The Mirror - Page 218

“So cute!”

“I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Cleo.”

“Oh, I’ll walk you out.”

“I know the way. Bask awhile.”

She left them talking about elves.

She’d had a good week, Sonya thought. Productive at work, pretty quiet in the manor, and with the added element of mural fun.

Trey and Owen would come later, bringing dinner with them. They’d eat outside, she decided, take advantage of a gorgeous June day.

On the way home, she stopped for fresh flowers, then again at the bakery. Who didn’t want brownies for dessert?

She thought how lovely it would be if her life just flowed along as it had this past week. Good work, a good man who cared about her, good friends, a good home, and a growing community around it.

And in a little over an hour, she had a meeting about the biggest job in her career. A job she’d earned.

But first, she’d let Yoda and Pye out, tuck the brownies away, arrange the flowers.

When she drove up, the windows stood open. And why not? she thought. The sun shined, the sea breeze came soft and warm and sweet as summer whispered in spring’s ear.

As she carried the bakery box and flowers to the door, she heard Yoda’s welcoming bark. He greeted her with wags and happy whines while the cat leaped down from the newel post and sauntered to the door and out.

“You go ahead with Pye. Tell you what. I’ll leave the door open while I take care of these flowers. Then if Jack hasn’t already stuffed you, you’ll both get a treat.”

She went back, stored the bakery box in the butler’s pantry, then started to prep the flowers.

The tall blue vase, she thought. Anna’s work would set the new flowers off.

Then she felt it, that pull and the slight lightheaded sensation that often came with it.

“Oh, not now, not now. I have a meeting in just over an hour.”

But she couldn’t deny it, couldn’t resist it. Even as she thought to text Trey, that thought slipped away from her. And she followed the pull.

Back through the house. The sound of the sea rising against the rocks through the open door, open windows seemed distant. Seemed a mile away, more a dream than real as she climbed the stairs.

Her heart began to trip as she continued on, as the pull drew her past the library, past the old nursery, and up the stairs to the third floor.

Not the Gold Room. She wouldn’t go in, she promised herself. She’d find a way to break this need.

She saw as she walked down the long hallway, the door pulsing, the heartbeat of it. Heard it pound in her ears. Even with fear squeezing its clammy hands on her throat, she walked on.

And into Cleo’s studio, where the mirror stood. Waiting.

Cleo had a large canvas on her easel. Her studio work, Sonya knew. Some figures, some color, it all barely registered as the mirror drew her.

You’ve got a big job to do, Imogene had said.

“All right. All right,” Sonya repeated, and stepped through the glass.

The studio smelled of paint and brush cleaner, and a hint, just a hint, of Calvin Klein’s Eternity.

Not Cleo’s studio now, she realized, not with the pair of old chairs shoved against the far wall and canvases stacked against the back wall.

The light streaming in was almost silver. A storm rolled outside the windows, lashed at the sea so its waves whipped up, white-tipped.