him down. “Pesky kids!”
Peter folded his arms. “The way out?”
The Fearmonger climbed up the mantel and into the alcove. He pressed a button on the controls. Two doors at the end of the hall, camouflaged by mirrors, opened.
Rosemary smiled grimly. “Thank you.”
“You’ll be sorry!” the Fearmonger shouted. “You can’t stop yourself from being afraid, and when you fear, you’ll face me again!”
“Yeah, whatever,” said Peter.
“And I’ll be taller!”
They headed for the doors. Halfway, Rosemary caught movement at the corner of her eye and whirled. She found herself face to face with her own reflection in one of the mirrored walls.
“What is it?” asked Peter.
“Nothing. It was just my” — she paused — “reflection?”
A girl looked back and raised her hand as Rosemary raised hers. Rosemary frowned. Her reflection smirked. Then, with a flick of her hands, the reflection changed the glasses she was wearing. The girl from the library stood before her.
Rosemary felt herself grabbed by invisible hands and tossed at the mirror. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the shattering impact, but felt instead a brief flash of cold, like passing through a thin waterfall, and found herself on the marble floor.
“Rosemary!” Peter shouted behind her. His voice sounded as if it had come from behind glass. She turned, and saw Peter standing in a mirror behind her, fists thumping against the surface. The room around her was different, darker and backwards.
“I said you’d be sorry!” the Fearmonger shouted as he frantically stuffed his full-sized masks into his pint-sized pockets. “You’ve incurred Her wrath! I’m leaving. You are all done for!” He disappeared down the stairs.
“Her?” Rosemary echoed. Then she turned around. She gasped as she bumped into the girl.
The girl grabbed Rosemary by the throat.
“Do you remember?” said the sandpaper voice.
“Remember what?” Rosemary choked.
“Do you remember the books?” said the girl.
“I don’t — gaak! — I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“The three out of the four?” the girl whispered. “No? Then remember this!” She shoved Rosemary to the floor and laughed as she ran into the darkness.
Rosemary sat alone in the darkened room. Her breath echoed around her. The shadows were far from empty. As she listened, other sounds started to be heard above the blood rushing in her ears and the muffled sounds of Peter and Puck’s frantic discussions of where she had gone and how to get her back.
“I know this place.” Her voice echoed. She drew her arms around herself. “I know this place!”
She scrambled to her feet and ran back to the mirror Peter was beating against. Puck was behind him, watching nervously.
Rosemary felt the mirror. It was solid glass. She laid her hand to match Peter’s, but felt nothing. “Puck, what happened?” she called. “Is this another challenge?”
“No!” His voice was muted. “The Fearmonger was the test and he has just fled.”
“What happened? Why am I alone?”
The word echoed in her mind. Alone.
Or was the echo just in her mind?
A breeze rushed through the house, thrumming through the hallways, like rooms exhaling. In a distant wing, a deep beat began, like a huge drum being struck repeatedly, or a giant marching to war.
Rosemary tried not to breathe fast. “There’s got to be a way out of this! That makes sense, right? They got me in, they have to be able to get me out, right?”
Peter looked at her. “Rosemary, I —”
“Just say ‘right!’” She felt around the mirror for switches, catches, anything.
The drumming footsteps continued to echo through the house. Rosemary shot a look at Peter. His hands were growing white as he pushed desperately at the glass.
The booming rhythm drew closer. Rosemary thought she saw the ceiling shudder under the weight of some presence above her. Then the sound travelled away, but came down a level. The floor began to shake to the beat of it.
Then the drumbeat stopped.
A noise closer made Rosemary whirl around.
A light was shining beneath a door leading out of the room. Something was moving in front of the light. A shadow flickered across the foot of the door. Something was sniffing for an opening, grunting and growling like an animal, or something worse than an animal.
Rosemary swallowed hard. “Peter?”
At the sound of her voice, the shadow jerked. The grunts increased in intensity. The doorknob jiggled and then began to turn.
Puck was staring through another mirror, examining the edges carefully, and frowning. Peter was saying, “I — I can’t get through to her. It’s all solid glass!”
Rosemary backed into her mirror. “Peter? Puck? Get me out of here!”
The doorknob slipped, then jiggled again. The grunts behind the door came quicker, became frustrated. Then there was a fearsome shriek as the creature threw itself at the doors. The crash echoed through the room. The heavy oak panels bulged inward under the assault, twisting like rubber.
Rosemary whirled back and thumped the mirror. “Peter! Get me out! Something’s in here with me!”
Puck marched over to a suit of armour and yanked an axe free. The armour jangled into a pile of parts. Puck handed the axe to Peter. “Get her out.”
Peter hefted the axe and aimed for the mirror. Then he hesitated. “What if I hurt Rosemary?”
“That is a risk you will have to take, boy,” said Puck. “Do it!”
In the reflected room, the door burst open. With a guttural snarl, something bounded through.
“Peter!” Rosemary screamed.
Closing his eyes, Peter swung the axe into the glass.
Rosemary broke into a million pieces.
Then she found herself outside the mirror, on the floor, gasping. She was surrounded by little pieces of glass: little pieces of the girl’s face, laughing at her. She scrambled to her feet. Peter caught her with one arm. He was still holding the axe. “Are you okay?”
“Sage Rosemary,” said Puck. “Do not be afraid. You are free now.”
Rosemary
