Fractured: A Mirrorland Novel, #1

By Majanka Verstraete

When Piper discovers an old antique mirror on the attic of her new home, she has no idea what terror she unlocked. Eerie shadows lurking in the night and estranged voices crying out for help are only the beginning. As Piper’s world comes crumbling down, she realizes everything that she believed was imaginary, might have been real all along. Something is very wrong with that mirror. And if she doesn’t find out what, the mirror might end up killing her. With some help of old and new friends, Piper tries to get to the bottom of the mystery. One thing is for certain: the mirror preys on the guilty. But what exactly is she guilty of?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Aug 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781939590138

Majanka Verstraete

Author Majanka Verstraete has written more than twenty unique works of fiction. A native of Belgium, Majanka’s novels explore the true nature of monsters: the good, the bad, and just about every species in between. Her young adult books include the acclaimed Mirrorland (YA Dark Fantasy) and Angel of Death (YA Paranormal) series of novels. At Firefly Hill Press, Majanka is currently publishing a YA shifter series with a fresh take on fierce female detectives called THE ADVENTURES OF MARISOL HOLMES. When she’s not writing, Majanka is probably playing World of Warcraft or catching up with the dozens of TV series she’s addicted to.

Book preview

Fractured

Mirrorland: Book One

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Majanka Verstraete

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Fractured

Copyright © 2013 Majanka Verstraete

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (print) 978-1-939590-17-6

(ebook) 978-1-939590-13-8

Library of Congress Control Number:  2013912929

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Melissa Keir.

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated

DEDICATION

In loving memory of my dad

who told me to never stop creating make-believe worlds

and to never stop dreaming.

Chapter One

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Piper stared at herself in the mirror. Because the mirror was covered in years of dust, cobwebs, and filth, Piper’s image looked nothing like herself. Her face looked fractured, dirty, and covered in grime. She touched the surface of the mirror softly with the kitchen towel and began brushing layer after layer of filth away. With each brush of the towel, her face began looking more and more like her own, and not some twisted visage of herself.

Beneath the decades of dust was one of the most beautiful objects Piper had found in this house so far. Her mother would definitely approve. She had encouraged Piper to check out the attic for hidden treasures and things that could be useful. As far as Piper knew, she didn’t have any mirrors in her room, and definitely could use one.

It was difficult applying foundation and makeup with only a pocket-sized mirror for help, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to do all of her morning routines in the bathroom. This was partly because ever since they moved, she had to share the bathroom with her mother—which meant that every minute she spent in there, her mother spent nagging her to get out of there—and partly because now that she was sixteen years old, she wanted to look good. Appealing. Beautiful. She couldn’t risk going outside looking like a clown simply because she couldn’t get her makeup right in the small mirror she carried along in her purse.

But Piper had to admit that she didn’t just want this mirror because it would solve many of her problems. She wanted it because it was by far the most beautiful mirror she’d gazed upon. It was large and oval-shaped. Resting against a pile of boxes, it came up to Piper’s waist and would look perfect hanging on her bedroom wall.

Now that she’d cleaned the object of the most prominent layers of dust, she noticed the mirror frame was equally interesting. The frame portrayed two cherubs on each side of the mirror, blowing on tiny little trumpets. The frame was oxidized, but she could tell a silver-plated layer was hidden underneath the black oxidation. She guessed the mirror was at least one hundred years old, and that it had spent a fair share of that time hidden in the attic with other junk that wasn’t even half as interesting. If mirrors had personalities, she was confident this one wouldn’t have been too happy with being banished to an old and dusty attic, where it spent decades waiting for someone to rescue it and put it to good use again.

Piper grabbed hold of the mirror on both sides and was surprised by how heavy it actually was. As she lifted the mirror up, she heard a faint noise, like footsteps coming closer. At first she was startled, but then decided it was probably just her mom, climbing the stairs to the attic. Perfect! She could give Piper a hand carrying the heavy looking glass down the stairs.

Hey Mom, come give me a hand! Piper shouted, turning around toward the attic door.

No one.

Piper blinked and listened carefully for her mom’s footsteps going up or down the stairs, but she didn’t hear a thing. The house was as quiet as it had been before. There wasn’t a trace of the footsteps she’d heard earlier.

Piper brushed it off, thinking it was probably the wind, or maybe she had just heard her mother’s footsteps somewhere in the house and mistakenly thought she was on her way to the attic. Or maybe Piper’s imagination was going wild by being alone in the attic for so long. She wasn’t one to get scared easily, but she had to admit that the attic was rather creepy. It was stuffed with junk ranging from old mannequin dress forms to mysterious locked trunks without keys to open them. There were smelly, dusty carpets looking like they were last used in the eighteenth century and some disturbing dolls with black buttons for eyes. The only light came from a small light bulb in the middle of the spacious room. It barely cast a light on the shadowy corners, which remained dark and unsettling.

The window in the attic was small and shuttered, letting through only a sparse amount of light. To add to the spookiness of the attic, the room was a great deal warmer than the rooms on the second floor. Since today was a particularly nice day for early autumn, the heat was nearly unbearable. It was enough to make anyone’s imagination run wild. Although Piper was a very down-to-earth person, and according to her best friend, Alison, had as much imagination as an accountant—namely, none—she apparently wasn’t immune to the eerie and claustrophobic atmosphere of the attic.

Piper decided not to give it a second thought. There were more practical matters at hand. She had to get this mirror downstairs alone, and her muscles were already strained and sore. With a deep grunt, she made her way to the attic door and began the long descent down the stairs, muttering to herself about all the foolish things she did just to look beautiful.

CHAPTER tWO

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There you go. Up and looking gorgeous, Piper’s mother commented after she helped Piper hang the mirror on the wall. She softly let her hand caress the silver frame of the gigantic mirror.

Piper’s mom, Andrea Golden, had instilled a love of old furniture and decorations into her daughter. She owned an antiques shop on the other side of town, conveniently named Golden Antiquities. Although she attracted many customers, her mom hardly sold anything because she had trouble letting go of the things she’d acquired. She only sold items to people who she was genuinely convinced would love them as much as she did—a not so easy task to accomplish.

Golden Antiquities had a solid reputation in their niche and everyone loved her mom’s bright and bubbly personality. Many potential costumers dropped by the shop every month. Nevertheless, due to her mom’s strict policy on only selling her treasures to certain people, she was always struggling financially. Some bad credit and bounced checks had nearly caused her to go bankrupt last year. If not for the help of some good friends and an excellent lawyer, Golden Antiquities would’ve ceased to exist six months ago. Andrea was good about judging people’s personalities, but sometimes she was too trusting of others and too naïve for Piper’s liking. Trusting people to pay her when they could, but never did, was just one example of that. This house was another example.

Andrea had fallen in love with this house the moment she’d laid eyes upon it. She loved the Gothic style, the large double doors with decorative paintings around the doorframes, the enormous staircase leading up to the upper floor, and the impressive master bedroom with the authentic four-poster bed. She adored the tiny details on the window frames and the skillfully crafted figurines on the dark wood of the front porch. She loved it all so much that she didn’t even ask if there was modern-day electricity, when the heating system was last updated, or if the house had been properly inspected for termites. She failed to notice the leaks in the ceiling of the upper-floor bedrooms, the paint peeling off the walls in the living room, or the cheap single-pane windows. Her obsession with this house went so far that she didn’t even bother to ask the real estate agent how much the property cost.

In all ways but one, Andrea was the perfect responsible adult. She provided Piper with decent and healthy meals, kept track of her daughter’s activities, and always showed up on time, be it at soccer practice or at the local library. But when it came to antiques and century-old houses, Andrea lost all her common sense and acted on love alone. She loved the sixteenth-century dressers she displayed in her antiques shop. The Louis Quinze bed she had acquired last month from an antiques display in London enamored her. And she was absolutely smitten with the new house she had purchased. Sometimes Piper was convinced, especially when her mother went on and on about her latest acquisition, that she loved antiques more than she loved her own daughter.

It wasn’t something Piper blamed her mother for. She too felt attracted to this house—the same attraction she had felt toward the other old houses they had rented or bought over the years. She also felt her heart melt when they went to antiques auctions. It was a passion that apparently ran in the family. Piper’s mom had first acquired it from growing up in a house dating back to the seventeenth century, and Piper had inherited the gene.

How old do you suppose it is? Piper asked her mom, pointing to the mirror she’d discovered earlier today.

Andrea looked at her daughter as if she had anticipated this question and had been wondering it herself. I would guess at least a century old she answered in a professional voice, as if she was guessing the value of an object for a customer rather than guessing the age of something they found in the attic of their new home. It’s obviously handmade by a very skilled artist. I’ve never seen the design before. I mean, I’ve of course seen mirrors with cherubs before. But this one’s different. It’s not a generic model, that’s for sure. I would say it’s between fifty and eighty years old. Maybe slightly more. I’m not exactly an expert on mirrors.

I think it’s beautiful, Piper commented. It looked even more beautiful now that it was returned to its original state. Her mom had used a special spray to clean the glass, and the mirror looked brand new rather than a century old. Andrea had also polished the mirror frame, inch by inch, and the result was astonishing. The silver frame shone like it was brand new. Piper felt remarkably pleased at having such an impressive mirror in her room. She was ready to throw that pocket-sized mirror out of the window. For some people it might mean nothing to find an ancient mirror in the attic, but for someone so inspired by history as Piper, it was a discovery as momentous as finding the Magna Carta hidden in a dusty corner of her attic.

It is, Andrea answered. Come on, let’s grab a snack. All this cleaning up is making me hungry. Who knew houses this old could be filled with so much cobwebs and dust?

Piper smiled warily at her mother’s joke. Her mom had seen her share of dirt in old homes. Every time her mother finished redecorating her latest conquest and returning it to its original state, she set out to find the next project. She renovated houses the way she had renovated this mirror: carefully, lovingly, and with an amazing attention to detail. But as soon as a house went through a thorough and much-needed facelift and was ready to inhabit properly, her mother grew tired of it. She felt more alive while bringing a house back to life. As if somehow, if she kept on turning back time for houses, she could keep time from knocking on her door as well.

Andrea Golden was terrified of growing old. She was terrified of becoming like the antiques she often discovered in the most unlikely of places and was afraid someday she would become useless and forgotten, like the mirror Piper had rescued from the attic. It was this fear that drove her from house to house, because somehow she hoped that, as long as those houses stayed inhabited, loved, new, and fresh, part of her would as well.

Piper understood her mother’s fear better than anyone. She’d seen her father go from a healthy forty-year-old man to a practically senile individual who had lost control over his most basic bodily functions. Piper understood the irrationality that drove her mom from house to house, hoping to fix there what she couldn’t fix in her husband. Here she could reverse the process of decay. She could repaint walls, redecorate rooms, and hire contractors to redo the plumbing or fix the electricity. With Piper’s father, her mother hadn’t been able to do anything. The process was irreversible, the damage permanent, his death slow and agonizing.

Piper scolded herself for thinking such grave thoughts. It had been five years ago, but if she focused hard enough, she could still hear her father’s desperate cries as he struggled for the last time against an illness so destructive and ruthless that it turned her caring and loving father into an empty shell of his former self. She had loved him no matter what, and it still hurt her to think of the pain he had gone through before he finally succumbed to his illness. His cries had been so agonizing, the insufferable pain so clearly marked on his face that her mother had begged the doctor to do something about it. Anything. Give him two doses of morphine rather than one, if that was what it took. Even though the doctor eventually agreed, morphine didn’t help against a phantom illness.

Piper still remembered the day when her father was taken to the hospital for the first time. He had been complaining for weeks about severe headaches. They did a CAT scan and numerous other tests, but nothing showed up. The treating doctor was a young woman who had recently graduated from med school, and she was determined to find out what exactly was troubling Piper’s father.

Piper would never forget that doctor. She was the one who ordered test after test, especially when the headaches grew worse and the pain spread from his head to the rest of his body. They tested her father’s blood for poison, drugs, toxins, and whatever else they could think of. Test after test turned out negative. Her dad was in the hospital for an entire month before they finally decided they had no option but to let him go back home. They prescribed medicine, aspirin, some antibiotics, and that was that. But Piper could still remember the face of the female doctor as she ran a hand through Piper’s hair to comfort her. There was defeat and sadness in her eyes. That was the first time Piper realized her father could die from this illness.

When he returned home, her