Page 179 of Bone Year

I know it is the mirror without lifting the cloth.

I can feel it.

The same low pulse I felt in the cavern at the Mirror Ceremony, the same slow heartbeat that is somehow not coming from a heart, the same listening presence that knew my name before I gave it to anyone. It’s here, waiting.

I stop in front of the cloth.

It knows I’m here.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“We do not choose to become healers. The work selects us, and we spend the rest of our lives pretending we agreed.”

— Professor Nestor, Lecture Notes

I touch the black cloth, and it falls to the floor, forcing me to take a step back.

It’s the mirror. The same bone frame, ribcage curling up the side, antlers branching out at the top. The liquid surface ripples, and my reflection ripples with it.

It knows me, and I don’t have time to be afraid.

I close my eyes, breathe in, and think about the list of questions I’ve been carrying for far too long.

Then I step inside the mirror.

I’m instantly swallowed by a cold darkness. I look around but can’t see anything. Then I hear the heartbeat, as a presence settles around me.

“Maelisss Rossse.”

The sound of my name slithers up my spine like a serpent, and I try not to shiver.

“You have come to viss-it me again so sssoon. So sssearching.”

“Before, you recognized my blood. You said my father walked these halls, but I can’t find him in any school record.”

The presence shifts in the dark.

“Ah. Yesss. Perhapsss...you were searching for the wrong name.”

I take a breath and hug my arms around myself to keep warm. I don’t like these cryptic answers. I need to be more clear.

“Did Charlie Rose attend or visit Ashwell Academy?”

“No, sweet child. Charlie Rose never set foot inssside thessse walls. He wasss a healer of a small village. He stayed where he wasss kept.”

As though my father was placed in Ironfen by someone and meant to stay there.

I press a hand against my chest before I can stop it. I know where this is going, but I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it until I hear it.

“Was Charlie Rose my father?”

An ill feeling takes hold.

“Not by blood.”

I take in a sharp breath that feels like it’s going to come back out as a sob, and I grit my teeth and force it down. Not now. Not here.

“Who is my biological father?”