Obsidian Mirror Read Online Free PDF Page A

cousins in St. Ives. It was okay—the beach and all that—but I missed him. He was away two weeks, then three, then four. At first there were phone calls, e-mails. He was careful not to give anything away. I remember him saying something once about a mirror, and then stopping himself. As if he shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
    “A mirror?”
    “Yes.
‘Of course, the mirror’s giving any number of weird results.’
When I asked him what he meant, he changed the subject. I got the feeling someone had come into the room, or was there with him. He laughed. I remember that clearly because it was the last time I ever spoke to him.”
    Wharton kept silent. Jake took a breath. Then he said, “There were no more calls. When we called the Abbey all we got was voicemail. After three weeks of that my aunt got worried. She called the police. They went there and spoke to Venn. He said my father had left the Sunday before to catch the nine thirty train to London. But he wasn’t on the Plymouth station CCTV, and he never arrived in London. And since that day, no one has set eyes on him. My father just vanished from the face of the earth.”
    Wharton had no idea what to say. He sipped the wine, barely noticing the sharp taste, and put the glass down. The plane veered, and the glass slid gently toward the edge of the table. He caught it. “So, you were left all alone.”
    Jake drank some Coke. “I stayed on at my aunt’s for a while, but it was awkward. Then she had a call from Venn. He said as he was my godfather, he’d take responsibility for me. He arranged for the school in Switzerland. Expensive. And as far away from himas possible.” He turned, suddenly urgent. “You see what he was doing? Paying a fortune to keep me away. Because he killed Dad.”
    “Keep your voice down.” Wharton looked around anxiously. A dark-haired man across the aisle had glanced at them from behind his newspaper. “You can’t just go around making wild accusations.”
    “Why not?”
    “What on earth would be his motive?”
    “This thing they were working on! My father knew too much.”
    “Highly unlikely. And you have no evidence of—”
    “Yes I have.” The words were very quiet, but they were bitter as acid. Wharton felt a small shiver travel down his spine.
    “What do you mean?”
    Jake looked at him. “Swear you’ll never tell anyone.”
    “Oh for heaven’s sake…”
    “Swear.”
    “What is this?
Hamlet
? All right, I swear.”
    Jake kept his eyes on him. Then he pulled out a small wallet from his pocket. Wharton stared at it. It was made of some dark leather, very worn and stained.
    “Was that your father’s?”
    “Yes. He always kept it with him. He used to say it was crocodile skin, and that he and Venn had killed the croc one time in Africa, when it was terrorizingsome village. It meant a lot to him.” Jake opened it; he took out a photo and a sheet of paper. “Last term a parcel came for me through the post. I don’t know who sent it. The postmark was British. These were inside.” Reluctant, he handed Wharton the paper. “It’s definitely my father’s writing.”
    Fascinated, Wharton took out his glasses and put them on. The letter was very short and had obviously been written in a hurry. The writing was scrawled; in places the pen had broken through the paper.
    Wintercombe Abbey
    Sunday 14th August
    Dear Jake,
    Not sure if I’ll get this to the post; it’s a bit of a walk to the village, so I may leave it till tomorrow. Sorry not to have called—we’ve been incredibly busy with the Chronoptika.
I can’t tell you how fascinating it is, and what success we’ve already had! If all goes well tonight, we should go public, whatever O says.
It will blow the scientific world wide open! Here’s a little present for you. O wouldn’t approve, but I can’t resist sending it. See you in a few days, promise.
    Love always,
Dad     
    He folded it slowly and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Jake. Really