Chapter 19 · Whispers of the Mirror

"Don't you fucking look at her." Silas's palm slammed against the mirror, right over her face — her face, my face.

I flinched. His other hand was locked around my wrist. Hard. Like if he let go I'd fall straight through the glass.

"Let me go," I snapped. "You don't get to decide what I see."

"I do," he said. His voice was low, right against my ear. "When it's trying to take you."

The woman in the mirror didn't blink. She was me. Exactly me. Same scar on my left eyebrow from Klaus's ring. Same chipped front tooth I always hid. But her eyes — god, her eyes were dead. Empty.

And she was smiling.

I jerked against Silas. "Who is she? Who the hell is she?"

"No one." His chest hit my back. He was breathing hard. Too hard. "She's not real."

"She looks real to me!" I shoved at his arm. He didn't move. Of course he didn't. "She looks exactly like me, Silas! So what am I? Am I the copy? Am I the fake one you picked up because you felt sorry for her?"

That got him.