The Other Side of the Mirror

—Is anyone here? —she asked.

Silence closed around her.

A sharp thud sounded at the back. Inés stepped back and bumped into a display case. The clocks inside began ticking all at once. Their hands spun backward, fast, until they stopped at three seventeen.

The time her mother had died.

Inés looked away.

—I’m not interested —she said, though no one had offered her anything.

She returned to the entrance. The knob was icy. She pulled it.

The door did not move.

She tried again, this time with both hands. The wood vibrated beneath her fingers, as if someone on the other side were pushing in the opposite direction.

—Come on.

The bell rang again, but the door remained still.

Inés struck it with her palm.

—Open up!

A mark appeared on the fogged glass from outside. First one line, then another. A finger was writing in the condensation.

I N É S

For an instant, she stopped breathing.

The writing was completed with one final line.

V A L C Á R C E L

Inés backed away from the door. Water fell from her coat, though the sound no longer seemed like dripping. It was the tapping of fingernails.

—No —she whispered.

A voice answered from the back.

—You’re late.

It was neither a man’s nor a woman’s voice. It sounded like several throats speaking from behind a wall.

Inés ran to the counter. The deck was still there. Beside it lay a yellowed card on which someone had written in brown ink:

TAKE ONE.

She shoved it to the floor.

—I’m not taking anything.

The aisles between the display cases had changed. Before, there had been two parallel corridors leading to the door. Now five opened up, all alike, all filled with objects she did not remember seeing. A mannequin dressed as a bride turned slowly on a platform. In its hands it held a bouquet of human teeth.

Inés took a step toward the nearest corridor.

The floor creaked.

A child’s voice, very close to her ear, said:

—Not that way.

Inés turned and found a tall mirror leaning against a column. She had not seen it before. Its frame was made of black wood, carved with tiny intertwined hands. Its surface was clean, without a speck of dust.

Inés’s reflection remained still.

She raised her hand.

The reflection did not.

The face on the other side of the glass had the same pallor, the same gray eyes, and the same fresh cut above the eyebrow. But it was smiling.

Inés stepped back.

—Who are you?

Her reflection tilted its head.

—You know who I am.

—No.

—You looked at me before you learned to recognize yourself.

The mirror returned each word with the slightest delay, as if the figure had to think before moving its lips.

Inés turned toward the entrance. The door was still closed. The wooden frame had stretched until it touched the ceiling. There was no lock.

—Let me out.

Her reflection pressed its palm against the glass.

—Ask for the deck.

—No.

—Then stay here.

—You can’t force me.

Her reflection’s smile widened. It was missing an incisor. Inés had all her teeth.

—I already did.

The lamps went out.

The darkness lasted barely a second, but during that second Inés felt fingers brush the nape of her neck. When the light returned, the counter was empty. The deck had disappeared.

Something fell behind her.

A card.

Inés crouched without touching it. The back showed the oval mirror. At its center was a figure with one hand raised and the other resting on a table. Before it lay a cup, a sword, a wand, and a coin.

The Magician.

The image seemed to move beneath the ink. The figure turned its head toward Inés.

She closed her eyes.

—I’m not picking it up.

—You don’t have to —said her reflection.

The card slid across the floor until it brushed the tip of her shoe.

The shop door appeared at the end of the central corridor. Inés saw it at once: the glass, the knob, the rain beyond. She ran.

The corridors shifted as she moved. The display cases creaked and turned on their bases. A collection of masks blocked the way; every one had her face, but with its eyes sewn shut. Inés knocked one aside and felt its edge slice her palm.

Blood fell to the floor.

The tiles began to absorb it.

—Get away from me!

Her voice bounced around the shop and came back distorted:

—From me… from me… from me…

The door was only a few yards away. Inés reached out.

The mirror stood in her way.

Not the tall mirror. Another one, enormous, now set between the display cases, spanning the entire width of the corridor. Its frame brushed the ceiling, and its wooden roots sank into the tiles.

Inés’s reflection was on the other side.

It was no longer smiling.

—If you want to get out —it said—, you have to accept what you brought with you.

—I didn’t bring anything.

—You brought your name.

—My name doesn’t belong to you.

—Not yet.

Her reflection raised a card. The deck was between its fingers.

Inés saw the whole deck, thick and dark, as if it had been made of leather. The Magician was on the top card. Its eyes were two white dots.

—Give it back —said Inés.

—Come and get it.

Her reflection pressed the deck against the glass. The mirror’s surface sank around the cards, soft as skin. Inés understood that if she did nothing, the thing would keep talking until the shop decided what to do with her.

She struck the mirror with her elbow.

Pain shot up her arm. The glass did not crack.

—Again —whispered her reflection.

Inés grabbed one of the display cases and shoved it against the mirror. The cabinet crashed down; the clocks shattered, metal parts rolled across the floor, and the glass split into a white web.

It did not break.

Her reflection watched without moving.

—You’re not real.

—Neither are you.

Inés picked up a shard of glass. It was long and sharp. She pressed it against her wounded palm. The pain was clear, immediate, hers.

—If you don’t open the door, I’ll cut myself.

Her reflection looked at the blood.

—You already did.

—I can do worse.

—You can’t cut yourself where it hurts most.

The figure pointed to its own chest.

The mirror glass turned transparent.

Inés saw a room that was not in the shop. A small kitchen, lit by the blue light of dawn. Her mother was sitting at the table, alive, her hands wrapped around a cup. Inés was sixteen and standing in front of her.

—Don’t ever say again that you don’t need me —the girl said.

Her mother looked up.

—I don’t need you to stay alive.

The scene changed. The cup fell. Her mother’s body slumped over the table. Instead of calling an ambulance, Inés stood motionless, watching the coffee mingle with the blood.

—No —said Inés.

The memory repeated.

Once.

Again.

Each time, the young Inés took longer to move.

Her reflection spoke in her mother’s voice:

—You were late, too.

Inés hurled the shard at the mirror. The glass bounced back and cut her cheek.

—Shut up!

The mirror cracked from the center to the edge. A cold current swept through the corridor. The door was clear.

Inés ran.

This time the knob gave way.

The rain rushed in, striking her face. The street was there, with its streetlamps, cars, and the sound of tires on asphalt. Inés crossed the threshold and fell to her knees on the sidewalk.

The bell rang behind her.

She turned.

Umbral had disappeared.

In its place was a wall of damp bricks, covered in torn posters. No shop. No door.

Inés struggled to her feet. The cut on her cheek burned, and her hand trembled. Something hard knocked inside her coat pocket.

She took out the deck.

She did not remember taking it.

The cards were warm, damp like freshly washed skin. She tried to throw them into a trash can, but her fingers would not open. The deck had stuck to her palm.

—No —she said.

A card separated from the rest.

The Magician.

The illustration had changed. The figure was no longer behind a table. It stood before a broken mirror, one hand raised toward the viewer.

At the bottom edge of the card was a dark mark.

Inés’s exact handprint.

Across the street, a window reflected her image. Inés looked up.

Her reflection did not imitate her.

The figure in the glass held the deck against its chest and moved its lips.

This time there was no delay.

—First, you’ll learn to open doors.

Inés squeezed the card until its own edges cut into her skin. Blood stained the picture, but the handprint did not disappear.

Behind the window’s mirror, something knocked three times.

Then a voice, very low, spoke from the glass:

—Then you’ll learn to close them.

End of chapter one. 21 more chapters and about 48,223 words in the full book.