through the other side of the mirror and disappear. She stared at her own reflection in the now-streaked mirror in a mixture of shock and wonderment.
Had she imagined it? No, she’d seen his fingers curl over her own, felt the hot, almost fevered press of his coarse, callused palm against her own.
What did it mean?
Chapter Five
He didn’t come back.
Cora waited all day by the mirror, anxious and pacing. When he didn’t show and her feet began to hurt, she pulled up one of the antique Louis XIV chairs in front of the mirror and sat, waiting, staring at her reflection in the glass.
Nothing. It was just a mirror—no light, no ghost. He wasn’t coming back. She’d never get a second chance to see if she’d just imagined it, or if she’d truly been able to touch him through the mirror. Hours passed, and the mirror remained just that—a long, lonely slab of glass, not a portal to another world or time.
Perhaps it was all in her imagination, then. The thought was a depressing one. She’d felt something electric between them when he’d touched her fingers, and knew that lost look on his face. They were kindred souls. She could feel it.
The doorbell rang, startling her out of her chair. Cora pulled a bathrobe on over her pajamas and moved to the front door, pulling it open when she saw it was Muffin.
“You look like hell,” the old woman said cheerfully as she stepped into the hall, carrying a large thermos. “Not sleeping?”
Cora eyed the thermos and brushed a hand through her tangled hair. “Something like that. Just having a difficult time sleeping in a strange bed.” That, and the fact that her dreams were full of naughty thoughts of the man in the mirror. Of his green-eyed gaze on her skin, of his hand grasping hers through the mirror and pulling her naked body against his, feeling every muscle against her skin…
Muffin waved the thermos at her and trotted toward the kitchens without being asked.
“It’s lucky for you that I made you some nice chicken noodle soup, then. Come sit down and I’ll make you a bowl.”
She followed the elderly woman—dressed in a hot pink velour pantsuit today—and sat at one of the stools lined up against the island countertop. Cora propped her chin up on her hand and she sighed.
Muffin tut-tutted at her and placed a bowl on the counter, then poured the contents of the thermos in with a thick, goopy splash that made Cora wince. “Such a sad sigh. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
She took the spoon offered to her and shrugged. “I’m just going crazy. I think. Last night I imagined that I saw the guy in the mirror again.” Cora began to stir the spoon in the soup, watching the noodles float past. To her surprise, something dark and heavy was at the bottom of her bowl. She nudged it with her spoon, and then pushed it to the side of the bowl and lifted it.
A drumstick. As in, fried chicken in her chicken noodle soup.
“Eat up, dearie!” Muffin said, digging in to her own bowl. She slurped, a long noodle disappearing between bright pink-painted lips. “So you saw the man again?” Cora poked at the bizarre soup, not really surprised to see Muffin fish out a chicken wing from hers. “I did see him,” she admitted, then paused over her next words. Should she admit the rest? She needed to tell someone to ensure that she wasn’t crazy. “I…think I touched him too, but I’m not sure. It might be my imagination.” Muffin said nothing, just continued to eat.
“I sat in front of the mirror all day,” Cora rushed on. “Waiting for him to show again, to see if I’m crazy, or imagining things, or what. But he won’t show. I don’t know why he won’t show.”
“You’re just confused.”
Cora stared down at her soup glumly. “Maybe so.”
“No, I mean you’re just confused,” Muffin said. “Confusion’s not a very strong emotion. You need something bigger to draw him out. The mirrorlight is attracted to strong emotion.”
She frowned
Had she imagined it? No, she’d seen his fingers curl over her own, felt the hot, almost fevered press of his coarse, callused palm against her own.
What did it mean?
Chapter Five
He didn’t come back.
Cora waited all day by the mirror, anxious and pacing. When he didn’t show and her feet began to hurt, she pulled up one of the antique Louis XIV chairs in front of the mirror and sat, waiting, staring at her reflection in the glass.
Nothing. It was just a mirror—no light, no ghost. He wasn’t coming back. She’d never get a second chance to see if she’d just imagined it, or if she’d truly been able to touch him through the mirror. Hours passed, and the mirror remained just that—a long, lonely slab of glass, not a portal to another world or time.
Perhaps it was all in her imagination, then. The thought was a depressing one. She’d felt something electric between them when he’d touched her fingers, and knew that lost look on his face. They were kindred souls. She could feel it.
The doorbell rang, startling her out of her chair. Cora pulled a bathrobe on over her pajamas and moved to the front door, pulling it open when she saw it was Muffin.
“You look like hell,” the old woman said cheerfully as she stepped into the hall, carrying a large thermos. “Not sleeping?”
Cora eyed the thermos and brushed a hand through her tangled hair. “Something like that. Just having a difficult time sleeping in a strange bed.” That, and the fact that her dreams were full of naughty thoughts of the man in the mirror. Of his green-eyed gaze on her skin, of his hand grasping hers through the mirror and pulling her naked body against his, feeling every muscle against her skin…
Muffin waved the thermos at her and trotted toward the kitchens without being asked.
“It’s lucky for you that I made you some nice chicken noodle soup, then. Come sit down and I’ll make you a bowl.”
She followed the elderly woman—dressed in a hot pink velour pantsuit today—and sat at one of the stools lined up against the island countertop. Cora propped her chin up on her hand and she sighed.
Muffin tut-tutted at her and placed a bowl on the counter, then poured the contents of the thermos in with a thick, goopy splash that made Cora wince. “Such a sad sigh. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
She took the spoon offered to her and shrugged. “I’m just going crazy. I think. Last night I imagined that I saw the guy in the mirror again.” Cora began to stir the spoon in the soup, watching the noodles float past. To her surprise, something dark and heavy was at the bottom of her bowl. She nudged it with her spoon, and then pushed it to the side of the bowl and lifted it.
A drumstick. As in, fried chicken in her chicken noodle soup.
“Eat up, dearie!” Muffin said, digging in to her own bowl. She slurped, a long noodle disappearing between bright pink-painted lips. “So you saw the man again?” Cora poked at the bizarre soup, not really surprised to see Muffin fish out a chicken wing from hers. “I did see him,” she admitted, then paused over her next words. Should she admit the rest? She needed to tell someone to ensure that she wasn’t crazy. “I…think I touched him too, but I’m not sure. It might be my imagination.” Muffin said nothing, just continued to eat.
“I sat in front of the mirror all day,” Cora rushed on. “Waiting for him to show again, to see if I’m crazy, or imagining things, or what. But he won’t show. I don’t know why he won’t show.”
“You’re just confused.”
Cora stared down at her soup glumly. “Maybe so.”
“No, I mean you’re just confused,” Muffin said. “Confusion’s not a very strong emotion. You need something bigger to draw him out. The mirrorlight is attracted to strong emotion.”
She frowned
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