Hearts of Ice Page 2

  Evangeline shivered. Snow. Something wasn’t right.

  Her mother had always forbidden sledding and snow angels and snow forts. Evangeline didn’t even own a snowsuit. And it seemed like each move took them to places with shorter and shorter winters.

  She sat up and started rubbing the frost with the sleeve of her nightgown. Unlike her mother, Evangeline loved winter. Maybe that was why it seemed to follow her everywhere. But lately, the strange snow was coming more and more. It felt different, more urgent. As though it were calling her. And each time the snow came, her mother got closer to picking up and moving again.

  Last time, in Greenfield, Evangeline had been given a solo in the upcoming school chorus concert. Everyone had congratulated her! Girls who had never spoken to her before were coming up to her and telling her how good her audition was. She’d been walking on air, so excited to tell her mom when she got home. Of course, a blizzard hit, the likes of which Greenfield had never seen. Snow swirled, branches grew heavy with ice and snapped like firecrackers in the woods, and Evangeline had sleepwalked out her bedroom window onto the roof and danced under the moon. They had sold the house the next week. Evangeline never spoke to any of the girls from chorus again.

  She couldn’t let her mother see this frosty window. She rubbed and rubbed with her sleeve, still dancing from her dream, still entranced by the violin music.

  The music. Evangeline paused, frowning. It was strange, but she could swear she could still hear it. A quick, up-and-down, in-and-out melody that made her want to jump and squeal and weep and knock all the books off her shelves.

  She peered over the top of the frost. Was someone actually playing a violin outside? All was sunny and calm on the street below, without a trace of winter. A woman was walking a dog. Two little kids rode bright plastic bikes at the edge of a sparkling pond in a park across the street.

  Evangeline held her breath. Was it—was it violin music she was hearing? It was just on the edge of her mind. In the place where she felt that missing someone. She listened. Was the music coming from inside her own house?

  It couldn’t be her mother, could it?

  She hurried down the stairs into the kitchen. She would give anything to see her mother playing the violin! But there was no violin and no Mom, only a note on the counter: Grocery shopping. Back soon.

  Evangeline plopped down into a kitchen chair. She’d imagined the music. It was that photograph, that dress—glittering like snow, bright as the moon. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. A princess costume for a Halloween party? It couldn’t be. It didn’t gleam cheap like a costume. It seemed heavy and deep and real.

  The violin music looped and spiraled on the distant edge of the kitchen quiet, a jagged song she could nearly hear over the sound of her own breathing. It was as though it were trying to tell her something.

  “What are you hiding, Mom?” she said aloud.

  Evangeline poured imitation maple syrup over her golden waffles with shaking fingers, as her mother sipped a mug of mint tea and leafed through the new issue of Arts & Culture. She was probably reading about some new play, or an exciting art show, or an interesting museum exhibit. What was the point? They would never go to these things. Mom wouldn’t even let Evangeline get a library card.

  Tomorrow was Evangeline’s birthday, and she knew her mother would try especially hard to be normal. They might even get to leave the house, who knew? As if one day a year could convince Evangeline that the way they lived somehow made sense.

  The moon was full tonight. It was shimmering in the leaves of the scraggly trees outside right now. It was probably lovely. But the curtains in the kitchen were drawn. Not a finger of moonlight shone through; it had been banished just like the sunshine. Evangeline was so sick of the glow of incandescent light bulbs. The yellow light from the ceiling lamp settled in her stomach like sour milk.

  She watched her mom as her eyes darted over the magazine. There was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Evangeline realized that, when her face wasn’t hardened against the world, her mom was actually very beautiful. For a moment, she imagined a different life—trips to museums, sleepovers with friends, bright sunlight through clean windows, a New Year’s Eve party where her mother would wear that dress and play “Auld Lang Syne” on the violin and everyone would clap and cheer and clink their rainbow cocktails. She could almost see all of that in her mother’s face right now.

  The phone rang, breaking the moment. Evangeline’s stomach fluttered. Could it be Bridget and not-Bridget, the girls from the bus? Were they really interested in coming to her birthday? Maybe now she could convince Mom.

  She pushed her chair back, but her mother, who was closer to the phone, stood up quickly and answered.

  “Hello?” Her mom leaned against the wall with her back to Evangeline. “Who?” There was a pause. Evangeline could see her mother’s shoulders stiffen. “No, I’m sorry. We’re not doing anything like that … No, please don’t. We’re not interested. Goodbye.” Click.

  “Mom?” Evangeline asked as her mother turned around. “Who was that?”

  Her mother’s calm lake expression didn’t change, but her voice faltered a little. “Who was that?”

  Evangeline nodded.

  Her mom shrugged. “Just a fund-raiser. The fire department.”

  That’s a lie. It hit Evangeline like a snowball to the chest. Her mother was lying to her. That had been Bridget on the phone, or not-Bridget, she was sure of it. If only Evangeline had answered! Maybe she finally could have made friends. Now that chance was gone. Mom always got to the phone first.

  Evangeline looked down at her waffles. A rush of memories flooded her brain—other kids at other schools who had reached out in small ways for a short time. Other adults who had planted seeds in her head: Are you interested in trying out for soccer? Do you like robotics? You know, my daughter is in the chess club—is that something you think you’d enjoy? But nothing ever came of any of it. No friends, no teams, no clubs. No chorus solo. Not even the Honor Roll Banquet she’d been invited to last year at her old school. Ugh, that’s sounds so pompous, doesn’t it? her mom had said.

  Her mother had been behind all of it, she realized. Always. Sabotaging anything interesting in Evangeline’s life.

  She was looking at Evangeline now, serene and curious. “Are you all right, sweetie?”

  Evangeline didn’t answer. She wasn’t all right. Something had finally broken, exploded inside her like a burst dam. The moving vans, the beige houses, the empty seats, the secrets … She’d had enough. If she sat in this dark kitchen another second, she’d start screaming.

  With a clatter, Evangeline jumped out of her chair and flew up the stairs, red-faced, slamming her door. The frost on her window had grown back even thicker now and an icy layer coated her mirror, too. The room felt like a refrigerator. She sank onto the tufted stool that faced her vanity.

  “She lied about the dress,” she muttered. “She lied about the photograph. She’s been lying to people at my schools. She knows something about why the snow follows me. I know she does.” She stared at her blurry, frosty reflection. “Has my mother lied about everything?”

  Then the frost began to move.

  Evangeline squinted, sure she was imagining it. But it was unmistakable. The frost was—well, not moving, exactly, more like melting. In a small, specific spot at the center of the mirror. The spot grew, getting longer. The sight was familiar, somehow, and as Evangeline peered at it, she realized why: It reminded her of when she’d write her name in the fog on the inside of the car window. It was as though someone behind the mirror were melting a line in the frost with their finger.

  As she kept watching, fascinated, the line ended, and a new one began branching off it. A moment later, she was shocked to find it looked an awful lot like the letter y. The invisible finger kept going, and in no time, a word was clearly visible, written in the frost:

  Yes.

  Evangeline clapped a hand to her mouth to av
oid crying out. She put her fingers to the mirror, which was so cold it hurt to touch. Almost as soon as it formed, the yes began to fill in with fractals of frost again. Evangeline pulled her fingers back. “It’s real, it’s real,” she whispered, so she wouldn’t forget. So she wouldn’t convince herself she had imagined it.

  She kept staring at the frost-covered mirror. Something—someone—was trying to communicate with her. “What do you want?” she said, quietly at first, then louder. “What do you want?”

  After Evangeline had taken four anxious breaths, the writing started again. She kept perfectly still, eyes fixed on the strange, melting tracks in the frost. The word came faster this time, the letters a little more jagged and misshapen, but in the split second between when the word was finished and when the frost started reclaiming it, Evangeline could read it perfectly:

  Help.

  Evangeline pressed her fingers to the frigid mirror. “Who are you?”

  Delicate feathers of frost slowly reclaimed the mysterious word: Help. Soon it disappeared entirely.

  “Please!” Evangeline said, her heart thumping. “Talk to me! Who are you? Are you in danger? What can I do?”

  But there was no further hint of life in the frosted glass. Evangeline gripped the edges of her vanity. “No,” she whispered. “Come back.” Something familiar had seemed so near. A blank space filled for just a moment with someone dear and desperate. But what on earth could she do?

  Downstairs, the supper dishes clinked. Evangeline thought about her mother, strange and secretive and maddeningly flat. Just a few minutes ago, Evangeline had been ready to run away, hop the next train to the farthest coast. But despite her strange ways, Mom had always been there with a hug, snack, or kind word. Maybe Evangeline could tell her about what she’d seen in the mirror. Maybe Mom would believe her. Maybe she’d know what to do.

  With a last glance at the inscrutable mirror, Evangeline padded back out into the hallway and down the stairs. “Mom?”

  Her mother was at the sink. “Are you feeling okay?” She turned to Evangeline with a look of concern. “Did you just throw up?”

  Evangeline pressed her hip against the doorframe, supporting herself. “Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t throw up.” She hesitated, hoping for some reason that her mom would fill the silence with something. But she didn’t; she just waited, leaning forward, palms on the table. Evangeline went on. “So, this really weird thing just now, in my room … My mirror was, um, covered with frost—”

  “Frost?” Her mother tapped her fingers on the pages of her open magazine. “In May? That’s ridiculous.”

  Evangeline hardened her voice. “Yes. It is. But it happened. It happens.” She took a risk. “You know it happens.”

  Her mother crossed her arms. “There must be something wrong with the refrigerator.”

  The hope that had risen in Evangeline’s chest started sinking. “Well, okay. Fine. But the thing is, I—saw something. In the mirror. Or—in the frost. It was moving—”

  Evangeline’s mother’s eyes widened. She staggered backward, as though she’d been pushed by a ghost. She pointed a finger at her daughter. “Not another word. I won’t hear it. You’re not making sense.”

  “I know I saw something—”

  “Enough!” Mom’s face was stricken, as though she’d seen a terrible monster. Evangeline froze, shocked. Her mother stared at her for a moment, just as frozen. Then she grabbed her laptop from the counter and sat down at the table.

  They didn’t speak. Evangeline just stood, stiff, watching her mother tapping away on her computer. She didn’t know what to say.

  After a long moment, her mother looked up. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s not your fault.”

  Evangeline blinked. She knew it wasn’t her fault. But she wasn’t sure whose fault it was.

  “I don’t think Lakecrest is a good place for us,” her mom said. “Look at how stressed out we both are already. How are we supposed to be happy here?” She turned the laptop toward Evangeline. “Look—isn’t this a beautiful little house? In a town called Springfield. Doesn’t that sound like a nice place? And it was eighty degrees there today! Sounds like paradise to me.”

  Evangeline gaped at the screen, which showed yet another ordinary house on another ordinary street. This was a first. Her mother had never made plans to move before they’d actually finished unpacking.

  The snow, the frosted mirror, the mysterious words. Evangeline knew she had to get to the bottom of this before they moved again. Because suddenly it all made sense—why her mother uprooted their lives every five minutes, why she hid behind curtains and walls.

  It was because someone was looking for them. For Evangeline.

  And they were so close.

  “I’m going to bed,” Evangeline said, stepping back.

  Her mom kept typing, scrolling, clicking. She didn’t look up. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  Evangeline paused in the doorway, her hand on the pale doorframe. “You can think what you want,” she said quietly. “But I know there were words in the frost. And I know someone was writing them.”

  At this, her mother snapped her head in Evangeline’s direction. “Wait—what did you say? Words? In the mirror?” Her voice shook, high and warbling, like a frightened old woman. “Evangeline, honey,” she whispered. “What did the words say?” And for the first time, Evangeline’s mother couldn’t hold on to her calm lake expression. Whatever giant, mysterious thing lurked just underneath had come to the surface at last. There was such a terrified glint in her eye that, for a moment, Evangeline was dumbstruck.

  “Answer me!” her mother snapped, fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Evangeline, please!”

  But Evangeline didn’t answer. She understood. Her mother already knew about the person behind the mirror—and she had spent years protecting the secret. Evangeline fled upstairs to her room, pulling the door shut behind her and turning the lock.

  Her mother came thundering up the stairs after her. “Evangeline!” She rattled the knob and pounded on the door, but couldn’t get in. “Evangeline! Open this door!”

  Evangeline stood with her hand on the door, breathing hard. Her mother rattled the knob again, and one more time. The door didn’t budge.

  Then silence. Evangeline pressed her ear to the door. She could hear her mother moving around in her room across the hall, her steps ragged thuds on the carpeting. “Mom?” she ventured.

  She heard the sparkling sound of glass breaking. Evangeline drew her head back. What on earth … ? She put her ear to the door again. Her mother’s footsteps thudded into the hallway. Smash!—more breaking glass. Then down the stairs into the living room, the kitchen. Evangeline heard one or two shatters in each room. Her skin crawled. Was her mother breaking the windows? Smashing plates?

  Evangeline listened with her eyes closed. Some of the shatters were small and twinkly, some larger and shimmering. She could kind of tell where her mother was when each happened. The hallway. The mantelpiece. The bathroom. No, she realized. Not windows.

  Her mother was smashing every mirror in the house.

  She did believe Evangeline. She knew someone was trying to communicate with her …

  The mirrors were the key. And Mom knew that, too.

  Evangeline raced to her vanity. Her arms prickled with goose bumps from the cold that radiated from her mirror and something else that shivered inside her. What right did her mother have to keep her from whoever had written in the frost? All they had done was ask for help.

  She peered into the icy mirror. It was the biggest one in the house.

  “Why was my mother wearing that dress?” she cried. “Where is the snowy forest? Is that where you are? Please, I want to help you!” She needed answers now, before her mother came back upstairs to break down the door and smash this last mirror. Evangeline stared and stared into the frost.

  Suddenly, she got the creepy feeling of someone staring back. S
he peered at her reflection.

  The thin frost layer blurred Evangeline’s edges in the glass. She squinted. Her reflection was almost right. But her hair seemed a little wavier, glossier. Her ears—Evangeline put a hand to her bare earlobe in surprise—the ears of her reflection wore diamonds! And there was something behind the identical eyes that just—wasn’t her.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  Then the frost-writing started again. Evangeline watched the creation of each letter with a fierce hunger. After a minute, the reply was complete:

  Your sister.

  Evangeline’s fingers started to tremble. As she looked at the words, it was as though a secret compartment in her mind sprang open. That strange cloudiness she’d been prodding and twisting her whole life suddenly clicked into clarity. Your sister.

  She had a sister. A twin sister—the person who should have been there to sit with her on the bus, share a bag of chips, leaf through old family photographs. She had a sister who needed help, who was reaching out to her from somewhere else. And Evangeline desperately wanted to reach back.

  She put her hand to the frosted mirror, tracing the clear letters. Her reflection did the same, as though it were really just a reflection, but now Evangeline knew it wasn’t her own face in the glass.

  Suddenly, the reflected hand turned. Evangeline felt her fingers slip through the surface of the mirror, into what felt like frigid water. She gasped. The reflected hand slid its fingers, like icicles, around her own. And started to pull.

  “No!” Her mother’s screech sliced the air as the door burst open with a BANG. Evangeline turned her head to see her mom dashing across the room. “Evangeline! Stop!”

  But the reflected hand continued to pull. Evangeline leaned forward. Her nose touched the icy surface of the mirror, which rippled. There was something beyond, another place, a world so close she could feel the cold breeze of it on her eyelashes—