Free The Water Mirror by Kai Meyer Page B

“Have you?”
    â€œTwo or three times,” Merle said. “I’ve pushed my
     face in as far as possible. The frame is pretty narrow, but it worked. My eyes were
     underwater.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œNothing. Just darkness.”
    â€œYou couldn’t see anything at all?”
    â€œI just said that.”
    Thoughtfully Junipa ran her fingers through her hair. “If you want,
     I’ll try it.”
    Merle, who was just about to yawn, snapped her mouth shut again.
     “You?”
    â€œWith the mirror eyes I can see in the dark.”
    Merle raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me about that at
     all.” She hastily considered whether she’d done anything at night to be
     ashamed of.
    â€œIt just began three days ago. But now it’s getting stronger
     from night to night. I see the same as by daylight. Sometimes I can’t sleep
     because the brightness even penetrates my eyelids. Then everything gets red, as if you
     were looking at the bright sun with your eyes closed.”
    â€œYou have to talk with Arcimboldo about that.”
    Junipa looked unhappy. “And what if he takes the mirrors away from
     me?”
    â€œHe would never do that.” Concerned, Merle tried to imagine
     what it would be like to be surrounded by lightday and night. What
     if it got worse? Could Junipa sleep at all then?
    â€œSo,” Junipa quickly changed the subject, “how about it?
     Shall I try it?”
    Merle pulled the hand mirror out from under the covers, weighed it in her
     hand for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “Why not?”
    Junipa climbed up beside her on the bed. They sat opposite each other,
     cross-legged. Their nightshirts stretched across their knees and both were still
     tousle-headed from sleep.
    â€œLet me try it first,” Merle said.
    Junipa watched as Merle brought the mirror right up to her eyes. Carefully
     she dipped her nose in, then—as far as possible—the rest of her face. Soon
     the frame was pressed against her cheekbones. She could go no deeper.
    Merle opened her eyes underwater. She knew what to expect, so she
     wasn’t disappointed. It was the same as always. Nothing but darkness.
    She removed the mirror from her face. The water remained trapped in the
     frame, not the finest trace of dampness gleaming on her skin.
    â€œAnd?” Junipa asked excitedly.
    â€œNothing at all.” Merle handed her the mirror. “As
     usual.”
    Junipa gripped the handle in her narrow hand. Shelooked at the reflecting surface and studied her new eyes. “Do you really
     think they’re pretty?” she asked suddenly.
    Merle hesitated. “Unusual.”
    â€œThat’s no answer to my question.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” Merle wished that Junipa had spared herself
     the truth. “Sometimes I get goose bumps when I look at you. Not because your eyes
     are ugly,” she added quickly. “They are just so . . .
     so . . .”
    â€œThey feel cold,” said Junipa softly, as if she were deep in
     thought. “Sometimes I feel cold, even when the sun is shining.”
    Brightness at night, cold in the sunshine.
    â€œDo you really want to do it?” Merle asked. She remembered how
     reluctant Junipa had been to put her hand in the mirror; how the water had felt ice-cold
     to her.
    â€œReally, I don’t want to, I know that already,” Junipa
     said. “But if you say so, I’ll try it for you.” She looked at Merle.
     “Wouldn’t you like to know what’s back there, where the hand comes
     from?”
    Merle only nodded mutely.
    Junipa pushed the mirror up to her face and dipped it in. Her head was
     smaller than Merle’s—as all of her was more petite, slender,
     vulnerable—and so it vanished up to the temples in the water.
    Merle waited. She observed Junipa’s thin body under the
     much-too-large nightshirt, the way