopher, how unfortunate he is to have me as his friend. I thought to myself with self-loathing. I glared at Christopher's wounds, memorizing the pattern of the blood stains on each bandage. He would die for me and yet I am too stupid to figure out how to save him even though the answer is in my hand at this very moment. I had not stolen the spell I had originally sought, but Christopher's own curse.

I had it. I had the answer, but it was written in a language too bizarre and foreign for me to understand. Apparently being able to read spells is not one of the traits I had inherited through the Craft bloodline. If I wanted to free either of us, I would need to learn how to read them myself. I snapped shut the book of spells that I had been studying for the past few hours. I had noted some recurring symbols, just as there are in any written language, but I couldn't begin to tell you what those symbols meant or even if they meant anything at all.

Rising from my chair, I laid Foxy at the foot of Christopher's bed. "Stay with him, please. I'm going to get some tea…and perhaps a cookie or two." I added at the sound of an insistent grumble from my empty stomach. The dog curled up on the bed obediently and I quietly snuck away.

I trudged towards the stair case. I rubbed at the soreness in my neck. I had been bent over books for far too long. As my hand reached the railing, a soft, low voice, like the lull of a father's gentle lullaby touched my ears. I stopped, recognizing the tone, the accent, and the slight rasp of the man's voice. "Father?" I breathed, my eyes widening in shock. Half afraid of seeing my father's ghost and half hoping that he would be there; I slowly turned my head towards the opposite door in the hall of the third floor, towards Rosalyn's private study.

The door was wide open and I could see the mirror with its odd, non-reflective glass and the shrine that surrounded it, clearly. The mirror flickered with a soft, golden light, like a candle in the wind. "Isabel." The voice, again sighed. I watched the mirror intently and after a moment, the flickering stilled. Within the golden light, a face began to conjure, forming from a smoky fog until my father was staring back at me. He smiled at me, that smile that I had been longing to see for such an achingly long time. His dark eyes twinkled and wrinkles formed at the corner of his mouth, just as they had always done in life. "My, how you've grown, child. You are even more beautiful than I remember. Truly, you are the spitting image of your poor, dear mother." Like the face, the rest of my father's body appeared and he reached out his hand. However, what I was seeing appeared only as a reflection. No flesh and blood hand reached out to take mine. He was simply my own mirrored image, trapped in that world beyond the looking glass. "Come, Isabel. Take my hand. It's been such a long time. I had feared that I would never see you again." A single tear fell from his eye as he spoke and I felt the wetness of tears on my cheek.

"Father!" I cried, flinging myself towards the witch's room. I knew that it was wrong, that this reflection couldn't possibly be the real him, but in that moment I forgot all reason. All that I knew was that my beloved father was there, before me. I could see him! I could hear his voice! He was calling to me and I must go to him!

I fell before the mirror, crying hysterically. "Father! Papa! Is that really you?" I blubbered, touching the glass, desperate to feel the warmth of his aging skin and the roughness of his beard, to know that he was alive and not a figment of my imagination.

Suddenly the candles of the shrine sprung to life, their flames burning white hot. The expression on my father's face changed. It twisted into a venomous sneer. The image before me shattered, the mirror's surface undulating like waves on the ocean. My father's face was erased, replaced instead with a white mask. It reminded me greatly of those worn by the servants, but instead of the placid, unemotional face, this one was smiling ear to ear in a Cheshire cat's grin. The mask's mouth opened wide, until the entire mirror had become its gaping mouth. Black vines slithered out of the mirror. They moved like snakes across the floor and wound themselves around me before pulling me into the abyss of the mirror's dark, ink like surface. The mask swallowed me whole.

I coughed violently as my senses slowly came back to me. My chest felt tight and I barely wished to breathe. The air smelled horrible, like smoke and something dead. I felt as if ash had filled my lungs and had coated my throat. Opening my eyes, I dragged myself shakily to my feet. Around me stood a forest of scorched, black, dead trees and at my feet was layer upon layer of thick ash. The sky above flickered and writhed with clouds of twisting flames. "Where am I?" I asked aloud. My body seized as I coughed again. A black stain marred my hand from where I'd covered my mouth.

"Anywhere and everywhere, darling." My father's voice cackled. I froze in fear as the thing from the mirror appeared and started to dance around me, practically skipping with joy. That was exactly what he was, the dark spirit that granted the Crafts their power. I knew this, I could feel it in every ounce of my bone, and yet its disguise still struck a nerve in me. Although it had shown its true self a moment before, it still wore my father's face and a part of me still wished to reach out to him.

"How dare you use my father's face to trick me!" I hissed angrily.

The spirit laughed, "It's not my fault you fell for it, now is it?" It stopped dancing and stood still before me, his hands clasped behind his back. I noted that he was wearing the mirrored version of the servants' attire. Its suit was white and black gloves covered its hands. "I do not truly have a form, at least not one that your mortal eyes would understand, so I simply chose a form that you are familiar with. I have noticed that this particular man has been constantly in your thoughts." It pointed at my father's face. "Poor child, you miss your father terribly, don't you? You wish to see him more than anything in the world, so I felt that he would be the best choice. If you like, I can alter it?" The face shifted from my father's to Christopher's, to Rosalyn's, to my uncle Lionel's, and then finally to Ashton's. In between the changes, flashed the Cheshire cat's smile. "This one is my particular favorite." The spirit gave a short laugh. Ashton's face smiled broadly, showing a mouthful of crowded teeth.

"You may wear any face you like, except my father's." I huffed, breathing heavily in the ash thick smog. I tried my best to hide my disgust of the creature that wore the faces of both the living and the dead with little success. "Why have you brought me here, demon? Are you going to take my soul?" The shakiness of my voice betrayed my fear.

"Of course not, darling. Why would I do that when you have so much more potential? I have simply brought you here, to my home, to have a civilized conversation. Surely you, a lady of refinement and class, can manage that."

"I do not wish to speak with demons. I will do nothing you say."

"You wound me." The spirit sighed. "Do not reject my proposal before you've even heard it out. You may find that it will benefit you greatly in the long run, perhaps save you a lot of heartache and grief?"

"Ashton Craft has already given me a proposal and I have denied him. I am not at all interested in your sort of deals. Nothing that your kind offers is ever worth the price."

"Is it?" It smirked. "What if I told you that by doing one, simple task for me, I would set Christopher free of his curse and hide you away from Rosalyn and the rest of your kin. Christopher would be human again, free to live out his life in peace and happiness and you could go about your own life and forget that this nasty business ever happened. Does that not sound blissful?"

"You still have not said what is in it for you. The devil does not give gifts freely."

The spirit laughed. My cousin's stolen face twisted into an amused smile. "No he certainly does not. As you are aware, Isabel, you are from a family of sorcerers, people who are well practiced in the dark arts, black magic. However, this was not always so. Once they were nothing but common fools, dabbling in things that they did not fully comprehend. Your great-grandfather, Edward Craft, however, was a very different matter. He was more skilled than most and perhaps a thousand times more foolish than any other practitioner. He'd been participating in his family's rituals since he was a very small child and as a young man, he thought himself to be invincible. Such is the stupidity of youth. He was unafraid to push the boundaries." The spirit began to circle me, his eyes intently focused on my face, watching my expressions as he told his story. "Then one night, alone in his large home, he performed a ritual that had always been forbidden. He called forth a spirit from the nether realm, the land of the dead. However, this was no ordinary spirit. It was something far more powerful, far older, and far more devious. This spirit had never been alive and would never die. The boy was envious of the spirit's immortality and strength and he desired it for himself. So he bound the spirit to a simple mirror and trapped it inside, where it would be forever caged, barred from returning to its own world. The spirit was furious and though it might be bound to the earthly realm, it was not bound to serve a lowly human. In vengeance, the spirit withheld the power that Edward had lusted after. Unfortunately, the foolish man was more cunning than the spirit gave him credit for. The boy was learning quickly about his kind. He knew that a spirit such as he, craved the nourishment of souls. Without them, the spirit only suffers and writhes in agony. So he left the spirit to its pain, year after year, he waited and listened to its screams of torment, knowing that it was only a matter of time. The boy was patient. After a decade of rotting, he knew the spirit would be desperate for relief, and so he promised the spirit human souls in exchange for its power. The spirit, starved of sustenance for so long, agreed without hesitation. It wasn't until sometime later that it realized the benefits of such a partnership. For as long it feeds its captors with its power, it will obtain all the souls that it desires and it will grow all the more powerful." The spirit's eyes glassed over as it reminisced. "Once it is strong enough, it will break free of its cage and return to the world that it longs so much for. It only needs to be patient and insure that the cycle, begun long ago, continues for a long as it requires."

"You want this to continue? For you to be used, imprisoned?" I asked.

"Do you not understand? The Crafts are being used just as much as I am. They feed me the souls of those they've cursed. I give them my power in exchange. The more they feed me, the stronger I become and the closer I am to breaking free of this limbo world. I am very close to it, darling. My freedom. And once I am free, I will repay my captor's hospitalities tenfold."

"So why am I here?" I asked, rubbing at my arms to fend off the chill of the air. It was so terribly cold in the spirit's world. It seemed so dead that not even warmth could exist there.

The spirit stopped circling. Its head tilted to the side and it brushed back Ashton's jet black hair. "I have watched you since you were growing within your mother's womb, child. I observed your father and all the Crafts that preceded you since my imprisonment. I know you, more than you know yourself, I think. You care for Christopher Thorn, don't you?" Christopher's lion-like face briefly flickered in the place of Ashton's.

My face began to burn and I looked away. "Yes. He's my friend. I care for him…a great deal."

"Yes, he's your friend." The spirit cackled. "And that is all that he will ever be, though you know, deep down, that he wants to be far more than that to you, you will never allow yourself to return his feelings. A part of you is still terrified of him."

"I'm not afraid of Christopher!" I snapped. "I'm used to him now. His appearance doesn't frighten me anymore."

"You're right. It's not his appearance that you fear, but his intentions." It glared at me knowingly and I felt a chill sweep down my spine. "You caught him lying to you before and you are certain that he still is. You've done a fine job of convincing yourself to the contrary, but in your heart and soul, you know that Rosalyn has her claws deeply imbedded in his mind. You know that he is her pawn, in every sense of the word and your greatest fear is that one day, he will betray you and all the kindness that he has shown you will have been a lie from the very beginning."

"How can you know a person's heart when you've never had one?" I let out a shuttering breath that formed a plume of white fog around my head. It was so very cold, like a midwinter night. My breath appeared like smoke and my skin grew cold and numb even as the sky burned.

"I'm right, aren't I?" The spirit smirked at me.

My eyelids fluttered closed as snow fell from the fiery sky. I winced at the sudden pain as the snow touched my skin. It wasn't snow at all, but ashes, still hot from the fires above. "I know that he loves me." My lips tingled as I remembered the stolen kiss. I swear I could still taste Christopher's favorite wine when I licked absently at my dry, cracked lips. "I have long known that he has feelings for me, but I have been ignoring it mostly…until tonight. He nearly gave in to Rosalyn's demands and almost died defending me from her. When he did that…I realized that his feelings for me were stronger than I ever dreamed. My presence has destroyed his resolve. I have broken him." I stifled a sob with my hands over my mouth. "It's my fault that he got hurt and I know that I will someday hurt him even more. I'll break his heart and he will hate me for the rest of his life."

"What if all of those feelings turn out to be nothing but a charade? How will you feel?" The spirit whispered in my ear, its breath even more frigid than the dead air around us. I let out a trembling cry and fell to my knees. All of my strength felt like it had left me in an instant. "It wouldn't hurt you anymore than if he stabbed you with a knife, would it? He is the first human being you could ever call a friend, besides your poor, dead father. If he suddenly, turned against you, your own heart would break. It would shatter beyond repair."

I nodded helplessly, wiping wet soot off of my face. "Christopher is my best friend. I cannot imagine him betraying me, but you are right that there is still that lingering fear. I know that there are some things that he is incapable of telling me because of Rosalyn's curse. I cannot help but be afraid of what those things may be. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully trust him, despite how much I want to. He has been through a great deal of pain in his life. I do not wish to add to it. I wish that I could give him all the love that he craves, the life he's always dreamed of, but I can't. Not for as long as I harbor this fear and mistrust in my heart."

"But you can." The spirit leered. "Remember, I can grant you the power to set everything right. All you have to do is accept my gift, just as your ancestors before you have. Help me keep the cycle going and you will have everything that you desire."

I felt my insides shutter at his words. I stared, wide eyed, at the spirit with my teeth clenched, my throat tight. The bruises on my throat began to throb. "You just sounded a lot like Ashton." I said lowly.

The spirit's smile fell, curving into a deep scowl.

"He proposed something very similar. He told me that if I married him and bore him a son that he'd give me whatever I wanted, anything I could dream of, but I know what he is and I know what you are. Your gifts sound wonderful, but we must all pay the piper eventually. In the end, my own soul will forever belong to you. So no, I will not accept whatever gifts you offer. I will find a way on my own, with my own power. I do not need your help."

"You are an even bigger fool than your grandfather!" The spirit spat. It yanked me harshly off the ground by my arm, nearly pulling the limb out of its socket. Ashton's face melted away, like candle wax. It dripped onto the ash covered ground, leaving puddles of flesh at his feet. The white mask with the Cheshire cat's grin glared at me, the mouth moving grotesquely as it spoke. "I know you Isabel Craft! I know you fret and worry over that beast! You are eager to save him, but you are too stupid to take the cure when it is handed to you on a silver platter! You could save him, but you are too selfish to do what it takes! Christopher would die for you! Give me his soul for you! But you won't even marry Ashton to save him! I have offered you the power to make the earth tremble, the sun to go black and cold, anything you want and yet you still refuse! Why? Fear!" It bent over me, as I cringed away from it, my mouth open in a silent scream. "Enjoy your time with your precious beast, my beauty." It touched my cheek with its gloved hand. I flinched away at the contact, for the leather gloves felt more like living flesh. "For soon his curse will take his life and you shall have no one else to blame but yourself."

I cried out as I awoke on the cold floorboards of the mansion. I sat up, sputtering and gasping, still feeling a burning ache inside my chest. I looked around in bewilderment. I wasn't in Rosalyn's study, but at the top of the staircase. It was as if I had never gone to the mirror in the first place. I rubbed at my temples, groaning at the throbbing pain in my head.

"Isabel!" I heard Christopher call out.

I scrambled to my feet. "Coming!" I called back, quickly running back to him. For the moment, I pushed the strange dream to the back of my mind.

Christopher was awake and was sitting up a little with a bunch of pillows propping him up. Foxy lay sleeping in his lap. "Are you alright?" He asked with alarm. "I heard you scream."

"Y-yes," I stuttered. Wiping my hands nervously on my skirt, I noticed the black stain on my hand. "I fell asleep for a moment. I must have had a nightmare." It wasn't a dream at all. I was really there, with the spirit. It was all real. My knees were shaking beneath my skirt. I bit at my lip to keep from screaming at the sudden realization.

"In the hallway?" Christopher quirked an eyebrow at me and forced himself not to laugh.

"I was very tired. I'm not used to staying up this late."

"I know." He nodded. "I'm sorry I missed welcoming in the New Year with you, Isabel."

"That's alright. You've done more than enough for me tonight." I moved my chair closer to him and sat down, thankful to get off of my weakened legs. They didn't even feel like they belonged to me. "Thank you for defending me earlier." I said, feeling a blush creep over my face.

"Don't thank me. I couldn't just stand by and let her hurt you." He said, rubbing absently at a bandage on the back of his hand. "And thank you for saving me, as well. Rosalyn probably would have killed me if you hadn't stepped in."

"You saw that? I thought you were unconscious." I muttered.

"I was aware enough." He paused for a breath and his expression became hard and stern. "I appreciate what you did for me, but please Isabel, don't ever use your magic again. Magic changes people. I don't want that to happen to you."

I bit my lip, my eyes drifting away from his as I spoke. "I'm afraid that I cannot promise that."

"What?" Christopher rasped, gaping at me like I'd grown a second head. "You can't be serious, Isabel."

"I am serious." I replied. I forced myself to look him in the eyes, to endure the disappointment and fear that I saw in them. "Christopher, I have your curse." I took the folded paper from its hiding place in my sleeve and handed it to him.

He unfolded it and stared at it as it lay on his lap. "Why did you steal this when you could have taken the spell for the gate? This piece of paper won't do us any good."

"But it will." I said, my brows narrowing over my eyes. "I'm going to cure you, Christopher and I'm going to set myself free of this place. I'll set us both free, by my own strength, my own skill. All I have to do is persuade Rosalyn to teach me a little of what she knows."

"You realize that gaining this power will only turn you into another Rosalyn." Christopher growled. His teeth peeked from beneath his lips as he tried and failed to suppress his anger. "You'll become even more of a monster than I am."

"I'm not going to become Rosalyn. I only need to learn enough magic to read spells, then I will be able to free us both and we can go live our lives. Is that not what you want?"

"Not if this is the way I get it." Christopher's head drooped and he pushed the torn spell book page off of his lap. It fell soundlessly to the floorboards and neither of us made a move to retrieve it.

I reached over and laid my hand over Christopher's. "You know that I must try this. I do not like their magic any more than you do, but I need to do whatever it takes to help you. I owe you that much."

"You don't owe me anything." He replied softly. His hand beneath mine turned over and he linked his fingers through my own. The action was hesitant and unsure, almost as if he were uncertain if I would welcome his touch."I am your guardian. You are my ward. It's my job to protect you and that is what I intend to do, even if it kills me. I…love that you care enough about me to want to help, but please, I prefer it this way. Leave it alone."

I frowned at him. I could feel him trembling. "You're asking me to stand idly by and let you die." He looked away from me. His mouth clenched shut and he swallowed hard. "Tell me, could you do the same if our roles were reversed? Could you just let me die?"

"No." He said, almost inaudibly. He squeezed my hand tightly. "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Not a chance."

He laughed bitterly and tilted his head back on his pillow with a sigh. "After all these years, I finally meet someone who gives a damn about me, and now I really wish that they would hate me. How does that happen?"

"I really don't know, Christopher." I shrugged with a small smile. "It's just your luck, I suppose."

"Yes, just my luck." His eyes fluttered closed and he quietly fell back to sleep.

I sat there staring at our still linked hands for a long time. "Sometimes, I wish the same of you." I whispered softly. "If only you would hate me. Then I could never break your heart." And you could never break mine. I thought.

As I rose from my chair to head to my room, I noticed a servant had conjured itself beside me. I stifled a yelp of surprise. For a moment, I thought it was the spirit with its wicked smile. Thankfully this mask was the dull, expressionless mask of those poor souls of the damned. The servant extended his gloved hand towards me. In it, it held the golden pocket watch I had been waiting to give Christopher for Christmas. With everything that had happened since Christmas, I had forgotten all about it. "Thank you for reminding me." I said, smiling at the servant politely. I took the watch from him and took a moment to pop it open and read the inscription once more.

To Christopher with love.

Why had the servants engraved such words into Christopher's gift? To me, they sounded cruel. Why give him hope, when it was a lie? I wished I could erase the message, just make it disappear, but instead I merely closed the lid once more and laid it on Christopher's pillow, right by his head.

Such cruel words, I thought miserably, those words that will never be true.

Staggering in a fear induced stupor; I meandered my way back to Rosalyn's study. My head was throbbing and the strength in my limbs was waning. I could think of a thousand other places I'd rather be than that room. I could smell it, the reek of that dead world; brimstone and decaying flesh. The room was now exuding the same putrid aroma. "Spirit?" I called, my heart jumping up into my throat as panic took root within. "I know you're here, listening, watching. Show yourself to me." I drew as close to the mirror as I dared. Its surface went black once more and from the darkness, a woman's pale face took form. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, her red lips spread much too wide.

"Changed your mind so soon? My, that was quick, although I can hardly blame you, darling. What I offer is difficult to pass up." The woman laughed with sickening darkness. I swallowed back my feelings of disgust at the face, for it was mine that the spirit wore. "Why are you making that face at me?" The spirit asked. "You told me I could be anyone I wanted, besides your father, and you do have such a pretty face." The spirit reached up to run its white fingers across its own colorless cheek.

I shivered and unconsciously took several steps back from the mirror at the feeling of cold fingers on my skin. "Stop!" I shouted in a desperate attempt to will myself free of the ghostly touch. Looking only amused, the spirit stopped its teasing of me. Like a ripple running across the surface of a placid lake, the twisted reflection dispersed and was replaced by that of the spirit itself with its grinning face. "I have not come to accept your offer. I come only with a message for Rosalyn, one I wish for you to deliver, since you are her loyal slave." I showed the spirit my own little smirk at those final words.

The features of its mask shifted into those of displeasure at this, as if the mask was its actual flesh. "And what, pray tell, is this message?" It sneered, intentionally using my father's voice.

I tried to ignore it the best I could, repeatedly reminding myself that it was a mimicry, yet my chest still tightened with grief at the familiar sound. No, I would not let it win, I would not let it get the better of me again! I forced those painful feelings away and locked them away, deep inside a secret place within my soul. In its place burned a searing rage. My facial features pinched themselves into a reflection of Chirstopher's snarl.

Instead of his usual amused reaction to my show of anger, the spirit somewhat deflated and crossed its arms with a weary sigh.

Seeing that I had won this little squabble, I calmed myself, allowing my features to relax, while still holding up a sturdy wall between my feelings and the spirit's influence. "Tell Rosalyn, that I would like to become her apprentice." I smiled wryly. "She is so very talented, I can think of no better teacher."

The spirit chuckled to itself, shifting slightly as if it were moving towards me. The image in the mirror shifted and it was so close to the mirror, its face filled the entire thing. "You think that you are so witty." It hissed, its mouth stretching even wider, until the corners almost touched its empty eyes. "I know you, Isabel. I know every word you've ever spoken, every thought and dream you've ever had. You think that by learning to read that stolen spell, that you will win our little game, but you would be dead wrong. The only way to save the beast is to give in to us. You must accept your heritage, the power in your blood and Ashton as your husband. So long as you defy me, nothing will change. Christopher cannot be saved without our help. He will inevitably die. Whether his death shall come while he is in your arms or bitterly alone, has yet to be decided, nevertheless, the end is still the same."

"You were never going to give me your power freely, were you, Spirit? There was always a catch. You want me to marry Ashton. This is the way you want the cycle to continue."

"Ashton's and my own ambitions are very much intertwined, Miss Craft, but they are far from the same." The Spirit rasped, its eye sockets narrowing slightly as it glared at me with hatred.

"You are wrong about me." I forced myself to sound sure and confident, even while doubt was creeping in to steal away every scrap of courage I had left. "I can free Christopher. I know that my plan will work. I'm sure of it." It took a very deep breath and a bite of my inner cheek to get the next words to leave my mouth. "If I fail, then I will marry Ashton, just like you wanted."

The spirit laughed loudly. The sound began in its own voice, then changed into that of Ashton, my father, myself and Christopher, before it became entirely inhuman as fire burned the image away. The mirror blinked and returned to its strange non-reflective surface. I stood in an empty room. No sound reached my ears. Only the reek of death lingered behind to keep me company.