11. Supernatural Hotline

Chapter 11

Supernatural Hotline

" W hy didn't you get any of the good stuff?" Alice's reflection asked as she took a sip of her wineglass. She sat atop the sink on her side of the mirror, peeping down at Alice wrapped in a purple robe, black leggings, and Hugo's dark gray hooded sweatshirt.

Alice sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor with her back against the wall. The leather-bound Book of the Dead rested beside her. She twitched her toes in the chill of the night. The air wasn't biting, but teasing to the cold December night outside.

Alice darted her eyes at her reflection, hesitating to answer. Her reflection knew the answer, but she liked to play games to force Alice to speak. Alice swooped up her glass resting next to her and took a sip. Its acidic taste washed over her tongue, filling her with the familiar comfort of a warm blanket. She breathed deeply, locking onto her reflection's eyes, forcing her to wait for the answer.

"Don't act like I don't know what you're doing," her reflection said.

Candles floating in the air flickered across Alice's face, revealing a slight smile. Their light spilled into the darkened bedroom. Max laid down at the bathroom entrance, not daring to enter, for it could be one of Hugo and Alice's bath time tricks. Soft orchestral Christmas music played from a speaker in her bedroom.

Alice remained still and asked in a hushed tone, "What exactly am I doing?"

Her reflection took another sip. "You're trying to assert your dominance over me. Yet, I'm the one glaring down at you," she said with a low, sultry voice. "Now, why don't you be a good girl and answer me?"

Alice took another sip, never breaking eye contact. After a deep breath, she answered, "Sylvia destroyed all the good stuff."

Alice's reflection glared into Alice's eyes. She said with a deep, gravelly voice, "That's my good girl."

"You don't quite say it like him."

Her reflection leaned back, clutching the soft purple robe below her neck. "I said it perfectly," she retorted.

Alice smiled. "You said it like an animal in its death throes. Your voice is too low."

"I resent that. My voice is not too low. It's perfect."

Alice cleared her throat, and with a lower pitch, she said, "That's my good girl."

"It's exactly the same way I said it."

"No, it's not. Mine is smoother. Like when I told him, ‘That's my good boy,' but an octave lower. Yours is all gravelly."

"Agree to disagree."

Seated next to Alice on the tile floor, The Book of the Dead pulsed and shook vigorously, mimicking the movements of a tap dancer's routine. A rhythmic cadence of unusual and odd timing. More random, but always shaking. The book suspended its dance.

"Why does it shake?" Alice's reflection asked.

"Don't know. Happened earlier. Hasn't stopped. It's like it's calling to something . . . or someone."

"Maybe it's trying to call Hugo."

Alice scowled at her reflection. "Don't joke. I's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be." Alice's reflection took another sip. "By the way, when are you making more of the good stuff? I like your non-magical kind, but I could use something with a kick."

Alice set her glass on the floor and crossed her arms. "I haven't really been in the mood to make any more. Besides, Sylvia destroyed my hourglass and my vats and most of my equipment. I haven't . . . haven't felt like it. We're lucky a few of these survived, so drink up."

"Don't you have two of those magical hour glasses? And when are you going to decorate? It's Christmas time. It's in eight days, and you still haven't decorated." She took another sip.

Alice scowled at her reflection.

Her reflection added, "I get it, you're mopey and sad and depressed, but it's one of your favorite times of the year. Get to decorating. It'll make you feel better."

Alice leaned her head back, glaring up at the ceiling. "Please don't start. I'm not in the mood for an argument."

"It might cheer you up."

"You know what would cheer me up." She took a sip of wine. "It's all I want for Christmas, and I'm not going to get it."

"You're full of shit," Alice's reflection said.

"Excuse me?" Alice sat up. Her back arched as she leaned forward.

"You heard me. You act like you're the only one in the whole world who's suffering right now. Mopey. Sad. Don't know what to do."

" I don't know what to do ."

"Well, neither do I. I miss him as much as you do, but at least I took the time to put up a strand of garland in this bathroom. It's not going to bring him back, but it can at least make me feel something."

"Sure. Why don't I put up a tree? Clearly, he's not answering when I call for him because I don't have my tree up," Alice said, with each word raising her voice to near shouting. "A Christmas tree. Why didn't I think of it? A Christmas tree will bring him back."

"It's not what I meant," Alice's reflection said in a low voice. "Maybe you're trying too hard. Your mind is all cloudy and messed up, and you aren't thinking clearly. You're not sleeping. You're not eating. You're driving yourself mad. Putting up a Christmas tree might take your mind off it and give you the clarity you need."

Alice relaxed her shoulders and leaned back against the wall. She dropped her head and exhaled. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Alice's reflection took another sip. "Do you know what I miss?"

"The twenty-four-hour make out sessions?" Alice asked as she lifted her head.

"Well, yes," Alice's reflection answered. "But I miss the silence."

"When were you two ever silent?"

"It's the silence where you can be with someone and not have to say a word. You're there together. Comfortable. There isn't any uneasiness or anxiousness. Only the two of us there. Calm. A stupid grin on his face. Me biting my lip to hold back a smile. The sexual tension . . . umm?—"

Alice's reflection gazed at an empty space in her bathroom. She took a sip. Her eyes betrayed her illicit thoughts.

Alice said, "I miss the silence too. He could wink and nod, and I was his."

"We were theirs. We were bewitched by them."

Alice raised her glass in a toast. "To being bewitched."

Alice's reflection tipped her glass and tapped the mirror. Alice tipped hers, and they both took a drink. Alice finished her glass and set it down beside her. She pulled up on the hooded sweatshirt, burying her nose inside. She inhaled, gathering in the last remaining scents of Hugo's cologne still lingering on the cloth.

"It's like I can still hear him," Alice's reflection said. "The silly little playful things we used to tell each other. I can still hear his voice."

"Oh yeah, what did he used to tell you?"

"How he loved me. Desired me. Lusted for me. All the dirty little things he wanted to do. The deep, gravel in his voice," her reflection said. "Mmm."

Alice leaned her head back. Her eyes grew heavy, closing ever so slightly. The soft orchestral music of "Silent Night" filled the bathroom, lulling her to sleep. She struggled to open her eyes, but to no avail.

"Tell me what he said to you. Talk dirty to me," Alice said as she drifted asleep.

"He used to tell me his favorite thing to do was drag his fingertips across the curves of my naked body."

With a slumber-laden voice, Alice said, "He said he was tracing a path through my goosebumps. What else?"

"He told me he loved me and wanted to explore my every desire."

Alice's shoulders drooped. Her head tilted to the side. Her eyes were too heavy to awaken. She eked out one more sentence as she drifted off, "Tell me one more."

Alice's reflection said, "Madeline Sinclair is a banshee, and she's building an army of ghouls."

"What?" Alice said, snapping open her eyes. "I mean, her painting was a little disturbing, but I don't think she's a banshee."

Alice's reflection pulled back in shock, her head shifting from one side of the bathroom to the next. "No. I'm not talking about the painting. Hugo said it. I heard him say it."

Alice sat up and leaned forward. Her eyes focused on her reflection. Max lifted her head at the sudden movement from Alice, tilted her head, and drew back her ears in an inquisitive manner.

"Hugo is here, and he's talking," Alice's reflection said with a giddy glee in her voice. She hopped down from the sink.

"Don't mess with me," Alice said. "I'm not in the mood."

Alice's reflection paced around the bathroom. "I'm not! He's here. I can hear him."

Alice sprang to her feet and moved to the sink. Placing both hands on the porcelain pedestal, she leaned closer. "You can hear him? Where is he?"

"Slow down," her reflection shouted. "What about Madeline?"

"The same lady from the painting in the history center? She's with him? What? What's happening?"

Alice's reflection raised a finger to silence Alice. "Yes, I can hear you. Can you hear me?"

There was a pause. An excruciating, endless pause. Alice's hands trembled. Her fingers tapped against the cold sink basin. Her left foot twitched as she realized she was standing on her tiptoes.

"Well?" Alice asked. Her eyes darted back and forth across the bathroom, searching for any signs of Hugo.

"She has a book? What book?" Alice's reflection asked, waiting for a response. "A black book? She's trying to use it to escape?"

Alice glanced at the black book on the floor.

"Yes. Yes, I'm still here," Alice's reflection responded to the unseen Hugo. "You're hiding? Hiding from who?"

Alice snapped back to the mirror; her mouth dropped open.

He was hiding. Of course! He didn't answer, not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't .

A rush of relief energized Alice. The hair on her arms stood on end.

"Who is he hiding from?" Alice asked.

Alice's reflection ignored her. "What do you mean they're trying to turn you into one of them?"

"What's happening?" Alice yelled. "Tell me."

Her heart raced and beat against her chest as each moment passed. Hugo was in trouble, and she was powerless to help him.

"I can't talk to both of you at the same time. It's hard enough to hear him."

Alice's breathing labored.

"He's hiding in the bathroom in a house resembling our house." Alice's reflection paused. "I'm not talking to you; I'm relaying the information to Alice. Continue . . . There are ghouls and a banshee. You saw Alice? You saw Alice! Where?"

"He saw me?"

Alice's reflection nodded. She paced back and forth, touching her index finger to her lips and placing her thumb on her chin.

"Where did he see me?" Alice asked.

"On the couch," Alice's reflection replied. "It looked like you were petting Max, but he couldn't see her."

"Has he seen me anywhere else?"

"Have you seen her anywhere else?" Alice's reflection asked. After a brief pause, she shook her head no.

" The Lovers' Kiss !" Alice shouted. "We shared The Lovers' Kiss on the couch."

Alice grinned.

"He wants to know if we can get him out. Can we?" Alice's reflection asked.

Alice snapped back to The Book of the Dead resting on the floor. She swooped it up and flipped through the pages. With a snap of her finger, a candle floated closer so she could see the secret, arcane text.

"I'm looking. I'm looking," Alice said.

"Look faster. He doesn't have much time," her reflection responded.

"Anchor points? Anchor points," Alice yelled out. "An anchor point is where the veil is thinnest. Usually only revealing themselves during Sauin, certain magical points can thin the veil. Of course. The Lovers' Kiss . I knew it. The spell created an anchor point between us. We created Hugo's reflection soon after we shared the wine. The spell residuals must have also connected the mirrors."

She turned the page and read aloud. "If there are two objects on both sides, usually round and made of stone or metal, then a connection can be bridged, allowing the physical realm to connect to one of the many spirit realms. Something round made of stone or metal . . ."

Alice raised her head and locked eyes with her reflection. Alice didn't need to ask the question. She could tell her reflection already knew.

"Hugo, is your wedding ring in the house with you?" her reflection asked.

There was a pause. Alice held her breath.

"He said the box is there, but he hasn't opened it," her reflection replied.

Alice let out a laugh. She could no longer contain her excitement as the prospect of contacting Hugo reinvigorated her spirit. She gripped the sink and leaned as close to the mirror as she could.

"Tell him to get the ring and stand in front of the couch where he was the night we drank The Lovers' Kiss . I'll be sitting on the couch. When he sees me, touch his ring to mine. It should bridge the connection."

"Hugo, did you hear her?" Alice's reflection asked. "Of course you didn't. You can only hear me. Hold, please."

"Did you put him on hold?"

"You go get the ring. Go to the couch. I'll tell him to meet you there. We're getting our Hugo back."

Alice bounced on her tiptoes. Her fists clenched and raised in joy. A smile beaming. "We're getting our Hugo back!"

Alice bounded out of the bathroom, knocking over her wineglass. It rolled on the floor toward the sink. The commotion excited Max as she sprung up and followed Alice out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

"We're getting Hugo back!" Alice shouted back to her reflection.