Free Obsidian Mirror by Catherine Fisher Page A

small leather wallet. From it he took a piece of paper and gave it to her. “Look. Read it for yourself!”
    She read his father’s scrawled words.
    Sorry not to have called, but we’ve been incredibly busy with the Chronoptika…
    Her fingers went tight on the paper. She looked up and interrupted him in mid-sentence. “What do you know about this Chronoptika?”
    He stared, annoyed. “Nothing.”
    “He never said anything else about it? About their work here?”
    “Obviously Venn swore him to secrecy.” He came closer. “Have you heard of it?”
    She shook her head, rereading. He was silent, so she looked up and saw he was staring down at her.
    “Because if you had,” he said softly, “we could work together. You could help me.”
    She gave the note back and stood up. “I’m sorry about your father, Jake, but I don’t think Venn killed him.”
    As she turned away he said, “But you saw him in the mirror. You heard him speak.”
    She didn’t stop or look back. “I just saw your reflection. I just heard you.”
    Then, afraid he would come after her, she had to walk all the way up the Long Gallery with his angry stare at her back.

    Wharton put his head around the door and looked in. It was a small side hall, as cold as every other room here. He was wearing a coat and scarf, because he made a point of taking a walk every morning, and the grounds would probably be warmer than inside. Now all he had to do was find a way out.
    The Abbey was a confusing building, but he remembered this hall from last night. He walked over the stone tiles, clearing his throat. On the walls the eyes of the few remaining portraits watched him pass, and one of the black cats that seemed to infest the place sat washing, its pink tongue working rhythmically.
    He was already regretting his offer to stay for Christmas. Despite Piers’s admirable cooking, it promised to be a cold, comfortless, and embarrassing time. After all, the boy was Venn’s responsibility now. And good luck to him, because Jake could be intensely irritating. Also sullen, simmering, and mixed-up. But hadn’t there been a faint relief throughthe sarcasm last night? As if he was quite glad not to be left here alone?
    Wharton stopped at a glass cabinet. It housed a small collection of pottery figures, elongated and crudely painted. He recognized them as Cycladic, very ancient. One of Venn’s areas of expertise. Venn was another mystery. How could a man who had seen so much and traveled so restlessly bear to shut himself up in this cold, silent house?
    Wharton shook his head. Then he saw the newspaper. It lay folded on a small table by the door; Piers must have gotten it from the village, because it was today’s. The local rag, but something. He flicked the pages. He’d read it when he came back, with a cup of tea. It would probably be the highlight of his day.
    Then his hand held the page still.
    It was her.
    He had only seen her briefly, when she’d brought in the breakfast tray, and the photo was very small, but surely that was Sarah. She was dressed in different, dull clothes and her hair was longer. The byline said
Still no sign of missing patient.
    He glanced around.
    Then he folded the paper, tucked it inside his coat, and went out.

    Sarah sat on her bed, knees up, and wrote quickly with the black pen.
    Will certainly try to find JHS’s box again. It has to be the one recorded in the files…. When will Venn re-activate the mirror? A boy called Jake Wilde has arrived…claims to be Venn’s godson. He’s already disrupting things. Today there was a strange…
    She stopped, searching for the right word. Vision? Ghost?
    The writing faded. Suddenly, out of nowhere, panic and a terrible loneliness seized her; she wrote franticly, in a wild scribble.
Are you left, any of you? Max, Evan, Cara? ANYONE? What’s happening back there?
    One by one the letters died away.
    She felt numb and empty.
    But then, just as she went to close the notebook, something started to