What Happens in Salem (Extended)

Through the Freaky-Deaky Looking Glass

A solitary gray moth floats through the open attic window on the slightest of breezes, skittering past the three Magicians that had tumbled in before it, now in a heap of dust and "goddammits" on the floor.

They fall silent, eyes following the fluttering creature alighting on the face of the full length, gilded mirror sinking its clawed feet into what was probably a magic shag carpet a yard and two faded trunks away from the intruders.

The glassy surface ripples like water beneath the moth's feet, and it sinks, disappearing with a final shudder of its wings.

Alice, Quentin, and Eliot rise, and Eliot shakes the dust from his top hat, quipping dryly, "Think it's an omen?"

Quentin clenches and unclenches his jaw, knuckles white around Julia's notebook. "This is it," he whispers, free fingers flexing to form the beginning of a defensive spell. "The Beast is coming for us. God. I thought we had more time."

Alice sets her hand on his forearm, voice shifting from quivering to confident with some effort, "Or it could just be a moth, Quentin." She squeezes his sleeve and manages a small step forward. "Considering we're in a centuries old Brakebill's storage closet wearing clothing borrowed from a seventeenth century museum exhibit."

Quentin wants to believe the fearlessness in her eyes, but can't ignore the hunk of ice weighing down the pit of his stomach.

"Well, as much as I'd like to die looking like a sexy pilgrim," Eliot interrupts, tilting his top hat rakishly at his reflection and grimacing, "why don't you go through the freaky-deaky looking glass first, Alice?"

Quentin cringes, raising a hand as if he can block the words from their reception.

"Fine," she counters shrilly, and Quentin imagines Penny rolling his eyes and calling them all pussies.

Alice strides up to the mirror, hair whipping behind her, and reaches out her fingertips.

"No! Wait. Alice," Quentin objects, pressing her arm down. "I know you want to thank Julia and me for bringing your brother back to life, but you don't have to die in the process." His chuckle borders on hysteric, but her surprised, silver gaze anchors him. "I can't let anyone else suffer because I opened up Pandora's Box and the most evil creature in Fillory crawled out, okay?"

"Hey, we all opened up that box, Quentin! Garden variety magic wasn't good enough for us," she gestures grandly and sparks light the air at her fingertips. "I barely know you, but I wanted to go to freaking Fillory!"

"Actually, I had nothing to do with that," Eliot interrupts. "I was in bed with a hangover."

"I know you feel like it's your fault Julia's gone, Q," Alice continues, "but the Beast could wipe out every magician on the planet. You need us."

"Besides," Eliot intervenes once more, stepping between them and placing a hand on each of their shoulders, "we're only time traveling to the biggest massacre of magicians in American history. What could go wrong?"

"Comforting, Eliot," Quentin replies frowning, gaze stuck on the spot where the moth disappeared.

"What's that date again? The eleventh, the twenty-first?" Eliot grins, leaning lazily into their shoulders.

Alice and Quentin furrow their eyebrows.

"Kidding," Eliot drawls, shoving his friends into the mirror one after the other. "Geronimo, witches." He flings himself after them.