Chapter Three
Ambrose crouched low on the roof of Jones and Burkes. Night had fallen early; the darkness like a shroud, lain carefully across his shoulders, cloaking him from the curious gazes tossed upward from the casual passerby. Ambrose found however as he tossed a cautious look over his shoulder that his careful precautions seemed to be in vain. The gloom of the empty streets resonated nothing but choking silence, the kind that makes you petrified to move, as though shattering the stillness would in turn shatter the rest of your world as some twisted form of retribution. Ambrose sat there waiting; he listened to the stillness until he thought that it would surely swallow him whole and leave not a trace behind it, and waited. Time seemed to pass as slowly as a life age of the earth as he crouched against the roof tiles legs cramping in the dark. Ambrose could feel his eyes growing heavy, the lids beginning to sink. Sleep danced at the corners of his consciousness, tempting him until Ambrose could feel himself slipping. He was almost gone when he felt something brush against his leg. Clamping his teeth down onto his lips he felt his heart leap into his throat as worst case scenarios flashed through his mind. Looking around quickly he found no one around him when he felt something brush against his leg again, looking to his feet he felt an embarrassed blush cross over his cheeks. A mangy looking street cat was rubbing its face against the toe of Ambrose's boot, its purrs loud enough for Ambrose to hear.
"You scrawny flea bag, you almost made me jump off this roof." He said gently, a begrudging smile pulling at the corners of his serious face. Reaching down he stroked the cats matted fur, rubbing its velvet ears between his thumb and forefinger. It mewed almost as if it were replying and continued on with its purring as Ambrose began once more to settle down.
"And now we wait." He whispered staring into the darkness, absorbed in his thoughts once more and like any other time when he was left to his own devices and his mind had nothing left to do but wander he began to travel down memory lane, his past lining the road like decrypted homes that had long since been abandoned by owners who could no longer maintain them. Just when Ambrose thought he couldn't wait any longer the light of a candle lit lantern broke into the night, scattering the darkness like a flock of pigeons startled by the sudden bark of a dog loose from its leash. Alert Ambrose rose from the ground slightly, craning his neck to look over the edge of the roof he watched as the store owner filed out of the shops door.
"I'll see you tomorrow Mr. Burke." A jovial voice echoed through the close-set streets as the two men had stepped on to the boulevard, the door closed behind them extinguishing the lights and allowing the darkness to swarm around them once more.
"Yes bright and early Mr. Jones, good night." A deeper tone answered him and just like that the two business men parted ways with the tip of a hat and a polite wave; leaving Ambrose truly alone in the chilly night air. He felt the thrill of adrenaline rush through his veins, making his limbs tingle with anticipation; he stretched his shoulder loose shaking off the tightness the cold night air had left him. The cat arched its back and mewed once before scampering away, it too disappearing into the darkness.
"Show time." Ambrose whispered he tugged the grey scar over his nose and pulled the brim of his of his newly acquired top hat lower so all of Ambrose's face that could be seen was the slight glint of his as he peered into the night.
Breaking into Jones and Burke's was nothing special for Ambrose, like anything else in Ambrose's life in London it had long since become routine. Ambrose climbed down from the roof, skittering down the walls like a phantom until his boot hit the stone walkway beneath him. Licking his fingers he extinguished the flaming lanterns that illuminated the front door of the store. The darkness was Ambrose's shroud, his most loyal friend and he exploited it for all that it was worth. Biting his lip in concentration Ambrose crouched low in front of the lock as he picked it quickly and quietly. A small metallic click rewarded Ambrose for his efforts and the wooden door slid open slowly, he was in. Quickly tucking his tools away into the folds of his coat Ambrose slipped into the store and closed the door with an inaudible thud behind him. Ambrose could feel excitement begin to bubble beneath his skin, the old twitch of apprehension had crept back into his finger tips. Ambrose could feel it, the slight pull of chance tugging at his legs the very thought of no longer having to wonder when he would have his next meal, no longer having to resort to groveling or thievery to fill his sparse pockets or sate his grumbling gut was almost enough to taste on his tongue. Ambrose's life was about to change in ways he could have never imagined, if only he had known.
Like a child in a candy store, Ambrose made his rounds, shifting eagerly through the objects on the shelves and disposing what he fancied into the mouth of the sagging burlap sack. As he was looting he caught sight of the door in the back of the shop standing slightly ajar. 'Jewelry, furniture, and many other treasures rumored to be saved for the royal family's first pick.' Elizabeth's words echoed in Ambrose's head. The longer Ambrose starred at the door the more compelled he felt explore the contents of the back room. It was like a line had hooked itself into his flesh, tugging at him as it tried to reel him in. For some inexplicable reason that Ambrose could not quite place, he felt that something inside that tiny room would yield what he was so desperately searching for, the key to his way out of this half life. Ambrose made his way towards the back of the store, snatching random trinkets from the shelf as he went, but noticing none of it. With the toe of his boot Ambrose nudged the door open and nearly dropped his bag in shock. The tiny room was draped with furniture, carpets, and countless other exquisite pleasures. Ambrose licked his lips and wrung the lip of the bag excitedly in his hands. He made quick work of picking clean the jewelry and small trinkets that lay in row after row on display, he moved through the isles like a snake.
He was just synching up the bag when Ambrose saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively Ambrose reached for the thing closest to him; a long handled dagger in a glided sheath. Pulling the knife from the sheath he held the blade in front of him, the steel winking wickedly in the dim light. Quickly Ambrose turned where he had seen the movement. Ambrose froze at the sight of a shadowed figure standing in front of him, their body was tense. Ambrose starred, statuesque, at the figure until he realized that what he was starring at wasn't another intruder but instead his own reflection in a full length mirror. Fluster and feeling exceptionally foolish Ambrose hastily jammed the knife back into its sheath and drew closer to the mirror leaving the bag of pilfered treasures on the carpeted floor. He peered closer at the mirrors ornately hand carved frame, he was awe struck at the beauty and the formidable presence the mirror brought to such a small space. The closer he got to the mirror the more he began to feel a smothering sense of forbidding, and there was a dull buzzing hanging in the air around the antique like the room was holding in it a lightning storm, the air was being charged by its unruly power. There was something about this seemingly ordinary piece of furniture that was off, there was something not quite right, but that only made the mirror that much more compelling, for some inexplicable reason Ambrose needed to know what this was. Reaching up Ambrose placed a hand against the flawless surface, the glass felt almost fluid beneath the taunt skin of his palm, like water in a stream. Blue eyes flashing Ambrose scanned the mirror, committing every detail to memory. Wrapped around the frame, in spiraling gold letter were words almost hidden in the rich coloring of the wood. Squinting he made the curling words, he began to read the strange words aloud without even realizing it, his voice filling the silence of the small back room. The small space took on a dark sort of ambiance as the words trickled from his lips.
"Neeb sah tahw dna si tahw fo dlrow eht neewteb dnats I" as the last words fled Ambrose lips he felt the room give a terrible shudder. His knees buckled under him. The glass, which had been ice cold only moments ago was now blistering hot but Ambrose couldn't pull his hand away, it was as if it had been plastered in place. Beginning to feel the panic seeping into his chest, Ambrose tugged violently at his arm, trying to dissever it from the burning mirror, to no avail. The most peculiar sensation overtook him. His body became ridged, frozen in place; his skin was being pierced by hundreds of needles when suddenly the noise disappeared, sucked from the air without warning. Silence enveloped the now petrified Ambrose Kingsford. He could feel himself teetering forward, the ground was shifting from underneath his boots. Without warning Ambrose was pitched forward, head first into the glass. Hands thrown across his face Ambrose braced himself for impact, waiting with held breath for the feeling of broken glass embedding itself into soft exposed flesh. He listened for the sound of the mirror shattering into a thousand pieces, but there was nothing, no pain, no impact, no sound, nothing. Slowly lowering his hands from his face Ambrose found himself slipping through the surface of the mirror, as though he had fallen into quicksand unable to free himself, the silver exterior flowing like water in a pool or river.
"What in the world is going on?" Ambrose's voice bounced around in the darkness. "Am I on the other side of the mirror?" Ambrose felt as though he were falling now, quite quickly and he let out a terrified scream. Flailing his arms as he tumbled through the void, Ambrose could see his life flashing before his eyes. The last image Ambrose had was of a young woman, her soft blonde hair swept up from her young face and her light gray eyes smiling at him from beneath a lace veil. The ghost of his name on her lips but the sound of her voice had long been robbed by time from his memory. Just as he slipped away a flash of red like flame blotted the image of the ethereal woman from his view, leaving his heart singed with a feeling that he could hardly recognize after all this time: desire.
A/N: This is a shorter chapter then the others but this is also the chapter that really spurs the rest of the story on to where things start to get more interesting. With any luck you guys are intrigued by this mystery woman that haunts Ambrose's memory, anyone have any guesses? any ideas on the reveal? You all know how this is going to end about as much as I do. ;) I hope you enjoy this, do comment and let me know how I am doing!