Zaira sat in her rocking chair and placed her tea on her side table. She watched fluffy white clouds traverse the bright blue sky as she waited for Baby to join her. After a moment, Baby materialized on her lap, the little one’s weight gradually appearing until Zaira could wrap her arms around a physical body. Baby never failed to join her here.
Some days she just held Baby; other days Baby would babble to her. The child’s babbling could sometimes be heard clearly or other times it would sound like she was babbling on the other side of a wall. But of course, when Baby decided to cry, Zaira would hear that loud and clear. Baby didn't cry very often, but when she did, the cries demanded her attention. Zaira found herself dropping everything to go find Baby.
A ghost child had very few needs so often Zaira only had to find Baby for the tears to stop flowing. Baby would give her a smile and a giggle then disappear. Baby would also often demand to be held several times a day. Sometimes, when Zaira was doing chores, she felt little hands grab at her legs, a face rub against her leg for a brief moment.
Baby had also started greeting her at the door. The first time Zaira had come home from a contract and little footsteps had run towards her, materializing into a happy toddler; little arms in the air, a big smile on their face, and colliding with her legs, Zaira had cried. The woman always scooped Baby up and held her close.
The loner loved it all. She had missed it. But every so often, the truth would crack down upon her weighing her down with a simple fact. The girl was dead. Zaira was living a lie.
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“Hello dear!”
“Hi, Hannah!” Zaira picked herself off the floor and cast her glamours. Stretching, she ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.
She heard a little whine and looked down to see Baby holding the teddy she had bought her, pouty-lipped at having playtime interrupted. Zaira gave her a small smile and the girl faded away.
Zaira picked up the fallen teddy and tossed it onto her bed. She closed her bedroom door behind her as she went to greet Hannah. Her ears perked up as she rounded the corner of the staircase. Hannah was thanking a young man. The man nodded to Zaira when she appeared in the hall. He lifted a tall skinny rectangular package into the entryway and made his exit.
“What’s this?”
“A gift.” Hannah's eyes sparkled and her hands were clasped together in front of her chest.
“Why?”
“I saw it in stores and thought of you. I think it will suit your tastes. Go on, open it.”
Zaira approached the box, she snapped the top open using her disguised claws. She was curious as to what someone would give her. She had not received a physical gift in a long time.
The object in the box was covered by foam.
“I would lay it on the floor,” Hannah said.
Zaira did so. A knot rose in her throat at the weight of it. The side of the box lifted like a book cover. The foam was lifted. It was a mirror. Thankfully the protective peel obscured her visage. Zaira bit her lip and hid her clenched fists behind her back.
“Do you like it?”
Zaira plastered a smile on her face before looking up to answer Hannah.
“Yes, I do.” A lie.
“It’ll go well with my ensuite.” Not a lie. The mirror had a driftwood-shaped frame. The wood was the near exact color of the bathroom furniture and would contrast the wall.
“Thank you. I’ll install it tonight.” Another lie.
“Why don’t we do that now?” Hannah bounced a little, smiling.
“Umm, ok.”
“Lead the way dear.”
Zaira closed the box and picked it up. She stopped at the closet to grab her tools and made her way upstairs. Hannah followed close behind.
“Planning on having a few children dear?”
Zaira's heart stopped, and she froze. Hannah nearly collided with her. Zaira turned to Hannah, scrutinizing the elder’s face, forcing her brain to try and understand the comment. Hannah's expression fell.
“I'm sorry dear. That was in poor taste. I'd forgotten.” Hannah’s gaze fell to the object which had prompted the comment. “Was that your boy’s?”
Zaira pinched her lips, turned, snatched up the wooden horse Baby had left in the hallway, and pitched it into one of the empty rooms, slamming the door behind it.
Zaira marched to her bedroom. She fumbled with the doorknob of the closed door.
“I can-”
Zaira growled at the offered help. The door opened suddenly. She stumbled into the room. She headed straight to the ensuite, dropping and barely managing to place the mirror down gently.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Breath in.
Hannah waited a moment before shuffling into the bedroom. Zaira heard her do a lap around the room before joining her in the ensuite. Zaira kneeled and began preparing their project, taking out the instructions, the needed tools, and the needed hardware.
Zaira could feel Hannah’s presence behind her. It felt heavy, choking.
“Ask Hannah. That’s what you do, isn't it? Ask irritating questions?”
Zaira’s head snapped up to meet Hannah's teary eyes.
“It's OK. Let’s just get your mirror set up dear.”
Zaira exhaled sharply and scratched at her scalp. She stood up. “It’s like kicking a puppy -I’m sorry Hannah.”
“No, no you are right dear. I pry. Let’s get this done, shall we?”
Hannah leaned on the doorframe as she kneeled on the floor. The elder gave her a tight smile. Zaira stood for a moment before conceding and joining Hannah. The instructions were flipped open, and the few pieces counted.
Hannah read the first line out loud, but Zaira did not process it. She was staring at the floor, level hanging loosely in her hand,
“You can ask your question... if you'd like.” She was sure Hannah would ask sooner or later. If only another day.
“Are you sure?”
“Mmm.”
Hannah waved her hand about. “It's very – sterile, in here. You have nothing, you–.”
“I have my books.”
“Yes, your books… And a couple toys... Did you? Was your husband abusive?”
“He didn't start out that way.”
Hannah moved towards her; Zaira raised a hand between them.
“I was on the streets for a while. Rushka helped me get back on my feet. Now, please, can we? Get this over with?”
“Of course, dear. I'm sorry.”
Zaira stood and held the mirror up for a relative idea of where she would want it.
“This will certainly do the trick.”
“Yes.” Zaira faked a smile. She measured out where she wanted to drill the holes.
“Why don’t you already have a mirror in here?”
“Just never got to it I guess.”
“What's this?”
By the gods… How many questions does she think I can handle?
She glanced over to see what Hannah was talking about.
“It's a gel, made from healing blue cress. It helps heals burns, scrapes, and minimizes scars.”
“Well, that's practical. I had a cream similar for my boys. Used to go through many tubes. I think I still have one in the cupboard. But Ryan is too proud to use it and I don't really need it.”
Zaira cracked a smile. She had spotted Ryan with electrical tape on his hand the other day.
“Oh, you know...” Hannah launched into the story about when Ryan had cut his hand on some glass and refused to go to the hospital and how she and her teenage sons had practically tied his hands to get him in the car.
Zaira installed the mirror as she passively listened to this third rendition of the hand incident, then the elder told her a second iteration of the time when Arthur flew over the handlebars of his bike. In the end, a small smile graced Zaira’s lips, courtesy of the warmth in Hannah’s voice.
Though the smile disappeared when she stepped off the stool and looked at the covered mirror.
“Oh! It looks so good dear.”
“Yes. Thank you, Hannah.”
Hannah beamed at Zaira. The elder reached over and peeled away the protective film. She took a step back. “There, all done!”
Zaira pinched her lips and nodded, avoiding the reflective surface. She knelt and picked up her tools and the packing material. She guided Hannah downstairs. The elder was still chatting away, oblivious to the demon’s discomfort. Zaira guided her to the door and wished her a good evening.
That night Zaira went to take down the mirror. Her hands stopped inches from it and her arms lowered. She couldn't. It had been a gift.
Instead, she found a spare fitted sheet and covered the mirror with it, tucking in the edges.
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The sun shone its way through the window and touched Zaira’s sore face. She groaned and stretched. Her sleep had been as poor as usual, but she did feel a bit more rested. She rolled out of bed, removed her bloody towel, stripped her pillows, and used one of the dirty pillowcases to mop up the excess blood dripping down her face. She balled the soiled sheets, threw them on the floor, and headed to the bathroom.
Zaira froze. Looking at her was a mixed-breed creature that resembled a Yulmuth demon, its face shredded, swollen, and melting with dripping dark red blood.
Its teeth were bared. She growled at it. Her blood boiled and her eyes leaked tears. Her claws swiped at her reflection. Her mind was hazy, her body did not feel her claws connect to the glass, did not feel the sharp pieces cut her hand, nor did she hear the shattering gift and her louder snarl. The mirror now lay in pieces at her feet. She swayed and pulled on her hair. Her arms moved down to hold herself, comfort herself, yet her claws dug into her flesh, a reprimand.
A tiny noise pulled her from her trance. Her head snapped left. Baby was standing in the doorframe. Eyes teary and hand in mouth. Drooling and snotty the girl started to whine.
“Oh, sweetie I’m sorry,” Zaira whispered. She took a step towards the ghost, wanting to reach for her. The child started crying and ran down the hallway. With that Zaira let out of sob of her own. I really am a monster.
Blood dripped to the floor as her legs trembled and gave out beneath her.
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By the time Zaira woke up her room had darkened, the sun now on the other side of the house. Her whole body was throbbing, her throat dry. She flexed her hand and for the first time felt the embedded pieces of the mirror. She hissed. She sat up slowly, some of the pieces she had been laying on fell to the floor, and others stayed embedded in her skin. She plucked a few of them out as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. What stuck out to her was the lack of shards. Apart from the pieces which she had been laying on, there were no others to be seen.
She looked away from the floor to the cabinet, to the door, then towards the bath. Zaira blinked hard several times. The toddler was in the tub, stacking the glass pieces. When the top of the sharpened tower inevitably collapsed, Baby only whined and started her quest once more.
“What are you doing?”
Baby turned to her with wide eyes. As Zaira struggled to get back on her feet the toddler scrambled to get out of the tub. A little leg went over the side and stretched, toes wriggling as she tried to reach the ground, but her leg was several inches too short, and Baby fell off the side. Her back hit the ground and she started crying.
“Really?” Zaira wasn’t certain if a ghost could physically hurt itself. Had the girl scared herself?
Zaira took a step towards the ghost Baby jumped up and ran. Not out the door, but right into Zaira’s legs. The woman’s hand raised a moment as she took a step back to brace herself. She felt the ghost on her, but no force had been applied. The few glass pieces still stuck to her skin had not been pushed into her. But even if they had been, she would be too happy that the child had run to her to notice. Baby clung to her leg as she continued to cry. Zaira bent over and gently unclasped the little hands and picked the toddler up. The ghost weighed nothing, but Zaira’s body still objected at every movement. She held the Baby tightly. Crying turned to whining, which turned to sniffling. The sniffling quietened and faded, much like the ghost’s form. Zaira was left holding nothing at all. She looked at her hands. Still red-skinned and bleeding, her thumb started starching her claw into her palm. Her arms dropped to her side.
She looked to the mirror’s empty spot, then to the pile of shards in the tub. She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths. Zaira turned her attention to the pieces still attached to her. She reached for the first piece and pulled it out. A sharp pain, then it reduced to the dull pain of a cut. She was used to this. Another one out, then another. She patched herself up, then swept the floor.
Then she knelt by the bath and removed the fallen tower. Zaira caught a glimpse of herself in one of the larger pieces. She barely looked at the red inflamed face and recast her glamours. A wave of anti-demon hatred swept over her. It didn’t last. Those feelings had been thought to her only in the last few centuries by humans. No, it wasn’t her demonic side she had an issue with, and not for the first time she found herself wishing she was a pure-blooded Yulmuth. Her other half...
The Borim... A species so evil they had been targeted for extinction by the gods themselves. She had barely escaped the execution... Zaira swayed. She pressed against a fresh wound, dragging herself back to the present.
The mirror was, theoretically, salvageable. But she didn’t want to fix it. Though it had been from Hannah… No, she wouldn’t fix it, for her own sanity. She put the collected pieces in a box to be recycled later. She also took the time to fetch the vanity pieces from the attic. She would need to wash her ceilings too at some point - and place the staircase back. But today was not the day.
A quick snack later and she was back in bed. Another waste of a day. She snuggled facedown into her pillow. Leaving it pressed there despite the pain. Maybe not wasted, it wasn’t like she had a contract. However, it made her feel indolent, not even being able to make herself a proper meal.
Her body tensed as she felt the bed shift. She heard crawling on the covers and then little hands were on her back, then they lifted her wing, and she felt the Baby crawl under it, tucking themselves tightly against her side. Zaira released the breath she had been holding and smiled.