Solving the Vampire Murders

sixteen

Davey's tilted eyes and black hair replaced his own gray eyes and red-brown crop—the image disturbingly perfect. Around his neck was a thin, gold chain supporting a triangular pendant. It didn't look like any of the other practitioner medallions. This one appeared hand-stamped and imperfect.

With shaking hands, Torren pressed his palm against the reflective surface to make sure it wasn't some trick. The man in the mirror matched his movements, bronze skin gleaming under the fluorescent light of his opposite world. Torren stared at the place their mismatched hands met, the heat of his palm fogging the cool mirror.

The magical itch in his joints returned, but instead of ignoring it, Torren let a wave of energy crash through his hand and into the mirror. His fingers shone with rich, white light.

Davey smiled and Torren found that he was smiling, too. If this was how ghosts would visit him, he could handle seeing them every once in a while through the safety of a mirror. It's not like he spent a lot of time in front of mirrors. Shaving would be more difficult, but that wasn't a big deal. In fact, he could probably go days without looking in a mirror and be perfectly fine. He could handle it.

Then, Davey did something that surprised him. With one hand still pressed to the mirror, Davey lifted a hand to his throat, giving Torren an encouraging nod. It seemed like Davey wanted him to mirror his movements so Torren lifted his own hand to his throat. 

As he did a tide of magic was sucked from his joints. Power radiating brilliantly against the reflective surface. Torren squinted against the intensity before the light disappeared through the mirror and into Davey's own hand. His bronze fingers shone with brilliant light.

Torren gasped. Something had caused the soft skin to fuse with the mirror and he couldn't free it.

"Shh," came a voice. Torren's gaze snapped towards the source of the sound—towards the mirror. Davey's lips were pursed.

"You--you can talk?" Torren whispered.

Davey nodded, his gaze drifting to the light streaming from their joined hands. Davey must need magic to communicate—the power of the High Seer.

If Davey could talk, then he could tell Torren who killed him. He could explain where to look at Medea's Sin for intelligence. Hell, he might not even have to go to the vampire club. Davey might just answer all his questions right here. If Davey needed magic, Torren was going to give it to him.

Focusing on their hands, Torren let a tidal wave of energy flow from his palm across the barrier of the mirror and into Davey's hand. Davey nodded excitedly, light now creeping up his forearm.

He made several attempts at speech but no sound came from the other side of the glass. Torren could feel Davey's frustration building in his own chest. This was the answer. He needed Davey's help.

But Davey's lips had stopped moving. A trickle of crimson blood crested over tawny lips, dripping down into the porcelain sink.

More blood trickled out, dripping down his white t-shirt. Torren was stilled by shock. He wanted to help Davey, but, how could he help a ghost?

Davey covered his mouth, trying to stop the stream of blood pouring down his chin. His throat slick and red.

"Tell me what to do!" Torren yelled. He didn't care if he woke up the whole sorority house. His hand was stuck to the mirror, still joined with Davey's, but there had to be some way to help him. 

Could a ghost die twice?

"Let me help you!" Torren cried, but the voice that tore from his throat wasn't purely his own.

Davey's jovial tone was braided together with Torren's more serious affectation, like ribbons of dissident sound. He couldn't be sure if Davey had spoken through him, or if were they speaking in tandem. The man and the memory pouring out of his mouth at the same time. Panic slapped Torren across the face, leaving tingling pinpricks over his lips and jaw.

Torren tried to fight through the panic--he was magic for fuck's sake, and Davey was dying. Or re-dying. Blood trickled from the corners of Davey's eyes like crimson tears before an invisible knife sliced open his throat. Torren pounded on the mirror with his fist. If he broke the damn thing, Davey might be able to escape. Black smoke seeped from the wound in his throat and Davey's hand fell away from the mirror.

An electric shock snapped against Torren's palm and the mirror released him.

Davey was gone.

Torren flexed his fingers and tried to shake off the buzzing numbness that had rushed into his joints. Once feeling had crept back in, Torren tasted something warm and coppery in his mouth. Terror welled inside his throat.

One look in the mirror revealed a single bloody tear gliding down his chin.