Free Heirs of Grace by Tim Pratt

didn’t break, and now…I did not have enough to drink for this.”
    “Trey. Where are you?”
    “Uh. In a room. Just…a room, there’s a desk, a chair, I mean…Did you throw the sword cane at me?”
    “Not…intentionally.”
    “Huh. You should come in here, maybe.”
    It’s a trick , the cold part of my mind thought. Whatever predator the mirror contained—or was —had taken Trey’s phone, taken his voice, and now it was going to take me, too.
    Like hell it was. “That’s a big no from me. Sorry. I don’t walk into strange mirrors. You never read Through the Looking Glass ? There’s jabberwockies and bandersnatches and shit in there.” I was babbling. It’s possible I was freaking out a little. Or a lot.
    “No, I mean, of course, but there’s a mirror here, too, I think—”
    The mirror rippled and Trey stumbled out, holding his phone. I might have screamed.
    “Oh shit,” he said, patting his body with both hands, then staring at me, wide-eyed and wild. “I think I’m okay?”
    “Trey. The mirror ate you.”
    He shook his head. “No, it…wasn’t like being eaten. Not that I’ve ever been eaten. But more like jumping into a cold pond, except the water’s only about a millimeter thick, and you don’t get wet. I…I think it’s just a door . A freaky, messed-up door, but…come see.”
    “What did I say when you asked me how our first date was going?”
    Trey frowned, then he got it. “Right. Prove I’m me, not…whatever. Vampire reflection, whatever. Um, yes, I asked your professional opinion, and you didn’t say anything, you just kissed me. And under other circumstances I’d love to talk more about that, the kissing part, and—”
    “Okay. I guess you’re you.” Or else something ate his brain, or was wearing his body like a suit, and in that case I was doomed anyway, so, carry on. “So. It’s a door.”
    “Or something.” He held out his hand, and after a moment, I took it.
    He felt like Trey, and he didn’t shape-shift into a Trey-shaped monster with the head of a lion—which was all I could think about for a moment before shaking the image from my head—so I relaxed as much as I could considering the situation. He reached out his free hand to the mirror, and then jerked forward into the glass. But I kept my grip, and then I was through the looking glass, too.
    There was a moment of bracing cold, and then we were standing on the hardwood floor of a circular room, maybe a dozen feet in diameter but with a plaster ceiling easily twenty feet above our heads. The space was sparsely furnished, with just an old wooden swivel chair and a faded red velvet smoking jacket hanging on the back. There was also a desk, empty except for a thick book bound in blue leather and a coffee mug with a long-handled spoon beside it. There was a wood-burning stove in one corner—unlit, cold—and the only light came from a dinner plate–sized round window of frosted glass, high up on the wall. The sword cane was on the floor, and I reached down to pick it up, feeling better immediately.
    “Check out the mirror,” Trey said, pointing behind me.
    I turned, and there was indeed a mirror leaning against the wall behind us, just like the one in the master bedroom—right down to the chipped ear. “Wait, the right ear is chipped on this one, and the left one is chipped on the other one, right?”
    “Huh. I didn’t notice, but it kind of makes sense it’s a mirror image, because…look at your left hand.”
    I looked, and for a second, I was confused, because my ring was on that hand, and I always wore my ring on the right—
    “Oh, hell.”
    “I noticed because I’ve got a scar on the back of my left hand,” Trey said. “But it’s on the right, now. It switched back, when I stepped through the mirror, so I guess the reversing is, uh. Reversible. I’m pretty sure my heart is on the right side now. And my phone, I would have called earlier, but it took me a minute to figure it out.” He