The Crumpled Mirror by Elizabeth Loea (story books for 5 year olds txt) 📗

“I found a journal,” I said. “Written by one of the people listed in the front cover of that book the substitute gave us.”

“Okay, and?”

“One of the people listed in it was named Oberon. He’s the one controlling the ghosts, I’m sure of it. He’s the one who brought Mint back to life. He’s the one who killed our friends and family when we were little. And he’s the one who’s been killing recently.”

“Shit.”

I nodded mutely and stuck my hands in my pockets as the pair processed. Oberon, Oberon, Oberon. The name rang through my skull.

It would have been a good time to mention Amaranth, but I wasn’t about to risk losing the advice I so desperately needed.

“Who is Oberon?” Ginger asked at last. “From what you can tell, at least.”

“Angry,” I muttered. “He took the test with four others and failed. He killed Mint in the process. To bring him back to life, Oberon killed our friends. He’s waited ten years to start killing again, but it seems he’s not going to stop. He’s trying to...” there was any number of things he could be trying to do. “He’s trying to get something back. His powers, or his conscience, or something. And he’s mad at us. We’re doing better than he was. We’re the next generation of magicians. We’re...”

“Yeah, okay. So we’ve got our murderer,” Adrian finished for me. “Okay.”

I looked between the two of them. Gone were the faces I’d first met a week ago, carefree and cocky. Ginger’s jaw was set; Adrian squared his shoulders.

“Go,” Ginger told me. “We’ll take care of Mint. You know more about this Oberon character. Do you know where to find him?”

I thought of the mansion, the journal, and Robin College.

“He wants to get revenge,” I surmised. “On the people who failed him. He wants to get his powers back. He wants to prove that the rules don’t apply to him. So the perfect way is—”

“To kill us,” Ginger said. “To bring five realms together, to get enough magic, to bring his powers back. And to kill us to do it.”

“I’ll isolate myself,” I said. “Even if he does want to kill us all at once, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who can resist gloating. He’ll come to me. He wants to feel powerful. He wants someone to know how much effort he put into this plan of his. I’m sure of it.”

I wasn’t sure of it. Not one bit. But it was worth a try. Maybe my magic would let me do something—anything—to stop him. It had proven itself strong enough to level my apartment. Who knew what it could do to a person.

A person who had killed my sister.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Adrian began, but Ginger cut him off with a hand on his shoulder.

“Go,” she said. “Good luck.”

She squeezed me so tightly, I could barely breathe. Adrian pulled me into a hug, too, and whispered “good luck” as he pulled away.

“We’ll beat this,” Adrian said. “We will.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I nodded.

I caught one last glimpse of them as they disappeared through the door, and then they were gone.

It was time to go home.

XXX

I sat on a cliff, looking out at the ocean. Maybe Mint was conscious again. Maybe the others were safe. All I could hope was for Oberon to take this chance—to come to me.

I squashed myself between a wind-worn boulder and an expanse of sea fig flowers, neither of which gave me any warmth or comfort. The bottle of Claire’s ashes still rested in my pocket, leaning against my leg. The flowers bloomed a lurid purple against the grey day, which made me even more miserable.

“Clementine,” said a voice from above. “I’ve been looking  for you for hours!” I glanced up in time to see Indigo drop from the sky to the ground next to me, his landing blowing sand into my eyes.

“You can’t be here!” I exclaimed. “I’m trying to—”

He gave me a look and sat down next to me.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he said. “I don’t want Cecelia or Vivienne showing up.”

In a moment of weakness, I let him stay. What can I say, except that I didn’t want to be alone? I didn’t want him to be alone, either. And it was such a desolate day; the sky was grey, the sea was grey; even the sand was grey. Indigo was one spot of brilliance in the dull day.

“Who was it?” I asked.

“My mom,” he said.

I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even think. Cassie seemed immortal—invincible. The thought of her dying seemed so implausible, I couldn’t even digest it.

“I can’t believe any of this,” said Indigo, and pulled a clump of sea fig stems out of the way to sit beside me. The breeze off the ocean was almost enough for me to suggest leaving, to run away from the conversation we had to have here and now, but I knew that backing out would break us more than staying. Cold weather was worth whatever this was.

“I’m sorry,” he added after a few minutes. By then, the California coastal chill had swallowed the feeling in my fingers and was doing its best to devour my forearms. “We’ve all seen death today.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said at last. My voice sounded as if it was made of sand. For that matter, I felt as though the whole of me was made of sand. I could have blown away on the wind at any moment, scattered to the breeze, and it would have been no surprise.

“No, I’ll apologize if I want to,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said at last, and I didn’t reach out to touch him because at that moment, he was perfect, and I might bruise him even if I barely brushed him.

“It’s weird,” he mumbled, his eyes on the horizon, where the grey of the fog bled into the grey of the