My Date Reflects Badly on Mirrors

How it begins

In the mirror, the man behind Lena was crying.

In the ballroom, he was holding a dust sheet.

She looked from one to the other.

"Condensation?" she asked.

"No."

"Old silvering can produce unusual distortions."

"Not usually a different marriage."

The reflected man wore a wedding ring. The real one did not. Beyond his reflected shoulder stood a kitchen with yellow walls, a sleeping dog, and a woman whose face Lena could not quite see.

She stepped sideways.

The kitchen vanished.

The mirror showed the ballroom again, empty except for her own figure and an overturned chair.

"I was told this was a routine conservation job."

"It is," the man said. "The frame is loose."

Lena set her tool roll on a covered table. Rain pressed against the tall windows. Under the dust, the room smelled faintly of oranges and cold stone.

"What should I call you?"

"Emil."

"And what should I call that?"

He glanced at the glass.

"A mistake I didn't make."

"That sounds fortunate."

"It depends which side you're standing on."

She inspected the lower corner without touching the surface. A fine crack ran behind the silvered border, stopping exactly where the reflected kitchen had begun.

There were twelve mirrors around the room.

Each wore a cloth.

"Before we start," she said, "I need to know whether anything in here can injure me."

"Broken glass. The west balcony. Occasionally my employer's optimism."

"Anything else?"

Emil folded the dust sheet carefully.

"If a reflection asks you to stay, don't answer immediately."

Lena looked up.

In the narrow uncovered strip behind him, the yellow kitchen had returned.

This time the woman was facing the mirror.

She wore Lena's coat.

Lena reached for the cloth and covered the glass herself.

"Right," she said. "Let's put that in the risk assessment."