AN: Hello to all of you my beautiful readers. Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. I have been working on the sorry for months and I hope you all enjoy it!
Thanks to TheatreVicki for being my long-suffering Beta.
Remember friends, comments make my heart warm on these long winter nights. :)
"There's a bit of magic in everything, and some loss to even things out."— Lou Reed
July 2006 – Lima, Ohio
Kurt lay on his back, lids gently closed and hands folded on his chest. Sun lit his face as he lay in the square of light from the window enjoying its warmth like a cat. He felt relaxed and satisfied, focusing on the sounds around him; his breathing steady and deep, the rotating fan further back in the room with its repetitive whirl and crank noise circulating air in the small confined space, the faint sound of nearby conversation from the front room, but he tried to tune that all out. He focused back on his breathing, fading anything unnecessary out of his mind and just listening…
His lips tipped up in a smile as he started to hear something, just a hushed trill at first, but as he shut everything else out and allowed his mind to dwell on the sound, it grew in strength and clarity— a rhythmic rush, like the sound of the ocean maybe? The noise started to fade. He squeezed his eyes tight, there it was, a faint whispering sound now. He got up to his knees, keeping his eyes closed, and turned his body in a slow circle, like a radio tower adjusting to get the best frequency.
He smiled fully as the whispering became louder, not enough to pick out any words, but just enough to know where the noise was coming from.
Kurt opened his eyes and they immediately fell on a box a few feet in front of him; it was the top box of a stack that had come in recently; neither he nor Connie or his father had taken the time to look through it yet.
He stood and walked to the stack of boxes, lifting himself up on his toes to reach the top one and bring it down to the floor where he sat cross legged next to it. He used a key from his pocket to slit the tape on top and opened it with eager anticipation.
This was his favorite part.
The box was full of trinkets-a timeworn oil lamp, a glass perfume bottle with a pump, a decorative handheld mirror, an old rusty adding machine and other items ranging from interesting to useless. He sifted through the box trying to find the source of the noise, but it was fading already. Kurt bit his lip and closed his eyes, trying to focus again.
Let everything fade away, sight, sound, all but that dim whisper…
"Kurt!"
Kurt let out a surprised breath and his eyes snapped open, the whisper vanishing like a candle blown out. Kurt groaned to himself, he had been so close.
"Kurt," his father called again, opening the door that led from the shop out front to the storeroom, "I need your help, we're really busy, could you please hop on the register?"
Kurt's brow furrowed, "Dad, I'm in the middle of something right now, I heard a sound from this box."
Burt looked down at the box and then to the frustrated face of his son, "Sorry kid, I need you. Put the box to the side and I'll let you bring it home okay?"
Kurt nodded, and did as he was told. He'd been slacking on his job as it was and his father was paying him to help out in the shop this summer. The least he could do was actually ring up customers if his dad needed a hand.
Kurt dusted himself off from lying on the floor, grabbed his oxford weave suit jacket from the hook by the door and slipped it on. His father, Burt, had said Kurt didn't need to dress up so much just to work in the shop, but Kurt enjoyed it. Besides, he thought the customers probably liked it too, walking into an antique store and finding a well-dressed young man behind the counter.
Kurt enjoyed working in the family store, he'd helped out here ever since he could remember – some of his very first memories had been of him and his mom sitting in the back and sorting through items they received from recent estate sales, deciding what to sell, what to toss, what to give to Goodwill. Kurt loved those times.
Kurt had never realized how lucky he was that his parents owned their own shop and he was allowed to be there with them until his time with his mother had been cut short. Now even five years later, walking into the store meant he was surrounded by memories of his mother, but the pain of those recollections were softened by the fact that the shop helped him feel close to her. The only good he could think of that came from losing her so young was that it probably made him more grateful for his father than the typical teenage boy.
Kurt smiled at his dad, busy answering a customer's question about some item or another, Burt nodded up front to where a small line had formed. They were always busiest during the summer when tourists came through town. Lima, Ohio wasn't a hot vacation destination, but it was one of those little charming towns that bed & breakfast lovers and elderly couples flocked to. This summer sales at "Elizabeth's" had been the best they'd seen in years, a good thing too, since last summer they'd come close to having to shut the antique store down, money had been tight.
Kurt weaved through rows of furniture and shelves of knick-knacks, the store was crammed with merchandise, and on first glance, looked like a maze of antiques, but there was a method to the madness if you took the time to look. Burt was great at keeping stock of inventory and Kurt had implemented an organization plan last year where items were placed around the store by type and then within those groups by decade.
He finally made it up to the register, the big glass windows in the front of the shop streaming in the summer sunshine. He smiled at the first woman in line, "Oh these are lovely lamps," Kurt remarked as he rung her up, "From the 1950s you know."
"I've been looking for something just like these for a guest room back home. Such a treat to find them here."
Kurt beamed at her, always pleased when people found what they'd been looking for.
He enjoyed the customers and he knew they liked the "polite young man" that helped them with their purchases. At only thirteen years old, Kurt knew he wasn't spending his summer the way most boys his age were: working in his father's store, going to auctions and estate sales, helping repair old typewriters, and chairs and electronics. It was alright though, because he'd never been much like other boys in town anyway.
Of course he still made time to do some typical summer things; he rode his bike a lot, and sometimes went swimming at the community pool with his friend Mercedes. He loved the sunshine, and would often lay in the hammock in the backyard (his fair skin lathered in plenty of sunblock) and enjoy a good book and a glass of lemonade.
To Kurt though, the best thing about summer was time at the antique shop, which meant more time with his dad, and that was always a good thing. As he'd gotten older, he found it harder and harder to really connect with his father. Burt was a man's man through and through – the get your hands dirty, football watching, beer loving kind of guy. Kurt… wasn't. He enjoyed fashion and music and art, Burt always told him how much he took after his mother, something that Kurt loved to hear, but still he wished he was a little more like his dad.
Summer time in the antique store also meant more time with the abundance of old items that came through the doors of the shop. Kurt loved the history of it all, but more than that, he was obsessed with finding those items that had that special bit of magic to them.
Kurt turned to the next guest in line. A young couple who was buying a china set that he knew contained some magic in it. He could hear the faint sound of rain patting against windows coming off the china. He didn't tell them that, he just smiled as he rung them up, "You should put these somewhere prominent in your home, I bet it will bring you good luck."
The young woman giggled and thanked him as Burt shot him a glance from across the room, Kurt just shrugged. He hadn't really said anything.
It was something both Burt and Elizabeth had instilled him from a young age. Never talk about magic with anyone outside of the family.
Not even with Connie, the middle aged woman who'd worked part time at Elizabeth's for as long as Kurt could remember, knew about Kurt's ability.
"Most people don't believe in magic, they won't understand," Elizabeth had explained, "The fact that you can sense it means you're exceptional."
His mother had taught him about magic – that sometimes certain objects would "speak to you." The first time his mother explained this phenomenon, Kurt was young, no older than five. He was at the shop with his parents and Elizabeth had placed a small colorful glass paper weight in his hands and told him to close his eyes and listen. Kurt still remembered the cool heaviness of the glass in his hand, how he'd closed his eyes like his mother instructed him and focused. He remembered the feeling of excitement and awe that rushed through his chest when he actually heard something from the paperweight, a soft murmur of sound like wind howling through a cavern.
"What is it?" Kurt had asked his mother in wonder.
Elizabeth had just smiled, her soft green eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy. "Magic," she'd answered leaning in to kiss his cheek.
Kurt learned that his mother came from a long line of Diviners, people who could sense magic in the world around them. Diviners were rare, especially these days as magic had started to fade, but it seemed like Kurt had the family gift himself.
Burt had never been able to hear anything from any of the items in the store or anywhere else for that matter; he believed in magic because of Elizabeth, but it didn't really have much of an impact on him. Though Kurt would often catch Burt watching Elizabeth teach him how to listen for magic and would notice the warm smile on his father's face.
Kurt glanced at his father now, baseball cap and plaid flannel shirt, a pair of jeans Kurt was pretty sure his father had owned for Kurt's whole life. Burt could be gruff and direct, he'd probably never imagined himself owning an antique shop, but it was what Elizabeth had wanted; besides Burt had always been good at history. He was also good with his customers; people who bought things here always knew they were getting a fair deal. Kurt smiled at his father as he helped a little old lady get an antique suitcase off a high self. He didn't always understand his dad, but he loved him.
He kept ringing people up until the line started to grow shorter and shorter; when there was a lull, he took a moment to tidy up the front counter, smiling as his fingers brushed over the paper weight that still whistled with cavern winds.
Elizabeth died when Kurt was only eight and Kurt had spent days taking each of his mother's old belongings and holding them in his hands and listening to any sound that might still connect him to his mom. They were all silent, his mother was gone and so was her magic.
It wasn't until a year later that Kurt first started hearing things on his own in the antique shop. He heard music from an old phonograph that didn't actually work anymore, an antique chandelier would pulse with the sounds of laughter and clinking of champagne glasses, a wooden 1940s rolodex held the sound of nearby traffic.
At first Kurt didn't like Burt to sell the items that had magic in them, and Burt would let Kurt keep a few of the more powerful objects unless it was something big and expensive like the dining room set Kurt swore emitted the faint sound of what he was sure was a Claude Debussy sonata.
"Kurt we can't keep everything that you hear magic from, your mother never did." Burt would protest, "If this keeps up we'll need a separate storeroom just for the things you won't let me sell!"
"Mom knew how to tell when something was really extraordinary though. I don't know how to read that yet." Kurt argued, "What if we are giving up something important by selling it!"
"Then someone else will get a little magic in their lives," Burt had answered pragmatically.
Elizabeth had been the dreamer, living half in another world no one could see but herself. Burt was a man of action, concerned with what you could see and hold and touch.
And while through the years Kurt could tell his father tried to foster the same creativity and sense of awe in Kurt that Elizabeth always had, it didn't necessarily come naturally to him. Kurt had to learn to live in the real world while attempting to develop the magic his mother had loved.
It was busy all afternoon and they even kept the store open a little later than normal just to accommodate the tourist enjoying the day out. Once Burt was finally flipping the open sign to closed and locking up the front door, Kurt could hardly wait to get back to the storeroom and find the box he'd been searching through earlier.
"You have plans for the evening?" Burt asked as he wandered to the backroom, shutting off lights on his way.
"Not really." Kurt was taking off his jacket and looking around.
"Nothing with Mercedes?"
"Not tonight." Kurt bunched up his eyebrows, "Didn't I leave that box right there?" Kurt asked pointing to an empty spot next to the back door.
"You know you should spend more time with your friends. I appreciate your help in the store, but I want you to enjoy your summer too. You're only thirteen and already act like you're going on twentyf-
"Dad." Kurt interrupted spinning to face his father, "The box from earlier, the one you said I could take home, where did it go?"
Burt sighed at finally paid attention, "Isn't it by the door?"
Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and arched one eyebrow; it was obviously not by the door.
"Well, Connie was cleaning up back here, maybe she moved it by accident?"
"Dad! It had something magic in it and now we don't know what it was or where it went."
"I'm sure it will be fine, it will turn up."
Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, his father didn't understand, try as he might he never did. "Dad what if it was something special? What if she put it out in the store and we already sold it." What if it was dangerous? But Kurt didn't voice that concern out loud, finding something with that kind of magic in it was extremely rare.
"Do you want me to call Connie and ask?" Burt offered. Connie had gone home a couple of hours ago to start dinner for her family.
Kurt shook his head minutely and then closed his eyes, "Give me a sec." He focused on his breathing, he could hear cars on the street behind the shop, he shut those out. He could hear his father's breath, he ignored it. Since Kurt had caught the sound of the magic earlier that day it should be easier to find it this time, hopefully whatever it was was still here.
Kurt's heart was sinking as the silence grew, until he finally heard a soft whisper to his right. He opened his eyes and followed the sound, his father watching him carefully.
Burt had a healthy respect for magic, but he mostly let Kurt do what he needed when it came to enchanted items. Kurt didn't completely understand everything about magic himself, his mom had died before he'd received much training, but he felt responsible not to let anything too powerful or anything with dark magic out into the world.
"There," Kurt pointed at a small box on one of the back shelves, he rushed to it and started rummaging through; Connie must have sorted out the items from the bigger box. Finally with a triumphant smile, Kurt reached for an item and held it up, light from the overhead lamp glinting off of it and casting rainbow reflections on the wall.
"That's it?" Burt asked.
Kurt nodded as the whispering became slightly clearer. What was the sound exactly? Were the words even in English? Were they even words?
"A mirror?" Burt said, holding out his hand and waiting for Kurt to give it to him. Kurt handed it to his father.
"The glass is foggy," Burt said inspecting it, "One of those old silver backed mirrors. I think the rest is made out of silver too," he let out a low whistle, "Where'd we get this? It's expensive."
Kurt shrugged, "How old do you think it is?"
Burt shook his head, "I've never seen anything quite like it, maybe the 1800s?"
"Wow." That was much older than what they usually had in the store. "We have to keep it."
"We'll take it home, let you do your…" He made an indecipherable motion with his free hand, "…magic stuff with it."
"Magic stuff?' Kurt repeated with a smirk. His dad talked about magic the same way he talked about fashion or Broadway musicals. He had a vague understanding, and knew they were important to Kurt but that was the limit to his appreciation.
"I might get it appraised as well," Burt continued tapping the glass surface with his finger. Tap, tap. "It could be-"
Tap, tap.
The mirror itself had tapped back, sounding like someone, or something tapping from the inside.
Kurt gasped and Burt was so taken back he almost dropped it, "What in the hell."
"Let me have it!" Kurt demanded, taking the mirror from his father's hand, "Did you – did you hear that?"
"Did that mirror just tap at me?"
"Dad! You heard it? You never hear these things!"
Burt just blinked at him, looking as surprised as Kurt felt.
Kurt swallowed deeply and then lifted a finger hovering over the foggy glass for a moment before gently tapping out a rhythm. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap. The mirror echoed back.
"Yeah, I heard that." Burt said.
"Whoa." Kurt looked up at his dad and then back down at his warped reflection in the glass, "What is going on with this thing?"
Kurt heard magic, sure, but he'd never had the magic answer back before.
Kurt and his dad had dinner together that evening, Burt insisting they eat together before Kurt went off to study the mirror. They cooked steak and potatoes because Burt got to choose dinner this evening, Kurt tried to get his father to eat healthier, but it was a losing battle. After they ate together and cleared up the kitchen, Kurt had raced to down to his room, mirror held safely against his chest, and plopped down on his bed.
His father had hinted several times about calling up Mercedes or some other friend, but Kurt was too enthralled by the magic of this mirror, there was something different about it. He knew his dad was concerned about him, spending so much time alone without many friends, but Kurt was used to it.
He had trouble fitting in with other kids his age, and while he enjoyed Mercedes's company she had a bunch of friends from church she hung out with and he didn't really fit in with them. He didn't fit in with a lot of people, with his high voice and progressive sense of fashion and what his father affectionately called a "maturity beyond his years.".
He was fine on his own, really, besides he had something the rest of them didn't have. Magic. Well, not that Kurt knew how to do any magic of his own, other than the ability to detect it, but still there was a whole world of wonders Kurt knew about and no one else understood. And this evening he'd found something new. Something he didn't understand and it excited him.
He'd moved to the basement when he turned thirteen informing his father he "needed his own space". As a birthday gift his dad had even let him re-decorate.
He went with white walls and minimalistic wall décor. He had a beaded curtain to block of the stairs, a large table for sewing and "creativity", a brightly lit vanity, and a big bed with a pale blue, very soft down comforter. The room was modern and striking and when he'd revealed it to his father with a "ta da" Burt had smiled and whistled and told Kurt he'd out done himself.
This evening he spread a few of his mother's books out on his bed and held the antique mirror in his lap.
Kurt thought he remembered a section in one of his mother's old books about mirrors – that magic associated with them was different somehow – but as he'd flipped through all the books he had, he couldn't find anything specific about mirrors.
Kurt was frustrated, and the mirror itself had gone silent. No more tapping and not even the faintest of whispers. Kurt softly tapped his finger against the glass again, hoping for a response, but he didn't get one. He sighed and tossed himself down on his back, bouncing on his mattress. He was so sure he'd found something special here, for the magic to respond like that was a trait he'd never seen before, but now even the normal magic was hushed. Almost as if Kurt had scared it off.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly and brushed his annoyingly thick hair off his brow. He'd go to the library tomorrow, see if he could find anything about mirrors there. Maybe ask his dad if there were any other books of his mother's that he didn't already have. He glanced at the clock by his bed, surprised to see it was nearly midnight; he'd been working on this for hours with absolutely no results.
He got up, stacking his books back neatly on their shelf, washing his face and completing his nightly moisturizing routine, and then slipping into comfy pajamas before returning to bed. He lay there with the little side lamp on, holding the mirror in the air above him and looking at it, turning it this way and that in his hand. It was in amazing condition, the silver wasn't tarnished at all, someone must have taken care of it. He'd ask Connie if she knew what estate sale it'd come from.
The glass itself was aged though, but that was to be expected of something this old. He stared at his reflection, pale skin and blue eyes, hair that never did what he wanted it to, round rosy baby cheeks he couldn't wait to grow out of. He could see a little of his mom in him, but barely.
He laid the mirror glass down on his chest and closed his eyes, tuning out the sound of his father watching TV upstairs, the AC flowing through the house, his own breathing — he listened and listened, but the sounds of magic were gone; if he hadn't heard it that afternoon, he would think the mirror had no magic at all.
"Come on," Kurt whispered as he turned to his side, putting the mirror down on his vintage 1940's nightstand and turning off the light, "Talk to me again."
He curled up under his covers in the dark and didn't hear anything besides the usual sounds of his home at night.
A few days went by before Kurt had time to look further into the mirror; things were busy at the antique store and Mercedes had called wanting to know if Kurt wanted to go see Monster House with her at the movies.
So it wasn't until Saturday that Kurt found himself in the attic; his dad said that there might be an old trunk up there with more of his mother's things. It was dusty, and cramped, stiflingly hot and smelled stale. Kurt was on his hands and knees, not enough room to stand up straight, and he could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck and kept worrying about spiders as he brushed dust off his face.
He'd found the old trunk and was rummaging through it. It had some old clothes, a yearbook from his mother's high school – Kurt looked up his mother's picture, she was so young he didn't know this girl, but she had the same smile he recognized as his mom's and it made his chest ache. He closed the yearbook and kept rummaging; finally, underneath a patchwork quilt, he found a couple of books.
Kurt let out a victory shout before placing everything else neatly back in the trunk. He held the books to his side and one handedly made his way back down the ladder, shaking himself of dust and cobwebs once he reached the floor. Good thing he was just in casual clothes today, sweat pants and a t-shirt, because that had been gross.
He looked down at the books in his hands: one small blue book titled, "Folklore and Ballads" that he hadn't thought about in years, but remembered his mother reading to him. The other book was much older and leather-bound, a faded black book with gold writing on the cover that was hard to make out anymore – something about witchcraft?
Kurt bit his lip as he flipped the book open, he'd never really thought about what he and his mother did as witchcraft. To him, witches were something from cartoons or fairytales; they wore pointy hats and rode broomsticks. For Kurt, magic was natural, something that had always been around like seasons and rainy weather and sunshine, but when he thought about the few charms and spells his mother had taught him, he supposed some people could possibly see that as witchcraft.
He excitedly set off to his bedroom to start reading when his father stopped him on the way.
"Hey Kurt, heading out?"
"No, I'm going to read," Kurt answered holding up the books.
Burt nodded looking solemn, "It's a beautiful day out."
"I know, but I really want to read up and see what I can find on that mirror."
Burt readjusted the cap on his head and looked like he wanted to say something he was holding back, "I asked Connie about that mirror today."
Kurt smiled and bounced a little on his feet, but tried not to show more interest than he normally would.
"We tried to trace back where that mirror had come from, what estate sale or auction we bought it at. And you know Connie is meticulous about the book-keeping. Strange thing is, she has no record of when we got that particular item."
"Oh," Kurt's shoulders slumped in disappointment, "That's too bad, I think it is something special. I'd love to know its history."
Burt pulled of his cap rolling it in his hand, "Have you done that test thing you do? To make sure it isn't dangerous?"
"I haven't, but it doesn't feel dark," Kurt hurried to assure him, "I can do the test today though."
"And if it isn't dangerous I guess that means you're not going to let me sell it?" Burt said with a huff of breath.
"Please dad, please let me keep it."
Burt chuckled, "You act as if I have a choice in the matter. Of course you can keep it, as long as it is safe. I still might get it appraised though."
Kurt beamed, he knew he was a bit spoiled by his father, but in this case it was for the best. He still had a lot to learn about this particular magical item.
"What if you went outside and read? At least you'd get some fresh air," Burt suggested.
"I can do that," Kurt agreed with a simile, he moved passed his father, squeezing his shoulder, "Thanks dad."
Burt smiled but tried to hide it, "Yeah, yeah."
Kurt grabbed some sunscreen from his bathroom and then brought the books outside with him, going out to the back yard to lie in the hammock and enjoy the summer sun. He started with the small bright blue book he'd found in the attic and started flipping through it. He smiled, remembering many of the stories from when he was young, The Ballad of Tam Lin, The Old Man and the Fairies and The Mermaid of Galloway. Looking over them now, he was surprised he'd read this as a child. Some of the tales ended happily but a lot of them were scary and had unhappy endings. Still he found them fascinating. As the afternoon went on his eye lids grew heavy and his book drooped in his hands.
He knew his father was worried that he wasn't enjoying himself enough this summer, but he was, in his own way. He didn't have a lot of friends, and while he did feel lonely at times, he was grateful for his father, for the antique shop, for Mercedes, for magic. And afternoons like this spent thinking of magic and reading folklore. It suited him.
He fell asleep on the hammock, the book slipping from his fingers and the bright summer sun warming his skin. Kurt woke as the sun was going down, he laid there for a moment watching the red and purple hues of the evening sky, before he finally made himself get up. He groaned, knowing that despite the sunscreen he used, his pale skin was probably going to be burnt and as red as a lobster after napping in the sun. The one thing about summer he really hated was that his complexion just didn't seem to be made for it.
He had dinner with his dad telling him about plans he and Mercedes had coming up and then went downstairs to his room, settling down on his bed ready to try some magic. He grabbed the mirror, which had been silent for days, and held it in his hands for a moment, closing his eyes, concentrating.
Nothing.
Kurt opened his eyes with a sigh and set the mirror next to him on the bed. He turned to the thick leather book he'd found in the attic earlier that day. He flipped through, his stomach fluttering in excitement as he read some of the chapter headings.
"Spells & Incantations", "Specters & Daemons", "Astrology & Periodic Magiks", "Sprites & Faeries".
Kurt was enthralled, there was so much about magic in this book that he knew nothing about, could it all be real? Ghost and fairies? That didn't fit with the kind of magic he knew.
Kurt continued to flip through the aging pages: there was a chapter on summoning that gave Kurt chills, old-fashioned ink drawings of black candles and gold bowls of swirling water. Kurt flipped past that quickly – he wasn't sure that there was anything from this book that he cared to summon.
He stopped and stared, though, when he came to a chapter near the back of the book titled, "Mirrors & Mediary".
He remembered seeing this before! He didn't know when, he had no clear memory of his mother showing him this book. In fact, he wondered if it had been in the attic instead of with her other books because she didn't want Kurt to see it. Kurt shook off that thought; the book of folklore and ballads had been up there too and that was something he'd read out of as a child.
His fingers ran down the old yellowed pages as he skimmed the chapter on mirrors. According to the book, mirrors were often viewed as portals to other worlds, most commonly believed to be a bridge from the living to the dead. Kurt's throat felt dry glancing at the hand mirror lying on the bed by his knee. That tapping sound coming from the mirror did seem to have some kind of awareness; it tapped the same rhythms it heard…
Kurt unconsciously scooted away from it a bit.
The book said that a smaller group of magicians and witches believed mirrors led to faerie worlds or could be used to step from one physical place to another like walking through a door. There was even an account of a sailor who used an enchanted mirror to speak with his wife back home while he was out at sea.
Kurt remembered thinking he heard the ocean the first time he heard the mirror's magic. But that sound had quickly turned to whispering. Kurt let out a long breath, an intoxicating feeling of eagerness and fear tingling down his spine. Who would be whispering through this mirror? Kurt had assumed the mirror had trapped the sound of some memory in it, like all the magical items Kurt had known before, he'd never considered he was listening to an existing conversation through the glass.
He glanced back down at the mirror, swallowing deeply; he couldn't help but feel excited. Everything in this book sounded like the kind of magic Kurt might actually be able to use, not just detect.
At the very end of the chapter was a few paragraphs on divining if a mirror had been used for worthy or dark magik in the past. This was actually a practice Kurt was familiar with, not for mirrors in particular, but his mother had taught him to read if an object had light or dark energy. Rarely did they find anything with dark magic, and the few times they had, Elizabeth had taught him how to destroy the object.
The description in the book about divining if something was a dark magic object seemed very similar to what his mother had taught him. That added credence to what the book had to say, it seemed to at least have some truth in its aged pages.
Kurt lifted the book from his lap, laying it in front of himself, and grabbed the mirror, spreading his hand, palm down on the glass and closing his eyes. His mother had taught him to listen to the magic of the item while holding it and then to hum a little tune – he didn't know the origin of the tune – but he remembered how it went. After that, you just had to wait until the object reacted.
Either the sound from the object would get stronger as you hummed or the object would start to shake and rattle. If it rattled, there was something wrong about it and you should get rid of it right away. Kurt could only remember three times in his life, twice with his mother and once after he lost her, that anything started rattling.
Kurt hummed the melody he knew by heart and waited. When nothing happened, he tried again.
Kurt opened one eye and peeked at the mirror; the problem was he couldn't hear the mirror's magic at all anymore so this wasn't really working.
Kurt lowered the mirror and looked back at the book, it had additional instructions. Its process was similar to what his mother had taught him – find a quiet place, press your palm against the mirror, close your eyes… but instead of humming there was a charm you were to recite.
Kurt was a little nervous, he'd never tried anything like this before and hoped he wasn't out of his depths. He wasn't sure it would even work – this book talked about magic in a way Kurt had never heard before and it all sounded a little make-believe to him.
Despite that, he wasn't sure what else to do, so after reading the charm a few times, he closed his eyes, palm still on the smooth glass, and started to recite.
"Golden light shine forth from here
Dark of night attend near
Nature come and nature called
Nature young and nature auld."
Kurt squinted his eyes, not opening them all the way, glancing at the mirror. Nothing happened and Kurt felt ridiculous.
He didn't even know what that charm was supposed to do; it said that when performed correctly, you'd know if the mirror was worthy or evil – but nothing was happening.
He shook his shoulders out and closed his eyes again. He steadied his breath the way his mother had taught him, tuned out all sound, listened and tried the charm once more, even though he still felt incredibly silly and hoped his father didn't choose this time to poke his head downstairs.
"Golden light shine forth from here
Dark of night attend near
Nature come and nature called
Nature young and nature auld."
There was a rushing sound so loud it filled the room; Kurt was so startled he dropped the mirror to the bed. The sound quickly faded to just the soft sound of waves. Kurt sighed in relief and smiled broadly, reaching for the mirror as he heard the call of a seagull, yes definitely the ocean then. Soon the ocean waves faded and that same indistinguishable whispering sound resurfaced louder that before. This was a good sign. The book's charm seemed to have worked when the melody his mother taught him had not, was this magic more powerful than what his mother had taught him?
As he held the mirror, it tremored slightly – it worried Kurt at first, but it didn't start to rattle and the tremor faded quickly. In its place, slowly, a soft luminosity spread outward from the mirror, a pale yellow shimmer that made Kurt suck in an awed breath. The silver of the mirror looked like gold when it was bathed in this light, he'd never seen anything like this before.
He glanced down at the book Golden light shine forth from here. From what he'd skimmed over in the book, gold was associated with worthy magic. Okay, good, that was good. Kurt smiled, the mirror wasn't dark or dangerous then; his shoulders relaxed in relief, this mirror was obviously special and he would have hated to destroy it. The trouble now was that the golden glow wasn't fading; instead, it was growing stronger and brighter, the mirror becoming hot in his hands.
He dropped it in surprise as the light filled the entire room, so bright Kurt shut his eyes and covered them with an arm.
Then suddenly the light blinked out. Kurt uncovered his eyes and looked down at the mirror, no longer glowing and back to its silver color, just a faint whisper resounding from it.
Kurt's breath was coming quickly, he had no idea what had just happened. Was it because of the charm? Or because the mirror had particularly strong magic? It scared him a little and he thought about telling his father, but…. Burt didn't know about magic. He wouldn't have any answers and what if he told Kurt to get rid of the mirror?
No, Kurt wouldn't say anything yet. He'd proven the mirror didn't have dangerous magic. That was enough for now. The sound of whispering was softer now but still present. He glanced back at the book feeling somewhat overwhelmed; he'd assumed everything in this book was fiction, but if the charm had worked… he thought about the chapter on summoning and the chapter about specters and daemons – he quickly snapped the book closed.
He didn't like to think about the other things within these pages being real. There was more magic in this book than he'd ever imagined and it frightened him.
He picked the book up, almost putting it on his bookshelf with his mother's other books, but decided against it. Instead, he knelt down on the plush carpet of his bedroom floor and slid the book under his bed, out of sight, out of mind. Maybe one day he'd be ready to take a look through its pages again, but for now, he decided it was more than a thirteen year old needed to worry about.
He lay on his bed holding the mirror and listening to the hushed undistinguishable whispers. He tapped the mirror with his finger, but there was no answering tap. He had more questions now that ever.
Kurt placed the hand mirror on his bedside table as he got up to do his normal facial routine, adding the extra step of smearing on aloe vera gel on his sunburnt and freckled cheeks.
Then he crawled under his soft sheets and lay in bed for a long time, unable to sleep; he had taken a long nap that afternoon. Besides, he couldn't get the mirror – or the book under his bed – out of his mind. There was magic there that was completely new to him and he had no idea where to go to learn more about it. No one to ask questions to or teach him. His mother and grandmother had been Diviners, but they were both gone now and there was no one else.
Well, that couldn't be true, there had to be other Diviners out there, he just didn't know where to find them. He also couldn't help but think about the title of the book and the word 'witchcraft'. Were witches real? If so, they were probably nothing like how movies and books depicted them; in fact, he supposed his mother could have been considered a witch, it just wasn't a term he'd ever heard her use. What if all fairytales and folklore had some truth to them? The book had mentioned fairies, and specters and all kinds of things Kurt had once believed were just make believe.
This train of thought wasn't helping him sleep. He resolutely closed his eyes, curled up tight under the covers and eventually let sleep overtake him.
The moon was bright and shining through the small high placed window in Kurt's basement bedroom when he shifted in bed, eyes blinking open, something disturbing his sleep.
He turned to his side and hugged one of his extra pillows to his chest, letting out a small yawn. He was almost back to sleep when he heard a sound. He blinked open his bleary eyes and glanced at the mirror on his night stand. It was illuminated by the glowing moon outside his window. Was it whispering again? Or maybe there were more ocean sounds?
Kurt lay still and listened, no it wasn't the ocean or seagulls, or even faint whispering it was…
Kurt sat up in bed, confused. The mirror was making a new noise. He reached for it, crossing his legs on his bed and holding it in his lap as his breath hitched — its new sound was heart-wrenching and miserable.
From the other side of the glass, it sounded like someone was crying.
