Fairest of All (Whatever After #1) (2 page)

o
ne step.
Creak.

Two steps.
Creak!

Three.
Creeeeeak!

I stop on the very bottom stair and look across the basement at the huge and creepy mirror. It’s still huge and creepy, but other than that, it looks perfectly fine. “There is not a single crack in the mirror,” I say. “We’re going back to bed. Now.”

“I never said it was
cracked
,” Jonah says. “I said it was hissing.” He approaches the mirror, getting so close his breath turns the glass foggy. “It must have stopped when I left.”

I stay where I am, taking in every last detail of the antique mirror the previous owners left behind. It’s twice the size of me. The glass part is clear and smooth. The frame is made of stone and decorated with carvings of small fairies with wings and wands. I don’t know why the old owners didn’t take it with them, except … well, it’s creepy. And attached to the wall. With big, heavy Frankenstein bolts.

In the reflection I see my shoulder-length curly brown hair. My lime-green pajamas. My striped slippers. Only, there’s something off about my reflection, so I turn away. I don’t know
what
exactly, but it’s weird.

“It’s not hissing,” I say, checking out the rest of the basement. Black leather couch. Desk. Swivel chair. Lots and lots of bookshelves, all filled with my parents’ old law books, which they never look at but don’t want to throw away. Mom and Dad are both lawyers. Unlike me, neither of them wants to be a judge.

For the record: I’m going to be a really great judge because I’m all about peace and order. I’ll make sure justice is always served, because it’s not fair when bad people don’t get in trouble, or when bad things happen to good people.

Like my parents making me move to Smithville.

“You have to knock,” Jonah says.

His words pull me back. “What’s that?”

“On the mirror,” he says, his eyebrows scrunching together. “You have to knock.”

I laugh. “I’m not knocking on the mirror! Why would anyone knock on a mirror?”

“They would if it was an accident! See, I was playing flying crocodile when —”

“What’s flying crocodile?” I ask.

“An awesome new game I invented. I’m a pirate and I’m being chased by crocodiles, except my crocodiles can fly and —”

“Never mind,” I say, regretting I asked. “How did this lead you to the mirror?”

“Well, when I was being chased by one of the flying crocodiles —”

“One of the
imaginary
flying crocodiles.”

“— when I was being chased by one of the
imaginary
flying crocodiles, I tripped and smacked into the not-imaginary mirror. It sounded like a knock. I’ll do it again. Ready?”

Ready for what? I’m ready to get back into my toasty bed. But to him I say, “Go ahead.”

He lifts his fist and knocks.

We wait. Nothing happens.

“Nothing’s happening,” I tell him.

But then I hear a low hissing sound.

Ssssssssssssssssssssss.

My whole body tenses. I do
not
like hissing. Especially hissing mirrors. “Um, Jonah?”

“See? Now check this out. Look what happens when I knock twice!”

He knocks again, and a warm light radiates from the mirror, too. A warm
purple
light.

“See?” Jonah says. “Purple! Told you!”

My mouth goes dry. What is going on? Why is the mirror in our basement turning colors? Mirrors should not change colors. I do not like mirrors that change colors!

“This is when I went to get you. But I want to see what happens if I knock again. Three’s a charm, right?”

“Jonah, no!”

Too late. He’s already knocking.

Our reflection in the mirror starts to shake.

I don’t like shaking mirrors any more than I like purple hissing mirrors.

“What’s it doing?” I whisper. My image is rippling like the surface of a lake. My insides are rippling, too. Have I mentioned that I want to be a judge because I like peace? And order? And not rippling, hissing, purple-turning mirrors?!

“It’s alive!” Jonah squeals.

The ripples in the mirror spin in a circle, like a whirlpool.

“We should go,” I say as tingles creep down my spine. “Like,
now
.” I try to pull Jonah away, but I can’t. Our images are churning around and around and around in the mirror like clothes in the dryer, and we’re being dragged toward the mirror. Jonah’s right foot slides forward. His sneaker squeaks against the concrete floor.

“It wants my foot,” Jonah cries.

“Well, it can’t have it!” I grab him tight. “You can’t have it, you … you mirror-thing!” I crane my neck toward the basement stairs. “Mom! Dad!” I yell. But they are two floors up and I closed the basement door. Why did I close the basement door? I snuck into a basement in the middle of the night and closed the door? What is wrong with me? I need backup! “Help!”

With my free hand I reach out and grasp the leg of the desk. My fingers burn, but I will absolutely not let go of my brother
or
the desk leg.

Whoosh!
Suddenly, the whole world turns sideways. Jonah and I are horizontal. We wave in the air like human flags, which makes no sense. I don’t
like
things that make no sense.

“Cool!” Jonah hollers. Is he smiling? He is! He’s smiling. How could he be having fun at a time like this?

My brother’s shoe disappears. Disappears right off his foot and goes into the mirror.

No! Impossible!

There’s a really loud buzzing, and my brother’s other shoe gets swallowed by the mirror, too.

Slurp.

My heart is racing, and I’m hot and cold at the same time, because that could not have just happened. None of this can be happening. And why weren’t Jonah’s shoes tied? Do I have to do everything myself?

My slippers are suddenly sucked off my feet.

So
not my fault. You can’t tie slippers.

A book flies off the bookshelf and into the mirror. And another. All my parents’ law books go —
swoop
— right off the bookshelf and into the mirror, their pages flapping like the wings of overexcited birds.

The swivel chair scoots across the floor.
Slurp!

My brother’s hands are slipping. “Abby?” he says, and for the first time tonight, my brother — who isn’t afraid of anything — sounds scared.

“Hold on!” I try to tighten my grip on his hand, but our palms are clammy. Pain shoots right from my fingers to my shoulders. I ignore it. I need to hold on. I
have
to hold on.

“Abby!”

“No!” I say, holding on even tighter. He flutters in the air. His eyes are wide and glowing purple.

“Jonah!” I scream. NO, NO, NO. I will NOT let the crazy mirror slurp up my brother. I’m in charge here! I will keep my brother safe!

I let go of the leg of the desk and grab him with both hands. With a satisfied grumble, the mirror sucks us both inside.

t
hump.

I land facedown on dirt. Dirt and leaves and grass. There’s a twig in my mouth. Blah. I pick it out and wipe my hand on my pajama bottoms.

“I think I just broke my head,” Jonah mumbles.

“Seriously?” I ask.

“No,” Jonah says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m okay.”

Good. I’m glad he’s okay. Now I don’t have to feel bad when I yell at him. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

I leap to my feet and tick off the answers on my fingers. “Exhibit A: You drag us to the basement. Exhibit B: You knock on the creepy mirror. And exhibits C, D, and E: You then proceed to knock
two more times
on the creepy mirror, and when it tries to suck us in? You. Said. ‘COOL!’ ”

“ ’Cause it was!” he exclaims. “Come on, Abby! That was so awesome! That was the most awesomest thing to ever happen to us.”

I shake my head. I’m not sure what even happened. Where are we?

I sniff. It smells like nature. I push myself up onto my elbows and look around. I see:

1. Large trees.
   
2. More large trees.
   
3. Even MORE large trees.
   

Um, why are there thousands of large trees in my basement?

Wait. My basement does not have trees.

I turn to Jonah. “We’re not in the basement!”

“I know,” Jonah says, nodding. “Sweet.”

“So where are we?”

“Somewhere awesome.”

“The backyard,” I say. “We have to be in the backyard. Right?” Except we have a tiny backyard. And our backyard has only two trees. Two scrawny trees. Not thousands of large trees.

“No way, we’re not in the backyard,” Jonah says, shaking his head.

“Maybe it looks different at night?”

“Nope. I think we’re in a forest.”

“Jonah, we can’t be in a forest! That’s impossible!”

“Well, maybe impossible things are possible?”

He
is impossible. I rub my eyes. “This makes no sense. Wait. What if we’re dreaming?”

“Both of us?” he asks, raising one eyebrow.

“Fine, me. What if I’m dreaming?”

He pinches me.

“Ow!”

“Not dreaming,” he proclaims. He bounces on his toes. “You are one hundred percent awake, and so am I, and we are in a forest. Hey, I’m hungry. Do you have any Cheetos?”

“Cheetos?”
I screech. “We’ve somehow been transported from our basement to a forest in the middle of the night, and you’re thinking about
Cheetos
?”

He scratches his belly. “The mirror was hungry, so it ate us. Now I’m hungry, and I would really like some Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. And maybe some ketchup.”

“That is disgusting,” I say. Jonah dips everything in ketchup. Even French toast.

“And it’s not the middle of the night,” he continues. “Look.”

I tilt my head. Blue sky peeks through the tops of the trees.

Before, it was night. Now it’s day.

I don’t understand what’s going on! I stomp my foot like a two-year-old.
Ouch.
A twig scratches my heel, because —
ohhhh
, that’s right — before the mirror ate me, the mirror ate my slippers. But here I am, so where are my fuzzy striped slippers?

First I will find my slippers. Then I will figure out how to get back to our basement.

That is my plan. Plans make me happy.

Step One: Find footwear.

I crane my neck and check out the scene. In addition to me and my brother, our basement chair is lying on its side a few feet from us. Some of the books from the bookshelf are also in the grass. And there are my slippers!

“Yay!” I cheer. I run toward them and slip them on. Ah. Fuzzy striped slippers can make a person feel much better.

I turn to Jonah. “Did you find your sneakers?”

“Yup,” he says, pointing at them.

“Well, put them on, and tie them this time.” I wait. “Are they tied?” I know he knows how to tie them, because I taught him. And I taught him the right way, not the baby way with two bows.

He groans and laces them extra tight.

Good. We’ve completed Step One. Now for Step Two: Get back to our basement.
Hmm.
That one’s tougher, but nothing I can’t handle.

I suppose it would help if I could figure out where we are.

We can’t be very far from home, since the whole trip only took, like, a minute. There must have been a tornado, or maybe even an earthquake. Yes, an earthquake! An earthquake that tossed us a few blocks from our house! Yes! We must have hit our heads and fallen asleep and
that’s
why it’s already daytime!

Now I just have to find our way home. Time to focus.

Growl.

What was that? Nothing. I must have imagined it.

Crack.

“Did you hear that?” Jonah whispers.

“Um. No?”

Growwwl.

My heart thumps. “Any chance it’s your stomach grumbling because you’re hungry?”

He scoots closer. “Maybe it’s an animal’s stomach. Because the animal is hungry.”

Growwwl, crack.

“Hungry for humans,” Jonah says, sounding a bit too excited for my liking.

Crack, growwwl.

Argh!
How am I supposed to focus on Step Two of my plan with scary animal-stomach noises all around me?

“I think we should go,” I tell him.

“Go where?”

Growl, crack, growl, crack, growl, crack, crack!

“Somewhere that isn’t here!”

I grab his hand and we run.