something solid pressed against his back, and to Barclay’s horror, a second mirror had appeared behind him, just as massive as the first. And Ethel was now right behind him.
She lunged out of the new mirror, her hand outstretched to swipe the flag tied around his arm. He ducked away, but only just in time. Before he could counterstrike, Ethel fled back into the glass.
And that was how it went for several minutes. In the mirrors, Ethel was faster—as though she were the speed of light. And so wherever he dodged, she easily followed.
But whenever she did leap out of the glass, she lost her speedy advantage. Every kick and swipe ended up short, and Barclay’s few attempts at attacks of his own had her fleeing back into the safety of her reflection.
Soon they were both doubled over, panting. Ethel in the mirrors, Barclay on the field. Barclay shed his scarf and tossed it aside, overheating even though his breath still fogged in the Winter air.
She’ll have to come out again eventually, Barclay thought. And if I can grab her, then—
Suddenly another reflection appeared in the glass. It was foggy to look at, even if the rest of the mirrors were clear. It looked a little like Ethel, if Ethel had colorless gray skin, shapeless clothes, and strange, undefined facial features—as though she’d been drawn two-dimensionally.
That can’t be her Beast, he thought. It looks just like her!
It was clearly some other type of trick. And besides, like Ethel, it would need to come out to land a blow on Barclay.
Then something solid struck him in the back of the head. He whirled around, but there was nothing there. Then something tripped him, and he fell to the damp grass.
In the mirror, the real Ethel hadn’t moved. But the Ethel-looking Beast pinned him down beneath its boot, and Barclay could feel it. As if it were really there.
We almost never keep our Beasts in their Marks.… They’re invisible to other people, Ethel had told him about her and Abel’s Beasts. Barclay remembered all the instances when Ethel and Abel had dropped things, as though they had been knocked aside, glaring at or scolding things that weren’t even there.
Then Barclay realized it. The Beast was invisible.
Except for its reflection.
Barclay’s heart raced as he struggled underneath the Beast’s boot, but he didn’t need to get up in order to defend himself. He stretched his other arm up, to where the Beast stood over him.
Wind!
When the vortex came, it looked as though he had attacked nothing. However, the Ethel-looking Beast in the mirror writhed. He’d been right—it wasn’t in the mirror with her. It was really out here, with him.
Once the Beast had been struck down, the mirror disappeared, and the real Ethel stumbled onto the field. She raised her hands, still out of breath, and called, “I forfeit! The match is over!”
Barclay called off the wind, and Ethel ran to take care of her Beast.
“You can only see it with a mirror,” Barclay said with surprise.
“It’s called a Doppelgheist. I’m surprised you figured it out so quickly. Most people don’t.” Her voice was tight, and Barclay hoped she wasn’t angry with him. But then she turned to him and smiled. “You know, you’d make a great Lore Keeper, Barclay. If you wanted to be one.”
Barclay’s own smile faded.
“I don’t want to be one. So just… just stop. You can all stop.”
He grabbed his scarf off the ground and stormed away, hoping to hide the telltale flush in his cheeks.
* * *
Viola must’ve heeded Barclay’s words, because she didn’t leave that evening. Instead, she stowed A Traveler’s Log away in her bag and rented a table for their friends. A rusty chimenea crackled with fire behind the four of them, casting a comfortable warmth beneath the tent alongside the exam field, where much of Sycomore had gathered for the Exhibition and holiday celebrations. On each table stood large glass jars filled with fireflylike Beasts called Zaplings, which Mitzi poked and snarled at. Chandeliers of evergreen branches hung overhead, drooping with garlands of cranberries and ornaments of twine and cinnamon sticks.
For the first time, Barclay was aware of Ethel’s and Abel’s Doppelgheists out of their Marks. The grass beside the table was dented where they sat, a bowl hovering midair in their invisible grasps as they devoured maple-flavored Beast treats.
It made him feel guilty that Root wasn’t joining them, but Barclay only had one more match separating him and first place. He couldn’t afford to