First Reflection

I heard the sound of hooves.

But it wasn't galloping. No. The slow clip-clopping on pavement meant someone had stopped their horse right outside our house.

Huh? I turned towards a curtained window. Thought we weren't expecting anyone else today. Sis will answer. I gotta get ready!

Red headphones on my keyboard watched me fling away a towel. But I couldn't concentrate while changing. Faint voices outside kept my ears up: the dialect of old men. Someone would have rung our doorbell by now unless they weren't here for nothing.

Though one voice down there didn't sound human.

I finished slipping into tight pants, almost tripping as I danced keeping balance. Cramped pockets kept ejecting my passport. And for some reason my white, buttoned shirt smelled like women's perfume.

"Sis! Did you borrow my clothes again?" I said while buttoning up. No reply.

Our downstairs bell finally rang. A long, slow ding.

Christ. Guess I gotta get it. With dress shoes on, I flung open my door and rushed downstairs. Hurried steps echoed off hardwood halls full of family portraits and mementos. The spacious living room zoomed by until I grasped a doorknob.

"Hello. Who is—" But as the door opened, I looked down at a fat, frog-faced man wearing a suit and striped fedora. His handlebar moustache curving upwards helped conceal a wart on his cheek.

"Greetings, youngster." The man nodded before pulling out an ID badge. "I am Officer Beans with the Bureau of Public Order. I'm going door-to-door in this neighborhood on an official investigation."

"Investigation?"

"Yes. May I have your name?"

I hesitated. "Chance?"

"Hello, Chance. We have reason to believe Whisperers may be targeting this area for infiltration." He tried peering into the house. "Have you noticed suspicious activity around?"

"Uhhh . . ." My eyes were distracted towards a horse waiting on the road.

Another well-dressed officer was feeding the stallion apple slices. Fingers sheathed in metallic armor let themselves be licked clean until the horse seemed satisfied. But the officer's face—hidden within a steel mask resembling a saint—remained silent without saying anything. Then his head turned towards me.

"Hmmm?" Officer Beans peered over his shoulder. "Ah, that's my bos—partner. They're acting as support today. Don't mind them."

Kinda weird. But I've heard weirder rumors. "Yeah, no problem. What makes you say Whisperers are running around here though?"

Beans faked coughed into his knuckles, as if preparing to lie. "Our internal research shows Whisperers might've found an exploit that lets them bypass safety features in mirrors for this specific zip code."

"Has someone gotten hurt?"

"Ehemm. Not yet; we're being proactive. Skilled Whisperers can exit from any mirror, so there's a chance the ones we're looking for could've accessed these homes."

"I-I see." I'd been unconsciously tapping my feet, arms crossed. There wasn't time for me to be small-chatting. "I'll be on the lookout for anything suspicious then. Thanks for stopping by."

But as I began shutting the door, Officer Beans lifted a hand.

"One more thing," he said. "Are your parents home by any chance?"

"Parents?" I raised a brow. "We don't have parents anymore."

"O-Oh! I apologize." Beans tilted his hat down to hide shamed eyes. "I'll depart now. Please enjoy your day."

The other officer in a steel mask had already mounted his horse, ready to go. He watched as Beans approached before both men rode away towards our neighbor's house. Though partners, the masked officer seemed much more high-ranking; almost like nobility.

Huh. Well that was strange. I closed the door then ran back upstairs. But as I walked through our dark hall, I heard a rustling coming from my room.

"Hey! Who's in there?"

I barged inside. And as expected, someone stood in front of my closet pulling out clothes.

"Oh, hey bro," my older sister said. She wore nothing except her bra and pink panties. "Lemme borrow this shirt."

"F-Fate!" I stammered, trying to cover my face. "Sis! Chad will be here soon! Put some clothes on!"

"That's what I was doing just now."

"No! Not my clothes! Why are you always taking stuff?"

She wiggled into a black T-shirt before sitting on my bed. Her placid, plastered expression hinted she'd either just woken up or had a hangover. "Mmm. Guy's clothes are way comfier. Plus, my boyfriend thinks it's kinda hot when I wear them, hehe."

"Then wear your boyfriend's clothes!"

All she did was yawn in response. "Anywho, who was at the door?"

Geez. I pulled out a comb to start combing my still damp hair. A scoop of gel from the dresser massaged into my hands as I looked into the mirror. "Police came asking about Whisperers. Nothing big."

"Seriously? Lame. Was hoping my boyfriend came."

"Which one?"

"Hey! I only have one."

"Yeah, a different one every month." I lathered bigger scoops of gel onto my head. Honey-brown hair weaved through my fingers while I sculpted glossy cascades, until the slicked top of a pompadour took shape.

Fate over on my bed shrugged. Through the mirror's reflection, I could see her cross her legs before she beamed over a grin.

"You know bro, I bet you're still just jealous you'll never have black hair like me."

Tsk. "Jealous? What for?"

She glanced towards a mafia movie poster on the wall. "You've always been obsessed with mobster stuff. But you'll never have their iconic look."

"Yeah well, I don't care."

"Says the person always slicking their hair back."

"Coincidence."

After a quick trip to the bathroom for hairspray, I came back to my room donning an impromptu pompadour—slicked-back hair that may or may not resemble mobsters from movies. The sole caveat missing: our mom's dark hair I couldn't inherit. Sigh.

"Graaaaah!" Fate was busy kicking her legs in the air as she tried putting on my pants. She had to roll up pants sleeves twice before anyone could see her ankles. "Good enough for now."

"Just don't spray perfume again," I said while searching through my closet. I pulled out a burgundy tie and then a vest. "How do these look?"

"Nerdy," Fate smiled. "But it's nice. Reminds me of stuff my ex wore."

"Should I bother asking which ex?"

"I'm kicking you out of the house if you do."

I finished putting everything on before snapping a wristwatch around me. The time read past noon, and scheduled meetings approached.

"I gotta go turn on our mirror," I said in the doorway. "There's breakfast downstairs if you want any."

But Fate had long since cocooned herself in blankets, letting off fake, muffled snores.

There's just no handling this girl . . . I switched off the light and softly closed the door. Innate instincts within me as man of the house meant I couldn't let my sister waste away. Though letting her decay meant I'd at least get some peace and quiet.

I fixed my tie as I walked into our living room. The spacious area was glistening with pompous, lavish furniture drowning in palettes of white. Natural light helped accent the bold choice of plates and porcelain vases. And decorations—cleaned weekly—shone so the sole specks of black around were ottomans stuffed with old books.

"Now let's get started . . ." I ventured towards a towering mirror nailed to the wall. It was door-shaped and featured assortments of dials, knobs, and switches like something plucked from steampunk stories. Older models preferred function over form.

After checking my wristwatch to confirm 12:30, I turned a red dial on the mirror's frame. The dial rotated clockwise until it locked into place with an audible "click"; nothing else occurred.

Then I cautiously backed up.

Reflected in the tall mirror still remained me and our living room. My face—contorted from exhaustion—stared back at me with no other place to look. Tired, hazel eyes checked if my vest and hair were fine, but everything seemed okay.

On cue, I heard a hissing noise that morphed into bubbling. Ripples appeared on the mirror's surface, boiling with intensity until something began emerging.

An arm. It shot out to grab me but missed as I dodged.

"Bahaha! I'll get ya' next time!" A grinning face wearing sunglasses stepped out. Boots thudded onto tiles as someone donned in punk clothes dusted themselves off. His leather jacket came studded with more spikes than I could count, and it'd been embroidered with enough patches to dub him a walking billboard.

We couldn't look more different.

Well, at least Chad is extra energetic today. I let him pat my back in greeting while he glanced around.

"Hey, hey! Where's Fate?" Chad said. "Is she single again yet?"

"Give it a few more days probably."

"Wowza! Tell her I said hi, haha!"

After rolling my eyes, I reached towards the mirror's red dial and turned it back. A locking sound rang that meant our mirror was sealed once more.

Chad and I ventured into our kitchen. He sat around the table while I opened a cabinet and pulled out my camera.

"Oh! Did ya' get a new strap?" Chad said.

"Yeah, good eyes."

"Heh. Gonna try showing me up, huh?" He lifted his own DSLR camera strapped around his neck. "We're havin' big fun today!"

"Did you bring your passport?" I said when I sat across from him. "We might visit more than New York today."

"Woo-baby! I'm ready for anywhere as long as we get good snappies!"

"Yeah. Hopefully it's not too crowded either."

We talked about our plans before getting ready to leave. Chad laid his camera aside so he could lick a thumb and plaster his mohawk's stray hairs.

"Need hairspray?" I asked.

"Nah, I'm fine. Wish I could carry mirrors though." He flipped his phone into selfie mode to check his spiked, green hair. "Would make this whole mohawk business easier."

"Hey, you wanted it. I went with a pompadour."

"Faker! That's just slicked-back hair, haha!"

"G-Good enough! We said we'd try something new after graduation. Might as well have fun with it."

"Preach. Standing out's been workin' fine; we get asked for passports less often!"

"Let's see what happens today then." I scooted out from the chair and strapped on my camera. Chad followed along as we trekked back into the living room.

Hmmm. Wonder if he'll notice . . .

Chad's nose kept twitching like he smelled something strange.

"By the way," he said, "is it just me or did you spray on girl's perfume?"

"Tsk. Don't ask . . ."

Our Home Mirror stood waiting. The steampunk-esque contraption roared to life while I tinkered with dials and knobs. Pulling a safety pin unlocked the large, white, 100-dash dial for turning.

"Oh, can you hand me that notebook on the couch?" I asked Chad. "It's our coordinate roster."

"Huh? Alright." A short walk and he was back. "Here. Not sure why you need it though."

"Don't have Central Park's coordinates memorized," I said as I flipped open the black notebook. Pages showing sequences of long numbers whizzed by one by one, until I arrived at a section for northeastern states. Detailed were past trips my parents or grandparents might have taken. "Found it. We'll try another Communal Mirror there this time."

Chad chuckled. "Pfff. Way too old fashioned. Would've been easier finding coordinates online."

"You know they're blocked sometimes." I gave him a stink eye.

"Wh-Whatever. Just make sure nothing's outdated."

Several rows of numbers in the notebook were crossed out, hinting at Communal coordinates changing over time. But it was common practice to update coordinates when new ones were issued.

Dang. We've gone over there before, but looks like these mirrors have stricter regulations. Our plans should be fine though. I grabbed the white dial and started turning. Clockwise then counterclockwise, each spin carefully aligned digits on the 100-notch dial. It was like disarming safes—I told myself when I was younger. Each successful turn, each successful rotation, all clicked aloud as tumblers and gears shifted into place. 89, 75, 69 . . .

. . . 14. I finished inputting the twelve-number sequence. My hand closed the notebook before turning a final, small wheel on the mirror's frame to align an area code.

Then we heard sloshing sounds.

"Go time." Chad smiled beside me.

Just ahead, we could see the blurred outline of a city skyline manifesting in the mirror. Our reflections gradually disappeared until we were just shadows peering into another world.

"Hold on, we still gotta set a timer." I reached up towards a lever and pulled. Once. Twice. Each crank spun a dial that slotted in numbers until 6:30 appeared. Tick-tocking sounds commenced.

"6:30? Is that your bedtime, Chance? Haha!"

"No, but I don't trust Fate to resist sleeping at a guy's house."

"Oh. Point taken then."

With the timer set, our Home Mirror would automatically unlock at 6:30 and grant us fifteen minutes to return-warp—an important grace period for traveling.

Chad raised his phone again for a selfie check while I went to collect binoculars. I stuffed them inside a backpack filled with essentials we might need throughout the day. Actually, maybe it's a bit heavier than I'd like. Oh well.

We regrouped in front of the Home Mirror. Its reflective surface had morphed into a glittering gateway showing the vague outline of our destination.

"Heh! See ya' on the other side!" Chad leaped ahead and disappeared into the ripples.

I took one step forward, but part of me hesitated. I stood staring into what was half my reflection and half portal—a silver veil of truth. Today I had donned clothes I'd always been curious about, and also continued trying a new outlandish hairstyle. Though social isolation had made me weary about change, I could feel an eagerness welling as I took another step forward.

Slowly, my body phased through the glimmering reflection, until both feet stepped onto land far, far from home.