[Mirror Me Series Book 1]
Hope Martinez was taught to fear her reflection, but the magical world on the other side is too tempting. Descended from those who can use mirrors as weapons, Hope has many dangers to face if she wants to get home before a...
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Owen and I sat silently in the church awaiting our judgment. The tough-looking man from before positioned himself between us; his broadsword scrapped the tile floor. Tiny licks of green flame sparked where stone met blade. This man's attentive eyes and stern brow assured us that any attempt to escape or fight back would end in immediate failure. I shifted uncomfortably as my paralyzed limbs tingled back to life. The pain of the taught rope binding my wrists and ankles started to show on my face leading this man to tighten his grip around his blade's handle.
I peeked at Owen to know if he too was feeling the same. Instead of pain his eyes carried an overwhelming concern mixed with deep regret. Before he could catch me staring, I turned away focusing my attention back on this man between us. He scowled at Owen any chance he got leaving me to be the third wheel in this divisive relationship.
A fear creeped into my mind as I contemplated what terrible fate would befall Owen and I. As far as the townsfolk understood we had no reflection like the Half-Lives that destroyed their village and after our display in the street perhaps just as heartless. We might be put to work, or jailed, or worse put to death. Maybe this is what my abuelita in the dream was warning me about. Silly to think it did little to help me now.
With my nerves reaching an all time high I began hunting for a distraction. I found solace in the structure around me. The church, untouched by the departed blaze, breathed simplicity in its architecture. The artistic wonder came instead from its ornate frescoes and carvings. Unfamiliar with the type of worship in Tartarus, I started to make comparisons to similar cultures I had read about in books. From what I could see in the colorful images, it showed a striking resemblance to Greek and Roman mythology mixed with Medieval artistry. Everything from the creation of the universe to the stories of the stars played out in one extensive vision. Behind the desolate stone altar rested a painting of a torso and arms. They appeared to be that of a man rising up from a silver lake. The face of which had been crudely chipped away, and the roman numerals CVIII were etched beside it.
After what seemed like an hour, the front doors opened, and the old woman with the long blond hair and decorative robe came treading up the center aisle. Following behind her were a small troupe carrying trays of food and clothes to wear.
"Sir Daarith?" asked the old woman to the tough-looking man as she arrived before us, "why must you always appear so condescending. The time for fighting is over. Sanctuary and understanding reside here in the walls of the church." In accordance to the woman's instructions, the followers placed the trays and clothes down on a wooden table by the altar and hastily departed. The old woman smiled at Daarith as the doors of the church closed shut. "Now be a dear and cut their bonds. Let our honored guests eat their fill and be merry."
"Cut their bonds! Honored guests!" Daarith gasped. He stiffened his posture in protest. "I do believe my lady sage has lost her mind. These monsters are—"
"Our friends," interrupted the old woman leaning over the altar. "And they are to be treated with the highest respect."
"Have you forgotten that they kicked poor Benjamin and raised their weapon at us."
