Ruby Shadows (Born to Darkness #3)(97)

Someone had set a fire in the fireplace and it was crackling merrily as I stepped into the big, empty room. The light it shed didn’t reach the ceiling, however, which was a black mass of shadows. I couldn’t help feeling eerie about being in the huge, dim space all by myself.


I told myself to stop being a coward and walked firmly over to the red leather couch. There were the books, just where I had left them. Instead of picking them up and taking them back to the room, I settled in the corner of the couch and opened one of the spell books. The red leather was warm from the heat of the fire and soon I had lost myself in an incantation for returning hidden things to their proper form.

I don’t know how long I read but something half seen from the corner of my eye caught my attention. I looked up quickly and a flash of kaleidoscope colors met my gaze.

“The mirror—it’s the Mirror of the Eye,” whispered a warning little voice in my ear. “Look away quick, Gwendolyn!”

But when I tried, I found I couldn’t look away—I was trapped.

The first thing I saw was Laish, staring back at me with his ruby red eyes. There was a look on his face I couldn’t read. Then, almost as suddenly as his image had appeared, the kaleidoscope colors swirled and he was gone.

Still trapped in the mirror’s spell, I saw a girl with pale blonde hair—so light it was almost white—and eyes the color of lilacs. She had on a long white robe and some kind of feathery stole that wrapped around her shoulders.

“Gwendolyn,” she whispered. “Help me! Help me get out of here. If you cannot send me back to my home, then send me to the Mortal Realm. Anyplace is better than here where he might find me. Don’t let him take me back! Don’t let him hurt me—please!”

“Who are you?” I whispered but the girl’s image was already fading. In its place was the figure of a man—a man I felt I knew even though I didn’t recognize his face. In fact, I couldn’t even actually see his face—no matter how hard I looked, the features refused to become clear to me.

Suddenly, I knew who it was.

“Shadowlock!” I whispered through numb lips. He was the warlock who Celeste, Taylor’s vampire mistress, had hired to do the spell which was to have transferred Taylor’s power to her. He was one of the strongest warlocks in the country—if not the strongest. I had felt his immense power that night he did the spell because he’d put a barrier around Taylor which we had to break through to rescue her. His reputation was well deserved.

Shadowlock looked the same way he had the one and only time I’d laid eyes on him, though I had seen him only momentarily after I had opened the door to the Abyss and pulled Taylor back from the pit. At the time I’d been so drained of power I could barely move—stealing a soul away from the edge of eternity is incredibly tiring. He’d been standing in the moonlight looking at me—maybe sizing up the competition—before he turned and stalked away.

He was a big guy—very muscular and as he had been that night, he was wearing a plaid shirt, tight, faded jeans, and worn boots. He seemed to have the whole Texas cowboy thing going on—at least according to Taylor. She’d said he had a thick drawl that matched his boots and jeans. I’d found the idea of a country-boy warlock funny before but now I just stared at him. Why was the mirror showing me this? What point was it trying to make?

The Shadowlock in the mirror tipped his cowboy hat at me.

“Hey there, sweetheart—what can I do for you?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t even know why I’m seeing you—or if you’re real.”

He frowned—at least I thought he did. It was hard to tell with the face-obscuring spell that hid his features.

“Oh, I’m real, darlin’. The question is, am I dreaming of you or are you dreaming of me?”

“Dreaming?” I whispered. “This is no dream. This is—”

But just then the image in the mirror changed again.

This time it showed me the picture of a girl—a girl with skin my color or a little darker and wild, untamed black hair. She was huddled in a corner with her back to me so at first I didn’t know who it was. But then someone else came into the room with her.

“Get up!” The tall man with one gold tooth in the front and baggy jeans that sagged and showed his boxers was immediately and hatefully familiar to me. He had greasy brown hair that hung in his face and mean eyes the color of mud. “Get up, bitch,” he barked at the girl again. When she didn’t respond, he kicked her hard in the ribs.

A sharp, hurt noise came from the girl and she began to get laboriously to her feet. But she wasn’t moving fast enough for the man.

“I said get up, you f*cking whore!” Reaching for her arm, he yanked her upright and slapped her cheek, rocking her head back on her neck.

“Sorry,” the girl moaned. “Just tired, Ray…so tired.” She turned her head and at last I saw her face.


“Keisha,” I whispered, my throat tight with unshed tears. My little sister’s face looked much older than it should. There were lines around her eyes and mouth and a fresh bruise on one cheekbone. When she opened her mouth, I saw that two of her front teeth were missing and there was a cold sore blooming on her bottom lip.

“Sorry,” she mumbled again, looking up at the man who had her by the arm. “Just sleepy is all.”