She took three more photos.
Click. Click. Click.
She reviewed the images. They weren’t blank, at least. But she didn’t know what they meant.
The first photo was of a mirror in a frame, but not any of the ones around her. It was decorated around the edges with text that loudly proclaimed, “See into your soul!”
The second was of Simon’s puppet show tent, the red and black stripes standing out boldly in the image.
The third photo was of somewhere in the Faire that she didn’t recognize, but she could make out the Ferris wheel in the background. It was of an old circus train car. One that performers would have lived in while traveling. The grass that had grown long by the wheels showed it hadn’t moved in a very long time. Stairs led up to a door on the back of it, which was painted with the number zero in gold.
“I…I don’t get it. But I’ll figure it out. I’ll try.” She wiped her cheek, pushing away a tear that had slipped out. “I’ll do anything to save him. Anything. He’s like my brother.” She went back to winding her way through the mirrored halls.
When she came to the end of the maze, it seemed like there was one more thing to see. The rest of the room was all blacked out, with a spotlight down on a location in the center. And a large mirror, decorated with text, stretched from floor to ceiling by one wall. “See into your soul!”
“Oh, fuck.”
She ran her hands through her hair slowly, scratching her scalp, trying to think through what she should do. Run? Not look? She had the sinking feeling that whatever the mirror was going to show her wasn’t going to be normal. It wasn’t even going to be wibbly-wobbly like funhouse mirrors should be.
This was going to be bad.
But Trent’s life was on the line. With a groan, she stepped into the circle of light and looked at her reflection in the glass.
It was her.
But then again, it wasn’t.
She didn’t recognize what she was wearing. A skin-tight outfit of white and black lace accented with matching striped leggings. Her hair was carefully curled and done up in a way she never had the time for. Loud makeup made her look like…a circus performer.
Her reflection smiled at her despite the fact that she herself wasn’t smiling. Cora whined in fear and put her hands over her mouth. But she couldn’t look away. Her reflection turned to the side, posed, then…bent in half backward like a contortionist. The image of her had one arm elegantly outstretched, even as the rest of her was bent at unnatural angles.
She cringed. That had to hurt. It made her joints ache just watching it. The reflection of her straightened back up and took a bow. When she straightened, the outfit her reflection wore was no longer white and black.
It was covered in blood. Like Lady Macbeth on a stage, her reflection wiped her hands down her arms, coating herself in the substance, then held her palms out for her to see. All the while smiling in excitement and joy. As if she was showing off what she had done.
Cora had seen enough. She turned to leave out the exit—
And screamed.
There was a disembodied shadow against the wall, a wild and animalistic grin plastered over its face like a shark. It opened its maw, showing off its sharp and ghoulish teeth.
Cora ran. She ran back the way she had come and into the mirror maze. She was too scared to really think about where she was going. Or that she was barreling head-first into a place where the walls weren’t always where she expected them to be.
She crashed into a corner and screamed in pain as it rammed into her shoulder. She fell to her knees, cradling the dislocated joint in her other hand. It was really far out this time. She had gotten it good. It was the last straw. It was insult to injury—or, rather, injury to insult.
First, the trip through “the Dark Path.” Then the dreams. Then Simon. Then the photos on her camera. Seeing Trent’s murdered body. Seeing herself—like that—bloody and warped and twisted—and then Simon’s stupid freaking shadow. And now this.
She was done. Stick a fork in her, she was done. She doubled over at the waist and cried. She didn’t care anymore.
“Cora?”
Someone knelt down close to her. It was Simon. A hand stroked her hair. “Cora dear, what’s wrong, cupcake? Oh—oh, dear me. That’s not normal, is it?” His other hand touched her shoulder tenderly. She hissed in pain. “Ah. Yes. Sorry. Sorry.” He sighed. “Can you stand, sweetheart? Let’s get you out of here.”
She nodded weakly and pushed to her feet with his help. He kept his hand on her uninjured elbow and gently led her out of the maze and down the steps of the entrance. She made it to a grassy spot by a tree nearby before her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground. She wept.
“Are you crying from the pain?”
“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m scared and I’m angry.”
“Ah. Hm.” He stood in front of her and scratched the back of his neck. “Not much I can do to help you there, I’m afraid. I’m generally frightening and infuriating.” He smiled, and when she didn’t laugh at his joke, he sighed. “What can I do about your shoulder?”
“Help me put it back in.” She tried to straighten up and cringed as the tendons pulled angrily on the joint. “I need you to kneel behind me.”
“A woman asking me to kneel. How uncommon and enticing,” he purred. When she glared at him, his expression fell. “Poor timing, I agree.” He walked behind her and knelt as she had asked him to.
She reached her bad arm out to her side as far out as she could go on her own. “I need you to put one hand on my scapula. Take my wrist and pull it up a bit and back. It’s going to crunch. It’ll be disgusting.”
“I’ve done worse.” He took her wrist as she instructed. She felt his other palm against her back. He pulled her arm back and up at a small degree until he met resistance and paused. “Ready?”
“Yeah, just get it—”
He tugged. Her shoulder crunched back into place with an audible and bony pop. Cora gagged in pain. It hadn’t been that far out in a long time. She couldn’t even make a noise. Her vision whited out, and when she came to, she was lying on her back in the grass. Simon was over her, stroking her hair. “Welcome back, dear.”
He actually looked concerned. His expression was one of sympathy. He had taken his glasses off, and she could see something like real empathy in his freakish, inverted, and inhuman eyes. Kindness wasn’t what she would have expected. For once, he wasn’t smiling.
“Did I pass out?”
“Only for a second or two.” He stroked her hair again. “Your dignity is safe with me.”
She huffed herself to sitting, and he placed a hand on her back to help support her. “Thanks. Most people aren’t capable of doing that. They get too freaked out. Trent had to help me once, and he was the one who passed out.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She shot him a look.
He blinked and realized what he said. “Ah, yes, well, not like that. Or, well, that’s a bit of a lie, perhaps but—now, there’s no reason to glower at me harder. Do you want me to lie to you? Or—”
“Puppeteer! Get away from her.”
Cora looked up to see Aaron standing at the edge of the grass. Jack, the man she had met on the very first day, was standing next to him. Both of them were glaring at Simon.