Page 3 of The Midwinter Mirror
I finally open my eyes. The light is in that strange limbo—no longer night, not yet morning. Just a gray-blue hush, shimmering from the snow glare outside, pale like melted moonlight.
What? Wait! Snow?
I sit up abruptly and stare out of the window. Snow clings to the glass in thick, feathery spirals. My breath fogs in the icy air—the house is old, and the radiators always give up just when they are needed most. A hush blankets the house, the kind only deep snow can conjure—soft, smothering, and strangely ominous.
Nothing good happens here when it snows.
For a heartbeat, I’m back at Silvergate. The day I found Zayne. Blood in the snow. That was the day after the solstice as well. Echoes everywhere.
I press my nails into my palms and push the thought away because it always makes me feel guilty. And really, I’ve nothing to feel guilty about. I didn’t see anything.
All the same, in my mind, his eyes stare at me with accusation. He must truly hate me—that’s why he never came back. Maybe I should have lied, but I’ve never been a good liar.
Wind scrapes frost along the panes in ghostly sighs, and a shiver runs through me. I force myself out from under the warm duvet, rubbing at my eyes. They’re scratchy from sleep and maybe a little too much wine last night. Mum and Dad had insisted on opening a bottle when I arrived from London to celebrate my birthday. I was born on the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. Some would call that deep and mystical. Not me.
I drag myself out of bed, my toes curling against the cold floorboards as I tiptoe across to the window. Outside, the world of yesterday has vanished beneath a thick veil of white. Treesstoop under heavy branches. The lamps lining the drive glow like ghost lights in the semi-dark.
A sudden shriek breaks the silence. I freeze for a moment, then grab my dressing gown from the bottom of the bed and race for the door. In the hallway, I stand for a moment looking around. Light is spilling from my brother’s room, and I hurry toward it, almost crashing into my father as we meet at the door.
Inside, my mother is standing over the empty bed.
No Milo.
“He’s gone,” my mother wails. “My baby is lost to the snow.”
“Mum, calm down.” I hurry to her side and take her arm.
Milo currently has a cast on his right leg—he broke it falling off his pony—so he can’t have gone far. I wrap my arms around myself; it’s even colder in here than in my room. Taking a deep breath, I look around and immediately find the reason: the window is wide open, and the snow is swirling in. I hurry across and peer out into the snow, but it’s so thick that I can see nothing. I close the window and then pull the curtains, as though I can shut it out.
“The Wild Hunt has my baby,” Mum mutters under her breath. My dad stands beside her, horror stamped on his face.
My mum and dad were both born and bred in Elderfell—and their parents before them, and theirs before that… You get the idea. And they totally believe all that Wild Hunt shit.
But then again, I was born here as well. Proof that you don’t have to buy into the weird stuff.
“It’s happening again,” she whispers. “Just like Oliver.”
My breath catches at her words, and a tremor runs through me. Oliver was my older brother. He died when I was ten. I don’t know the exact circumstances; they never talk about it. But it was on the night of the solstice—my birthday. It started to snow. He went out. And he never came back. They found his body in Huntershollow the following morning, under the snow.
“Mum, don’t be silly.” My tone is sharp, but really—total overreaction. I take a deep breath. “Milo is probably just playing in the snow.” I glance around the room. His crutches are gone. “Or he’s at the stable. Or…”
Milo is a typical eight-year-old. He’s always into some mischief. Mum and Dad are hugging each other; my mother is shaking. I blow out my breath. I’ve always been the sensible one in the family—I’ve had to be.
“Mum, go make some breakfast. Dad, get the tractor out and clear the road to the village.” Elderfell Manor is about half a mile from the village, surrounded by our own land—the road is private. “I’ll go take a look around. He really can’t be far away.”
They don’t move, and I shake my head. I love them dearly, but sometimes they drive me crazy. It’s this place. There’s something in the air. Or maybe in the water. I don’t know. I wish I could get them to move away from here. But even after Oliver, they wouldn’t even consider it. Our family has owned the manor for hundreds—maybe thousands—of years. Which, to me, says it’s time for a change.
Which is probably why, when it came to deciding where to study, I chose the farthest and most different place I could possibly get. This is my second year at a London university, studying to be a vet, and moving away from Elderfell was liberating. Here, I always feel like there’s a piece of me missing. In London, I’m too busy to notice the empty places inside me.
But something always draws me back—a little voice whispering in my mind that this is where I belong, where I’m meant to be.
That doesn’t mean I have to listen—I have selective hearing when it comes to annoying little voices. This Christmas, I nearly didn’t come home. It’s always the time of year when the village goes into weirdness overdrive.
With a last look at Mum and Dad, I hurry back to my room. My case is still on the floor, unpacked, and I pull out underwear, jeans, and a sweater, then dress quickly. I glance at the mirror over the dressing table, but it has a black cloth over it.
My mother’s doing. All mirrors are covered with black cloth from the solstice until dawn on Christmas Day. Apparently, it’s to stop the Wild Hunt from watching us.
Zayne thought it was hilarious.
