XL
The mansion welcomes us back like a great sleeping creature, its windows glowing faintly in the dimming sky. The storm has passed, but the world feels rinsed and cooled, the air crisp with the first breath of autumn. Shadows stretch long across the lawn as Lorian and I carry the safety deposit box inside.
We arrived at the mansion in great time. The sun was just set. The sky is growing dark. The rain had stopped, but the world had cooled off as the sunlight died away. Lorian and I took the box into the library. Rows and rows of books and antiques adorned the walls. Old taxidermy and vases decorated the room. Two red velvet and dark wood couches faced each other on the rug in the center of the room. Antique lamps sat on each side to light the literature of anyone reading on the couches. Grand mirrors stood in alcoves between each bookshelf.
We stepped through the carved double doors, and the room greets us with its familiar, heavy warmth. The books line the walls, their spines faded, gilded, cracked, or pristine depending on how often Olivia touched them. The scent of old paper, dust, and faint lavender hangs in the air.
A single fireplace glows in the corner, embers had long died, they piled tall and dusty from earlier fires turned to ash. Lorian kneels beside it with a practiced grace, adding fresh logs and striking a match. The flame catches instantly, dancing up the wood and casting golden light across the room.
The fire illuminates everything. Old taxidermy perched on shelves. Miniature foxes, owls, and a small deer head with glassy eyes reflecting the fire light. Vases from distant countries, each with its own story, were distributed with sprays of feathers and long dead flowers.
Two red velvet couches facing each other across a patterned rug, their dark wood frames polished to a shine. A hardwood burl coffee table lay between them, once polished to a shine, now dulled with dust and age.
Antique lamps with warm amber bulbs stand nearby, perfect for reading late into the night.
And between each bookshelf, standing like silent sentinels, grand mirrors in carved alcoves stood tall, ornate, reflecting the firelight in fractured gold. The mirrors make the room feel deeper than it is, twice as large.
I run my fingers along the lacquered jewelry box inside the deposit case, feeling the faint warmth of the spirit coins through the lid. The copper key with the maple leaf rests beside it, glinting in the firelight.
Lorian watches me with those phoenix‑bright eyes, patient and steady.
"Whatever she left for us," he murmurs, "it begins in this room."
The fire crackles. The mirrors shimmer.
And the library feels like it's holding its breath, waiting for us to open the next door in Olivia's legacy.
I let myself sink into the velvet couch, the exhaustion hitting me all at once. My body still isn't used to long searches or long walks, and the hour we spent combing through every shelf, mirror, vase, and carved molding has wrung me out completely. My hand slaps the cushion as I flop sideways, and a cloud of dust erupts into the air. It sparkles golden in the firelight, swirling like tiny spirits freed from the fabric.
I cough, wave it away, then let my head fall back against the armrest.
"I don't see anything," I mutter, my voice thin with fatigue. "No lock. No slot. No mechanism. Nothing."
Lorian pauses his search and turns toward me. He's standing near one of the tall mirrors, his copper leaf‑key glinting faintly in his hand. The firelight paints him in warm gold and soft shadow. He twirls the copper leaf key between his fingers, silvery hair glowing, his gently pointed ears catching the light, his phoenix‑bright eyes watching me with a quiet, almost tender concern.
"You've pushed yourself too hard," he says, stepping closer. "Your body is still remembering how to be alive. Give yourself a break."
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire soak into my bones. The library feels enormous now, too many shelves, too many mirrors, too many secrets. And the weight of the spirit coins in the lacquer box presses at my thoughts like a heartbeat.
"I don't understand," I say, opening my eyes again. "If the key belongs here, why isn't there a lock?"
Lorian kneels beside the couch, his movements fluid and willow‑graceful. He places his key gently on the rug between us.
"Some locks," he says softly, "only appear when the right person is ready to open them."
I stare at him, too tired to argue, too overwhelmed to pretend I understand. My fingers loosen around my own copper key, letting it rest on my chest as I breathe.
The fire crackles as dust settles.
The mirrors shimmer faintly, as if reflecting something more than the room.
And as I lie there, half‑drowsy, half‑frustrated, I swear I feel the library watching me back. No, not the library, the mirrors. Quiet, patient, waiting for the moment when I stop searching with my eyes and start searching with something deeper.
Lorian's voice is a low murmur beside me.
"Rest for a moment . Olivia didn't hide things to torment you. She hid them because they were precious, for security."
I let my eyes drift shut.
And in the warm hush of the library, something shifts so faint I almost miss it. Suddenly I realized. I empty the box of spirit coins onto the table. Coins. They are all coins. Maybe the coins are part of the key.
I scoop the spirit coins out of the lacquer box with both hands, the cool weight of them startling against my palms. They spill onto the table in a shimmering cascade, clinking softly as they settle into a loose pile.
The moment they touch the air, the room changes.
Their glow strengthens. The coins' glow is no longer faint, but a deep, luminous blue, like bioluminescent tide pools or distant stars. The firelight catches on their surfaces, turning each coin into a tiny lantern. The mirrors lining the alcoves flare with reflections, multiplying the glow until the entire library feels submerged in blue light.
I stared at them, excited breath caught in my throat.
Spirit coins. Dozens of them. Impossible in this world.
Lorian steps closer, his face illuminated by the eerie glow. The blue light paints his silvery hair in cold fire, makes his hazel‑green eyes swirl like storm clouds. He looks both fascinated and wary, as if he's standing before something sacred.
"They're responding."
The coins pulsed in soft, rhythmic beat, like a newborn heart. The glow intensifies, reflecting in the mirrors until the alcoves look like portals, each one shimmering with blue fire.
I swallow hard.
"Maybe they're part of the puzzle," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
I spread them out across the table, arranging them in rows, then circles, then patterns that mimic the leaf on my copper key. The glow shifts with each movement, brightening when I place certain coins near others, dimming when I separate them. They assemble into a familiar constellation on the desk, a planetary alignment glowing lamp bright.
Lorian kneels beside me, placing his own copper leaf‑key on the table. The moment it touches the wood, the coins nearest it flare brighter, as if recognizing it.
The library seems to breathe. The mirrors hum faintly.
The fire crackles in response. The dust motes swirl in blue currents.
I feel the hairs on my arms rise.
The coins aren't just reacting. They're pointing.
A faint line of blue light stretches from the pile toward one of the mirrors. It's subtle, like a reflection that shouldn't exist, but unmistakable.
Lorian sees it too.
His voice is barely a whisper.
"The lock isn't in the shelves," he says. "It's in the mirrors."
I stand slowly, the copper key warm in my hand, the spirit coins glowing behind me like a constellation.
And the mirror at the far end of the library, the tallest one, with the carved rose crest at its top, decorated with oak leaves and trailing ivy, shimmers as if something behind the glass finally awakened.
The moment the coins flare blue, the mirror stops being a mirror.
I feel it before I see it. Goosebumps raise with the electric pressure in the air, a soft hum rising from the glass, the same vibration I felt on the alien ship when the portals opened. My breath catches, and Lorian straightens, his phoenix‑bright eyes widening.
The tallest mirror at the end of the library shimmers with a depth it didn't have before. The glass grows thin and liquid. The glass ripples like water disturbed by a fingertip. The carved rose crest at the top glows faintly, as if answering the spirit coins' call. The blue light from the coins stretches toward it, forming a thin beam that touches the mirror's surface.
And then the surface splits.
A vertical seam appears down the center, widening slowly, silently, like a curtain being drawn aside. Behind it is not the wall, not the library, not any room in the mansion. Behind it is another world. Revealed is a world made of mirror‑light and shadow. A world with no horizon, only endless reflective planes. A portal, exactly like the ones the aliens used. My stomach drops. My pulse spikes. The air tastes metallic, electric, and alive. Lorian steps forward, his expression shifting from awe to something deeper. A recognition, maybe even dread.
"This is not a human magic," he says quietly. "This is mirror‑craft. Soul‑craft."
The portal expands until it's tall enough for both of us to walk through. The edges shimmer like liquid silver, the interior swirling with blue light that pulses in time with the spirit coins on the table.
I swallow hard. "I didn't think humans could open portals in this world."
Lorian shakes his head slowly. "Nobody knows who creates and opened these portals. They simply exist wherever someone has the knowledge, and the courage, to build one."
The library feels impossibly small now, dwarfed by the presence of the portal. The fire crackles behind us, warm and familiar, but the air around the mirror is cold, sharp, humming with energy that doesn't belong in this world.
The portal waits alive and open. It was calling us to pass through.
Lorian turns to me, his voice soft but steady.
"Olivia didn't just leave you a house," he says. "She left you a doorway."
The blue light washes over us, reflecting in the mirrors, in the firelight, in the spirit coins scattered across the table.
And for the first time since waking from the coma, I feel the pull of the mirror‑world again. The only difference is that if I walked through this time, I'd do it voluntarily, and with my own body.