Beyond the Reflection’s Edge Read Online Free PDF Page B

that, his only real friend in the world was going to take off and leave him alone there. Could it possibly get any worse?
    Clara reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “Going to the safe house is what your father wanted. You’ve always trusted him before, haven’t you?”
    He raised his chin just enough to nod. He had always trusted Dad, but he wasn’t around anymore to make sure his promises were being kept.
    She caressed the back of his head. “Oh, Nathan, I’m so sorry. There are a million things to do, and no one can expect you to do them. If I don’t concentrate on my duties, I’ll break down and cry.”
    A wave of sorrow swept through his mind, sending a hot flash through his body. “I know what you mean.”
    “I’ll get everything you need to make you comfortable in your new home. You’ll feel better in no time.”
    He squeezed his eyelids shut and whispered, “I don’t want to feel better.” Tears begged to get out. A new shaking sensation crawled through his insides, more like a cathartic convulsion than a shiver. Thoughts of his mother — her gentle touch, her kind words, her matchless talent — flashed in his mind. Then memories of his father — his strong embraces, his odd, yet direct way of teaching, his protective hands — seemed so real, almost as if he were whispering at this moment, touching his son’s shoulder the way he always used to do when he wanted to share a philosophical gem.
    Nathan trembled. It was too much. It was just too much. Finally he wept. His head bobbed, and his nose began running. As Clara’s fingers massaged his scalp, he swallowed down the pain. He couldn’t let it boil over like that. If he kept it up, he’d be blubbering like a baby.
    After a few seconds, he sniffed and looked at her through a blur of tears, trying hard to keep his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever Dad said, but don’t bother getting a violin. I don’t want to play anymore.”
    “Don’t go making promises you’ll be sorry for later.” She flipped on the Jeep’s stereo.
    Violin music streamed through the speakers. Vivaldi. At other times it would have made him feel better. Now? Not likely. He sniffed again and wiped his eyes with the blanket. He didn’t really want to be comforted. He just wanted to go off and wander in the woods, feel sorry for himself for a while. He deserved it, didn’t he? He’d lost everything and no one really seemed to care. It was time to mope and be miserable.
    But Vivaldi had other ideas. As they drove on and on, the sweet violins bathed him in soothing majesty, stroking his achingheart with the very same four seasons of life he had so recently celebrated with his own violin.
    After a Beethoven sonata, a Mozart symphony, and dozens of miles of dazzling cornfields waving their golden tassels in the brightening sunlight, Nathan slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under his body. He gazed at Clara, blinking through his diminishing tears. “Do you really think Mom and Dad are dead?”
    Clara’s lips wrinkled. “Yes, dear. You saw the bodies. That was no illusion.”
    Nathan gave a nod, then tightened his chin. He couldn’t believe it. No … he
wouldn’t
believe it. No matter how many times his dad’s investigations had exposed a nest of human rats, he had always managed to escape their plans for revenge. As a master illusionist, his collection of mirrors and lights would confuse his pursuers, allowing him to disappear like a phantom. Maybe even the bodies in the coffins were an illusion of some kind. And how could Dad ever be duped so easily by Dr. Simon? He was too smart for that. He was too …
    He shook his head slowly. Clara was right. This time everything was different. Dad was dead. So was Mom. Not only that, his father had said that Dr. Simon wasn’t so bad, so maybe he really was fooled. And maybe this Mictar was just too powerful.
    He breathed a deep sigh and pressed his teeth down on his bottom lip. He had lost this battle. Sure, he and