The Dickens Mirror Read Online Free

and climbed through what had been solid glass … and she sounds so reasonable. Kind of how Emma’s always thought a mom should sound, or like Mrs. Whatsit. And Emma’s still just a kid. When an adult says jump, you ask how high; you don’t tell an adult where to go and what she can do with herself. So Emma hesitates. “What?” She starts to turn. “Who are …”
    The woman’s hand flashes in a grab. Gasping, Emma jerks away as the woman’s fingers whisk through her long hair. Turning, Emma hurtles through the basement door. Snatching the knob, she slams the door and jams the thumb lock. The key’s long gone; when someone accidentally hits the lock now, Jasper or Sal jimmies it open with a long wire pick they keep above the header. She’s hoping the woman won’t think of that.
    “Emma?” Still reasonable, so
now, honey, we can talk about this
. The knob rattles. Frank’s still wondering what’s under his skin, and if Emma never hears that song again, it will be too soon. “Emma, please open the door.”
    Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me
. Huddled on the third step, Emma’s eyes are level with the gap between the door and floor. The woman’s shadow oils right to left and back again, like the photonegative of a ghost. The tips of her boots—very old-fashioned, with button closures—show beneath folds of black wool. For an insane moment, Emma worries that the woman will drop to her knees and then she’ll be eye to eye with those crazy purple glasses.
    The hard
bap
of a boot kicking wood makes her heart claw up her throat. “Emma!” Not so
there-there
now. “Trust me, this is for your benefit.”
    Oh yeah, like she really believes that.
But what do I do now?
Emma clatters halfway down rough, open-backed steps. She doesn’t need a light. This is a layout she knows by heart. Boiler on the right, next to the stairs; washer and dryer along the wall beyond that; shelves of canned food and jars Sal’s put up that stretch three-quarters of the way down the left wall to end at the threshold for that back room. This, Emma explored just last week when she went looking for a book. The room’s chockablock with boxes, canvases, an old Victorian rolltop desk—and something she’s told herself never to think about again but can’t forget: that inky square that might be a tunnel or trap or wormhole hidden behind the wall. In the week since, she’s been tossing it around, whether she should tell Jasper or not. Mostly, she thinks not, because this is
obviously
something Jasper didn’t want her to find. Sometimes, when her mind drifts back to the moment she reached inside, she’s wondered if she hasn’t found a whole other dimension, like on
Star Trek
. She really doesn’t want to go into that room now if she can help it.
    Sal … Jasper … someone, please come home!
Darting under the handrail, she jumps to poured concrete. The air smells of laundry detergent and scorched cotton. Behind and above, she hears those boots thunk back and forth.
Probably looking for a key
. Gosh, she hopes the crazy lady doesn’t think about feeling above the jamb. Or maybe hunting for something to break down the door.
Uh-oh
. Her heart freezes at the thought. All that crazy lady has to do is look out the kitchen side door, and she’ll see Jasper’s ax next to the woodpile. If the woman finds that, the cellar door’ll be match-sticks in no time flat. It’ll be just like the scene in that ancient fossil of a movie Jasper watched a couple days ago, about a crazy writer and his family trapped in some haunted hotel. (On the other hand, that chopping scene
was
the best part:
Heeere’s Johnny!
)
    As if the woman’s read her mind, Emma hears her clop away. There’s the crash of a door. Then, nothing … and more silence … and then the boots are back. This time around, they’re heavier, like the lady’s put on a couple pounds or is carrying …
    No, come on
. Emma’s stomach plummets to her toes.
That’s so not