Behind the Mirror

By E Maree and DolphnPublising

Cassandra Reed, upon discovering a mirror passed down to her, finds herself pulled into a world beyond the ordinary. Her journey is one of discovery, not just of hidden realms and new magic, but of her hardships, manifestations, and destiny.

When Cassandra encounters this mirror, she's thrust into a journey filled with more que

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dolphn Publishing
• Release date: May 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869367570

E Maree

E Maree is a prolific writer of high fantasy and light romance, hailing from the breathtaking landscapes of Central Oregon where you can find her in candy shops, penning her next tale amidst the sweet aroma of chocolates and confections. This unusual choice of writing location adds an extra layer of charm to her persona, reflecting her unique approach to storytelling.E Maree's love for the outdoors is not just a hobby, but a lifestyle that deeply influences her writing. Her narratives often echo the awe-inspiring beauty of nature, and her characters navigate worlds as complex and captivating as the forests and mountains she calls home.E Maree's works can be found on her website, EdenMSmith.com. Despite the mystery that surrounds her, one thing is certain: E Maree's writing journey is one to watch, as she continues to enchant readers with her deeply imaginative and engaging tales.

Book preview

Prologue

Scuffling footfalls against the concrete had her back straightening to the sound of someone approaching. She’s been preparing for weeks for this moment and just needs to time this right for it to work. She shifts the broken chain behind her body and angles herself into a docile position.

A jangle of keys, and then the sound of a lock clicking and releasing fills the hollow space she slums in. A familiar tall and fit guard comes into view carrying a tray with him, the hinges creaking as the door swings open, and he hobbles in lightly on his good knee.

She launches up, pushing her fragile body as hard as she can against him and kicking his other knee, toppling him over. He stumbles back; the tray forgotten as it clatters to the ground. He grunts in pain as he lands on the hard flooring, and fumbles to reach for her in the confusion. She easily maneuvers past him with the cuff jangling from her thin and bruised wrist, mentally apologizing for the future pain he’ll be in.

Her bare feet patter dully through corridor after corridor, her muscle memory of all the times she had spent in this place as a youth taking her expertly through each dimly lit hall and stairway which are dotted with the occasional torch, light bouncing off the stone walls and wavering with her passing breeze.

Shouting suddenly erupts behind her, echoing from all directions, and it’s too late to turn back now that she's gotten this far. Alarm bells chime and guards are yelling, closing in, catching up. She veers a hard left into an abrupt passage just wide enough for her slim frame to fit through.

Wafts of sweaty soldiers hustle past her, and the clinking of boots, armor, and swords ring loudly as they miss her side-stepping through a narrow crack in the wall, oblivious to it in their pursuit.

She slides quickly, the group of clattering metal quieting as she shuffles away. A wooden latched door comes into view as she takes her last turn and a lump in her throat chafes as she imagines her freedom so close, imagining what her love and daughter would look like now.

She swings the unlocked door open and dashes out into a dry wasteland of hot sand as the evening sun lights her path farther and farther away from the place she used to call home, the light darkening with every footstep that leads her away. She hears the clamber of voices behind her, fading with every step, igniting a new well of energy to keep going. The loud ringing of bells is blissfully far away now.

Her sprinting turns into a jog to keep her stamina up while her feet fight through the dipping in the sand. A few miles ahead, she finds trees where the everlasting sun doesn't shine.

She finally reaches the border from the deserted, sandy landscape into a darkening forest. She fights to stay upright on her bare feet as she nearly trips on the sudden change of terrain. Twigs, leaves, and rocks jab bare flesh, but do not slow down her efforts. The moon is now her only source of scattered patches of light. She has no time to check behind her for anyone pursuing her escape, or for the guardians that protect the lands. She runs for what feels like hours, trekking into another’s territory and hoping for safe asylum as her anxiety spikes with every step she takes. If she’s right, a man should be somewhere passing the creek on a walk that he’s taking to clear his head. She just needs to intercept him, and she'll have a real chance at freedom once and for all.

Her body tries hard to keep up with the adrenaline; her weakened and thin body won’t be able to make it much further before her suffering catches up to her.

Lungs burning, she heaves in dry breaths, her lips cracked as she's failing to get in enough air. Feeling the tang of iron coating her tongue. She scans her surroundings, slowing just enough to lean over a large tree to catch a trembling breath. Her body shakes and trembles as she swallows as much air as she can, the fresh scent of pine and wood easing the pain each inhale takes until her breaths even out.

There’s the slightest sound of crickets near the sound of rushing water where nature is humming with life. An eeriness prickles at her skin and rises in ghost bumps. She’s finally close enough, but the distraction cost her.

A heavy crunch of leaves sounds loudly behind her, and a damp cloth covers her mouth and nose. She struggles hard against her assailant as fear and dread of what’s coming breaks into the forefront of her mind, but she cannot fight like she wants when her body is already so weak from starvation and running.

When darkness gives way, her vision blurring and the life force ebbing from her body, she twists in the sicarius' grasp, subtly groping around for any weapons. The broken chain on her wrist clinks with metal and she grasps a short blade from the belt of the figure. She’s lucky hunters and assassins always have a surplus on their person, but there’s no way for her to gain the upper hand against them in this position, and she doesn’t have enough reach.

Her heart races as she gets dizzier breathing in the toxin faster, and her mind hazes, falling short of any cohesive thought, her sight blackens and speckles with dots. Her hand slackens for a moment; the short sword teetering in her grasp. A loud whistling sound and heavy thumps erupt around them, like it's coming from all directions.

A thought crosses her mind and she holds her breath for a moment, just long enough for her to stay conscious a little longer. She shoves her body into the larger one behind her, leaning on them and giving them her weight. She brings the sword up, changing the angle horizontally. Everything moves slowly, so painfully slow.

Before she loses her nerve, she closes the distance between her skin and the blade. Swiping it deeply and harshly across the base of her throat. The surrounding sounds become background noise, and she drops the sword. The effort of holding it up too much and her body weight falls completely against her captor. There’s a low curse from behind her and the rag drops from her face, hands clumsily attempting to force the slice closed.

Blood flows in a warm cascade down the front of her ragged clothing, and over the hands on her throat. When her body finally falls to the forest floor, there's a loud grunt above her as the hands clasping her neck loosen, the blood flowing freely once more. Darkness resumes its hold over her, and she descends into it. The last thing she hears is a whisper of one haunting word.

Chapter 1

Cassandra.

My head lurches forward, and a sickening falling feeling in my stomach consumes me as I snap my head back up, heart pounding, and blinking my eyes against the lamp-lit room. My floating chair sways slightly from the jerking motion, and I rub the back of my neck, stretching my head to either side.

A muffled huff in the otherwise quiet room makes me jump, my already racing heart lurching uncomfortably in its cage. My gaze searches the quiet room before it lowers to the floor where a leather-wrapped book lies open. A relieved sigh leaves me as I pick up the book and set it back to where it had vacated the spot on my lap. I wipe the drool-crusted hair from the corner of my mouth, lick my chapped lips, and rub my fingers over the worn journal across the gold engraved lettering that spells out my mother’s name, Evelynn.

The stories and poems she wrote inside are as close as I can get to knowing who she was. I’ve always felt a closeness to her in writing. Sadness rolls through me, stinging my nose, and I unfold out of the blanket curled around me to place the journal back on my floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. It spans from one end to the other with a large window and my desk in the center. I’ve always been quite the book hog, but I pride myself in having read every book in this room.

In the spot next to where I keep the leather-bound heap of paper is a picture of my mother and father posing at a venue, her legs tightly wrapped around his shoulders as they pose, her face scrunched in concentration as if she’s struggling to stay upright. I smile at the picture and turn in place to the space behind me.

My room is simple and decluttered. The hanging chair to my right sways lightly and my lamp gives off a soft orange glow. In front is a simple king bed, a gray comforter, and plenty of pillows, vines, and plants hanging on the wall above and on the headboard. To my left is the sliding closet door and the entrance to my bedroom door, which is slightly ajar. Odd, but not unusual.

Moving to the left of my room and picking up my side table cup, I find it empty as I lift it to my face. I grumble and slide out of the room to the bathroom, through the hallway to the left, refill my water, and take a large gulp. Coughing, my eyes water, and I fill a second cupful, swallow carefully this time, then make my way back to my room. I stop in the middle of the balcony overlooking the first floor and check for any signs of anything amiss. I have a direct line of sight to the living room, kitchen, and stairs in the quiet space. You can never be too careful, but we get tourists and vacationers more often in the colder seasons.

The silence of the house isn’t unusual. My brother Cyrus, and my dad, Percival, are currently away from our little mountain-bordered town. The house is always eerily quiet whenever they leave, but it’s something I’ve grown accustomed to. My brother spends a week each month in the city with a group of friends he’d met from college. I’m jealous of his time with them, but I’m glad he has such a loyal group of friends. My dad travels a bit here and there, our family book cafe has become my responsibility, pushed on to me at an early age.

Sighing, I turn and shut my bedroom door behind me, setting my cup down on the side table, sliding under the silky covers, and shuffling my endless pillows. If I am a psycho for having so many, then at least I’m a comfortable one. I clap off the light in my room and wait for my eyes to adjust to the new darkness.

Settled, I stare at the painted constellation of glowing stars on the ceiling. I’ve always loved the stars, anything that glows or glimmers like the flicker of a candle being disturbed by the breeze.

These things swirl in my head as I drift off. An uneasiness forms under my skin and though I can’t quite catch the thought it came with; I feel it anyway.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A tingling sensation in my wrists causes me to shift. Cold metal shackles me to the wall. It’s too dark to see all of my surroundings but the hot, muggy smell of rust and stone makes me scrunch my nose in disgust, and a sickening gurgle shifts in my stomach. I haven’t eaten in days. They pass in flashes. I’ve come to know when it’s been at least three days when I hear a tray slide roughly across the floor and into the heel of my foot.

My hands tremble, searching the darkness with my unshackled wrist for the tray. I feel stale bread and a shallow cup of water. I pour the water over the bread to soften it and savagely rip it apart with my teeth.

A dizziness forms and I realize too late that a faint familiar scent of Lullaby Flower is coming from the tray. I fight to keep my eyes open and I reluctantly slip back into the bliss of darkness as a door creaks open and hands begin to roughly grab at my shoulders, pushing me down and stretching my shackled arm uncomfortably. I’m out before I know it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

My eyes snap open, a cold sweat forming over my flesh. An annoyingly loud buzz resounds in the room and I toss a hand over to slam on the hunk of metal on my side table. I rub my eyes and sit up with a headache forming behind my eyes, the same ones I get whenever I have that eerily lucid dream. My lamp automatically turns on to my movement, the sun barely bringing light through my window. I always wake up just before the sun rises over the peaks of the Wistrus Mountains surrounding our isolated hometown of Sythran.

I get up and shuffle around my room, gathering clothes for the day, and heading to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

I double-braid my long brown hair, clip my bangs over the part in my hair, and pose in the mirror, looking at how I’d imagined this outfit for the millionth time I’ve worn it out. Light blue boot-cut jeans that fit around my curved hips to knees and flare out, then a dark gray sweater and light brown boots. This outfit complements my natural complexion, which is perfect fall attire, if I say so myself. I glance at my reflection, again, my nose ring shining a bit and a resemblance to my mother’s features becoming more obvious the older I get, the same skin tone and facial structure are a dead giveaway.

A glint catches my eyes in the corner of the mirror and I turn to see the same plain-colored wall of the shower curtain. Instinct has me grabbing the closest object I can, swiping the curtain open, and raising it quickly over my head like I’m about to swing a bat.

A mortified laugh leaves me when I see nothing there. I’ve been in the bathroom the entire time. Sometimes I think I’m losing it. I lower the object and look at what I’d grabbed. Yeah. How menacing would I be to an intruder with a metal toilet paper roller? Not very. I put it down, trying to shrug off the uneasiness I still feel while leaving and striding down the stairs.

I make a beeline to the kitchen, snagging one of the many blueberry muffins I made the day before off the counter and bounding out the front door. I click the lock behind me and move down the street towards my family bookstore. I wave toward my next-door neighbor on my right as she raises a mug of coffee to me in greeting.

It’s a relatively short walk, just a couple blocks away. The bookshop doubles as the town coffee shop that's near the center of the small city market and town necessity shops. You’d have to travel to Velata City or Siren’s Cove for anything more than the basics. Moving between the cities and small towns is common around this time of year, so we keep pretty busy regardless of the small population.

The breeze is lukewarm as the leaves on the trees change from a lush green to bright and colorful shades of yellow, orange, and brown. It’s the very beginning of the season change, and typically people celebrate the gods with festivities and parties. There's one coming up, but I can't quite remember what it's called.

Good morning, Caya! An older man calls, he and his wife are setting their garden up for the colder season shift.

Good morning, Pike. Good morning, Mistie. I wave to both of them with a sheepish smile and make a couple more turns before my bookshop comes into view. It’s not a small building, but it’s not extravagant either. It’s an old and rustic place with a sign that hangs overhead that says Intra Somnius, It’s quite appropriate if you ask me, it means Into Dreams. This place is older than many other buildings in town, although it’s very well preserved and looks as good as if built recently. It's been passed down through my dad’s family for years, hand-built by some distant ancestor. He’d always joked that it was practically done in one day, like magic.

Opening the front double doors, unlocked by my best friend and coworker, I pass the threshold into the shop. To my left is a spiraling staircase that travels to the second-floor indoor balcony. To my right are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, an archway to the greenhouse and bathrooms, and then in the corner is a fireplace with two large sofas.

Behind the stairs, walking further in is a coffee bar, and round the far corner of the bar is the break room, where I find Mira leaning back on a chair with her feet propped up on the table. She’s got a pair of earbuds in, and her eyes are closed, her chin-length curly auburn hair slowly swaying as she bobs her head to the tune she’s listening to while mouthing the words. Our moms were best friends before, so naturally, Mira and I grew close as her mom had taken to me, a mother figure I’d never had. I focus and peer into her Wister. It rises from her shoulders like rolling pale blue, and transparent waves, calm and relaxed.

I tap her foot and she flinches so hard that the chair tips back and loses balance, sending her crashing backward to the hardwood floor, disrupting her Wister from calm to a darker, erratic blue flame around her.

Holy fuckin’ shit. She huffs breathlessly, like it had knocked the wind from her lungs. And maybe it did. That thought has me smirking. Sorry, I say sweetly, batting my eyelashes at her.

Grunting, she rolls onto her knees and lifts herself off the floor. Then, setting the chair right, she pockets her earbuds. You gave me a damn fright. You sneaky assassin I roll my eyes.

Shouldn’t have let your guard down, then rogue. Her silver eyes narrowed at me as she dusted off her oversized black sweater and leggings. The endearments we use stem from the defense training we used to do together, hers had always bothered her for some reason. I never pushed her about it, and I rarely use it anyway. I take a large bite of my muffin and hear a soft knock at the front door. Mira lifts her head and gives me a raised brow. I mimic the look and then break from the room.

I lean into the open area and glance towards the doors, seeing a small figure standing on the other side of the glass. We don’t open for another thirty-ish minutes, but I curiously walk over to the door and crack it open, shoving the rest of the muffin into my mouth.

Beautiful and wide, coffee brown doe eyes that match her complexion meet my pale green ones as a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, peers up at me from her roughly four-foot frame to my five foot seven height. Her freckles are dotted nearly white across her nose and cheeks, beautifully complimenting her darker skin. She wears a large coat that reaches her knees and some ear muffs that shove her brown hair back and dip just below her shoulders. Her outfit would suggest it’s colder to her than it is outside, and I notice her slightly out-of-rhythm chocolate brown Wister that wafts off her, a sign of hesitance or anxiety. She stares at me with wide eyes, almost a shocked expression forming before quickly averting her eyes from mine.

Swallowing and trying not to choke on the rest of the dry muffin, I ask, Can I help you? My voice is a bit muffled. I watch her wrinkle and wiggle her nose lightly like she’s sniffing me or trying to keep her nose warm with the movement, I can’t tell which. Almost without thinking, she gives me a small bow at the waist, like a greeting, and soundlessly mouths a word I don’t recognize. My lip reading is good, but not that good.

With her head down slightly, she shifts around, her hand shaking a bit before digging through her coat pocket and handing me a piece of paper that looks worn from being folded and unfolded more than a few times. It’s a list of books with some wrinkled money folded in. Smiling, I open the door wide and beckon her to come inside. I consider her demeanor for a moment, and then I search for Mira, whose head is peeking out of the break room, a look on her face I can’t place, and she nods at me when she catches my eye.

Looking over the list and the cash the girl gave me, I catch small wisps of her brown Wister coming off it and it hints that she’s been holding onto this paper for maybe a few days at least, and the faint givings of a light yellow Wister. I pull my gift back and the colors disappear.

Did someone send you here for these? I ask, returning from my trailing thoughts and looking up from the wrinkled paper to see the girl settling on one couch closest to the newly lit fireplace removing her muffs and coat.

She makes eye contact and just nods. Curious that she doesn’t openly voice her responses, I shuffle around the shop for the books. When I’m back with the stack in tow, I look her over and find myself drawn to her lack of…something, something about her feels off.

Did you have anything you wanted to read? I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

She considers my question for a moment and then just shrugs. For whatever reason, I feel as if she’s anticipating something. Her eyes follow me around, which for some reason feels normal, comfortable even.

I shake my head,  What’s your name? I press instead, tilting my head to see her face better. She mouths her name while also spelling it out in the air. It takes me an embarrassingly long couple of seconds to understand.

Maya, that’s a beautiful name. My name is Cassandra, but you can call me Caya (Kai-ah) if you’d like I smile at her. She smiles back, beaming like I just gave her the sun and moon goddesses themselves.

I grab one book off the table, set it on her lap, and soon after, I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor coming our way, I look behind me to see Mira holding a mug. The smell makes it obvious what it is as she sets it on the table in front of Maya and she eyes it warily.

It’s Hot Chocolate, I say, and she wrinkles her nose, her palm on the book to keep it from slipping off her lap, and leaning forward to sniff the liquid. I give Mira a thankful nod and she walks to the coffee bar, a look of concentration covering her features as she finishes opening the store.

Maya picks up the mug and sticks her tongue in the chocolate like an animal before she takes a full sip and I watch her dark eyes light up. I can’t help but smile. When her eyes reach mine, I gesture towards the book.

Would you like me to read it to you? I ask softly, preparing for her to say no and read it on her own. She pauses mid-lap at the chocolate, then gives a timid nod.

I realize how strange this may be, even when I sit next to her and unfold the book between us. I can’t put my mind on the reason why I feel that Maya needs the company, but regardless, I started reading the book.

We go through short stories about simple things, like dragons and princesses, shapeshifters and some cute heartwarming endings. I'm glad to find someone so invested in them. Maya’s eyes darted across the page, reading and looking at the images drawn with a big smile on her face. It’s the best compliment an author can get from someone who doesn’t know you wrote it.

________________

A chiming sound in the room goes off above the fireplace, and Maya stiffens next to me, glancing at the clock to her left. She moves to get up but stops herself, her gaze switching between the book and the clock. Clear hesitation as she debates staying and reading, or going to wherever she's needed.

If you need to head home, then we can always pick up where we left off, I say. She nods at me absently, and I can’t resist the urge to check her Wister. When I adjust my vision, it’s all over the place. Erratic and maybe even fearful. Are you alright? I ask, and she finally turns to me, like she’s registering I’m still here. Her expression flattens, and she nods, giving me a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, then shuffles on her coat and muffs.

When I stand too, I’m surprised by a sudden weight that forces me to take a step back as Maya leaps into my front, wrapping her arms around my waist. It’s a tight hug; one that would break my heart if my world didn’t begin to slow and shift. I forgot to pull my clarity on her Wister.

A flashing series of images crosses my senses and I see a bright forest with sun rays shining through branches and trees in all directions from one spot. The tang of iron coats my tongue, blood I assume, and fear overwhelms my senses. A shadowed figure looms over me as I realize I’m lying on the forest floor, grass itching my skin, and a prickling on the back of my neck that grows to a searing pain the longer it lasts.

The image dissolves when Maya lets go, snatching up the books and dashing out the store. I just stand there and watch her as she leaves, the new barricade of images still plaguing my mind, but I don't miss the smile on her face as she goes.

Chapter 2

When Maya left, we had our usual influx of neighbors and patrons come in for coffee and a book. By the time we were done, it was already near closing time. I hadn’t had any real time to process Maya’s memories. That was for a fact what they were. Memories. The longer I thought about it, the more it made sense. I’ve never had my gift behave like that to someone. It had always just been a feeling or a slight emotion I could sense when it happened.

I take a routine trip to the greenhouse around back that's through the archway by the fireplace where I've started a small garden next to our several five-foot coffee bean bushes. It’s a nice and spacious place with a large windowed roof and patchwork concrete flooring.

I grab my gardening gloves and check the soil and leaves of each pot. Most plants here are about to be out of season, so I’ll have to use substitute sunlight. When I get closer to the plants by the door, I notice a single flower growing in the cracks of stone next to a strawberry bush. It looks like a small blossom you'd see on cherry trees. I lean close to it as it pops out, vibrant and thriving. It’s one little pinkish-purple flower with five petals. I recognize it as a sweet blossom, typically harmless in small quantities, but paralytic when spliced or mixed with white widow. I pick it up with a gloved hand and inspect it.

Girl, let’s go! The drive to the city isn’t going to get any shorter! Mira yells from the lobby. I look towards the doorway and call back to her, Just a second! I redirect my gaze to the flower. However, nothing was in my hand anymore. I blink. What the hell? Am I losing it? I looked at where I picked it from to check if I'd dropped it, but there were no cracks left in the stone.

I flex my fingers, shrug my shoulders, and stand. If I'm following the same path as my mother, then I’ll need to start keeping tabs on it, check how far it's progressing. I slip my gloves off and toss them on a worn chair in the corner before heading back into the main area of the building and starting to close the store for the day, checking off everything we need to get done before we leave for the weekend.

________________

Are you ready to go? Mira asks for the millionth time from the backroom, shuffling on her backpack.

Yeah, we will need to drop by my place before we go. It was warm enough to walk here this morning. I say. She pouts and gives me a knowing look, stepping into the lobby. We walk through the shop and to the front doors, locking them behind us, giving one last glance over everything, and shutting the doors.

What was that girl's color? Mira asks as we start walking.

What makes you think I checked? I say, and she raises a knowing brow at me. I sigh. It was like a chocolate brown, I answer, thinking back, and her name is Maya.

Maya. she echoes. That’s a pretty name. The color fits her I think. Unlike mine.

What do you mean? Pastel blue is pretty fitting for you. I raise a brow at her.

It’s my opposite color, Caya. I don’t even like blue. She pouts, crossing her arms, and I let out a short breathy laugh.

That’s not something I can control, besides, you already got what you wanted from me when I first told you about my ability to sense Wisters, I say, using the only word I could to describe it to someone, cause it’s not someone's soul or essence, but something deeper than that. Like a whisper, or a tether to their center as a being.

That’s not fair, she huffs, Why can you see them, but not do anything about it?

I’m not sure you understand the depth of my gift, then. It is solely to sense, and not manipulate. We’ve had this conversation multiple times.

Mira rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t respond as we finally make our way up the driveway. I grab the keys inside from the hanger next to the front door, unlock, and remote start the car for Mira while I get my packed backpack, duffle, and handbag. I haul the stuff I packed into the back seat and then slide into the driver's seat.

We back out of the driveway, and Mira makes quick work of the music while I drive us outside of the mountains we call home. The drive is roughly a six-hour decline from the mountains and we would be there right before it gets dark, considering the city is sea-level and it gets darker later.

When we get to town, I am going to wipe the mall clean! I’m so excited! Mira squeals next to me. She’s always been the shopping lover out of the two of us.

Just don’t embarrass me like you did last year when we celebrated Cyrus’s birthday, I grumble.

Hey, it’s not my fault they tried to get out of discounting that pair of shoes!

Yes, it is. All you were supposed to do was try them on, not jump around and snap the heel.

How was I supposed to check the dancing durability? She eyes me, and we both burst into laughter. I heard Cyrus’s entire friend group will be there this year, Mira says, glancing at me expectantly. I feel the smile I had slide right off my face.

Well, we both know how it’ll go down if I have to be anywhere near Weston. Flames, shattered glass, whatever I can throw at the cheating bastard. I shrug.

Not with that gleam in your eyes, he’ll be dead before the end of the night. She laughs, Well, the good news is that it’s Downtown Velata this year, that nice skyscraper venue that’s always booked out. It’ll be awesome! You’ll forget all about your boy troubles!

Really? We got in this year? I glanced at her, suspicious, How did we manage that?

She shifts nervously. I may or may not have talked with one of the bouncers who had been keeping tabs on the reservations for me. Talking is Mira's code for sleeping with someone. I open my mouth to ask more about it, but she interrupts me, It’s not a fling! she rushes, I mean, it started that way, but I think I like him. At Mira’s confession, I shut my mouth. "He mentioned that there was construction happening on one