Mirrored by Alex Flinn Read Free Book Online Page A

burned alive, watching the skin peel off as painful first- and second-degree burns gave way to the blessed relief of death?
    “No,” Kendra said, “she was not burned. She merely disappeared. Witches do. Now, let’s find something suitably small. Your complexion, perhaps?”
    I had a few blemishes, nothing terrible but, of course, I was self-conscious about them. I nodded.
    “Hate drains the energy,” she said, stroking my skin gently, like my mother never had. “It’s not a safe emotion. That’s why you passed out last night. Is there another strong emotion you can tap into?”
    My first thought was love, my love for Greg. But that emotion was all tied up with other emotions, my hatred for Jennifer, my anger at Greg himself for ditching me when he suddenly became hot. I tried to think of happier memories, but they all failed me. I thought how I felt every day, how I felt alternately invisible, ignored, ridiculed. How I felt alone, even in my own house, with my own mother.
    I remembered what Kendra had said about witches being lonely.
    “Would loneliness work?”
    Kendra smiled, barely turning up her lips. “Yes, dear, I know it will. It is an emotion I use quite a bit myself.” She reached toward me. Her hand was small and white, as if it had never seen sun. “Close your eyes.”
    She passed her fingers down my forehead and across my face. I closed my eyes gladly. The bright light against white walls was suddenly tiring.
    “Now remember . . .” Her voice was soft, soothing. “Remember the loneliest you’ve ever felt.”
    So many memories to choose from. The time my school had Lunch With Your Child Day, and my mom was the only one who didn’t come. She hadn’t had time, she said, but she sure had time for dumb things like hair appointments. No, it was because I wasn’t presentable, wasn’t pretty. She was ashamed to be seen with me.
    I’d thrown my sandwich in the garbage, feeling like the ugliest person in a world full of beauty.
    But perhaps this memory edged too close to hate, to anger. I remembered other days, mundane things, walking home from school alone, remembered not having a partner on field trips and having to sit by someone else’s mother who was chaperoning, party invitations handed out to everyone but me, no one talking to me except to ask me to please switch seats so their friend could sit there. I remembered . . .
    “It worked.” Kendra’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
    “What did?” I realized I was weeping, hot, salty tears seeping out from under my eyelids.
    “Look.”
    I did, mopping at them as I did. The mirror, Kendra’s lovely mirror, was before me. I gazed into it. My skin was clear, unblemished, smooth, pink, like Mom’s. And still, the tears kept coming, coming out of me.
    Kendra’s arms tightened around me. “There, my darling. Someday, you will be able to do this without crying.”
    “Will I?”
    She stroked my back. “I promise.”
    “Can everyone do it then? I mean, does everyone have the power to channel their emotions?”
    I hoped not.
    “Oh, no. Not everyone. It is a rare thing indeed. No, my darling. You are special.”
    Special. No one had ever called me that before, not even teachers at school.
    “Come, my darling. You have worked hard. Let me get you some gingerbread.”
    “Gingerbread?”
    She shrugged. “I am sentimental. The witch who taught me, she made gingerbread.”
    I remembered the story of Hansel and Gretel , the children made into gingerbread. What if Kendra turned out to be like that witch, a cannibal bent on murder? Would I have the strength to run away from the one person who praised me and thought I was special? I stroked the smooth skin of my cheek, feeling Kendra’s arm around me. I wasn’t sure. I wanted Kendra to teach me. Desperately.
    But the gingerbread she brought me wasn’t shaped like children. In fact, it wasn’t even a cookie, but a cake in a square pan. Kendra cut a still-steaming chunk for each of us and served