Obsidian Mirror Read Online Free Page A

gripped it, then had to scramble onto a narrow rib of stone and climb the brickwork, hanging by toes and fingers, until she could haul herself up and peer over into the room.
    It was shadowy. A fire burned low in the hearth, flickering red on dark paneling and shelves of old books.
    She edged the casement wider. It creaked. Carefully she pulled herself up, getting one knee on the crumbling stone. She squeezed her head and shoulders in through the wide bars.
    Then she saw him.
    He was reflected in a glass clock-face. A man in a high armchair with its back to her, legs stretched out, feet propped on a low table that was piled with documents, papers, books. In his hand was a glass of what might be whisky, but he wasn’t drinking it or reading.
    He was listening.
    She kept completely still, not even breathing. To see him was astonishing. As if a character from a book had come to life, there, right before her.
    With a sudden lean unfolding, the man stood. He turned and his face was a sharp silhouette in the gloomy room. She caught the puzzled, wary tilt of hishead. He put the drink down on the table, and said, “Who’s there?”
    The curtain gusted between them. She was invisible but all her weight was on one hand and it was already trembling.
    “Answer me. Is it you, Summer? Do you really think you can get in here?”
    His voice was scornful. He came straight toward her; she had to move. She slid through the casement onto the broad wooden sill, and he stopped instantly.
    His eyes, ice blue, stared right at her. He was so close she could see the shocked recognition come into his face, a spasm of stricken stillness. He reached out, till his hand was touching her cheek. He whispered,
“Leah?”
    She shook her head, devastated, her eyes blurry with tears. “How can you see me? It’s not possible.”
    His hand jerked back, as if she’d slapped him. The shock went from him; replaced with a vicious anger that took all the life from his eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled.
    She jumped down and stood in the room in front of him, defiant, cold hands at her sides. “Sarah. And you must be Oberon Venn.”
    He didn’t answer. All he said was “Your foot is bleeding all over my floor.”

3
    I first met him on a remote glacier in the high Andes. A friend and I were climbing and had gotten into trouble; we had frostbite and the weather had closed in. We curled in a snow-hole, freezing. Late in the night I heard a sound outside, so I crawled out. The wind was an icy rattle against my goggles.
    Through the mist I saw a man walking. At first I thought he was some creature of the snow, a phantom of the tundra.
    I must have been in a state of delirium because I called out that he was an angel.
    His laugh was harsher than the wind. “My name’s Venn,” he said. “And I’m no angel.”
    Jean Lamartine,
The Strange Life of Oberon Venn
    J AKE GAZED OUT of the plane window at the blue sky.
    Far below, the snowfields of the Alps glittered a brilliant white; the plane’s tiny shadow moved over glaciers and secret valleys where only explorers would ever venture.
    Explorers like Venn.
    He focused on his own blurred image in the glass. The plan had worked. He was out of the school forever.He felt strangely tired, though he should be elated. After all, there was no one at Compton’s he cared about. He had said good-bye to them all with cool politeness, and then been driven away. Davies and Alec and even Patten had watched him go, standing in a silent group on the steps. He hadn’t looked back.
    They were probably at games by now. They’d probably forgotten all about him.
    Fine. But there was still a problem, and it was a big one.
    Wharton was sitting next to him, reading a book. Jake watched the man’s reflection. Big for a teacher. Ex-rugby international. Having him along was not an option. He’d have to get rid of him as soon as possible.
    As if it was Jake’s mind he was reading, Wharton turned a page and muttered, “Whatever