Within the mirror, the world is frozen. We stand in my room, only everything is grey and lifeless. The spirit waves her other hand, and a card table replaces my bed. Two chairs appear along with it, plush and comfortable. She leads me to one. When she moves, her bare feet float just off the ground.

"Sit," she says, and I do. She drifts to the seat across from me, her long silk dress flowing like water around her legs. As she sinks into it, I hold my breath. She folds her hands atop the table, silver fingers lacing together. "I am Arcene, spirit of the silver."

We sit in silence as she peers at me through eerie silver eyes. My heart hammers, and I swallow hard. It is not until she tips her head that I realize she is waiting for something. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. "I'm Kyren. Kyren Blackwood."

"Kyren." A small smile graces her lips. "I did not think you would ever try to summon me."

"About my bargain—"

She holds up her slender hand to stop me, bracelets clinking. "I will humor your request, but only if you allow me to make a few terms of my own."

My tongue, dry as sandpaper, sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to answer. I clear my throat, my fingers curling into my pants leg. I know it is foolish to allow a creature of such great power to make demands of me because there's no way I can ever fulfill them or that anything she asks will lead to my benefit. I can't trust her, but I need her to leave. I have nothing with which to fight her, and I certainly cannot overpower her. I feel small and foolish, and now I sit trapped in my mirror until she finds it humorous to release me.

But I think back to her question of me: are you any good at games?

I couldn't remember ever having lost a game to Azalea or Therion, or even to the boys I used to play with in town. I sit straighter and fill my lungs with air before releasing it slowly. Until I figure something else out, it is best to submit to her request.

"I will hear what you will ask of me," I say.

Arcene lifts her clasped hands and rests her chin upon them, leaning over the table. The glitter in her eyes is playful this time, and it dances in the light. "You will play five games with me to determine your fate and mine. You must win three games to earn your request. If you do, I will leave, and your family will be able to return to normalcy. I will not taint your silver nor your reflection. It will be as you wish."

"And if you win three?" I ask, afraid to even suggest that I might lose. If I say it, it will make it come true.

"Then I will remain, continuing as I have, and you will surrender your soul to me." She waves a hand again and a set of tiles appear this time, painted in pairs of matching patterns. She lifts one tile, its porcelain face bearing the image of a red spidery flower, and her silver darkens. "You will play games with me, here in this place, for eternity."

"You won't kill me?"

Even her laugh is graceful, ringing like soft bells. "You will die in this place if you stay here, but your spirit won't be able to leave. You'll watch yourself rot, but you'll never be able to escape the mirror or me or my games. Unless..."

I curl my fingers, and my nails dig into my palms. "Unless?" I snap.

"If you play a game, I'll tell you."

I consider her offer, certain to turn it over and examine it from every angle. Father always says a shrewd man should never rush into a bargain until he is certain the reward is worth the risk, but I'd give anything to make Arcene leave. It won't be long before there will be nothing for me to inherit, no name for me to proudly carry—and of course I'm not sure how long I'll remain myself so long as her silver eyes are watching me.

My thumb begins to burn, and I look down to find myself twisting the ring again. I only have to win three games. It can't be too hard. How skilled can a spirit who lives in the mirror be?

She may be a patron, but that doesn't mean she's any good at games.

She wouldn't stake everything on a game if she wasn't good at it.

I can beat her. I'm certain I can. And when I do, she'll leave, and everything will return to normal. I'll sleep at night. I'll see my own face in the mirror, my real face.

I want her gone, more than anything else. I want her mirror destroyed. I want to win.

The mirror will be your prison if you lose.

I won't lose. I don't lose.

You can't win against a magical being. If you challenge her, you won't be able to back out. No matter the cost, you must finish whatever you start here.

The ring twists one way, then the other. It scratches, it burns, it tears, it bites, but I keep twisting. I'm not fraying, certainly not, but I can't seem to find the right angle. No matter how I look at it, I feel as though I'm missing something.

Arcene leans forward, elbows pressing into the card table. Silver hair spills over her shoulders as she tilts her head. "Well?" she prods.

"Can I ask—"

"I'll only answer your questions if you win."

I frown. "You seem impatient."

She smiles. The edges are harsh this time. "I have not played in a long time, and I do not take kindly to humans who wear my patience thin. If you won't play, I suppose I'll have to break something. Your sister, Azalea... I believe she kept a silver necklace, stashed it in her pillow. I'll have her put it on, twist it tight around her neck, and—"

"She's not my sister," I spit, but my fists shake at my sides. She's only my half-sister, a remnant of Mother's last marriage that she clings to despite vowing it was all in the past. The dead do not return, but I think Mother wishes they do more than anything else. I meet Arcene's eye again. "You can't do such a thing. You're bluffing."

"Can't I?" She lifts one of the tiles to her eye. It shifts, its white face melting and molding until something else appears within—Azalea's room. I can only look up at her face from the silver chain she holds in her lap. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but distant as she gazes down at the silver. The faraway look deepens. She lifts the chain, her movements clunky as though something else compels her.

I snatch the tile from Arcene, and the image disappears. "I'll play," I snap as I slam it back down on the table and sit in my seat.

Arcene beams. She sweeps all the tiles toward her. "You agree to my terms? You'll play all five?"

"Yes." I shudder as soon as the word has left me, hating its taste. Cold sinks into my bones, but it's too late to undo it. I'll play her games if that's what it takes. I'll play as many as she asks me to.

Arcene sits back in her seat and lifts her chin. "Then let us begin," she says, mixing the tiles. "Today, we will play a guessing game. I will lay five tiles in front of you." She lifts one to reveal a painted bluebonnet on its white face, then she mixes it back in with the other four she has selected. "You must correctly select the chosen tile. If you win, we will switch roles—I will guess and you will shuffle. If you lose, we will play another round with the same roles. We will play until one of us has three wins. Do you understand?"

"Is three your favorite number?" I grumble. I've been watching her shuffle the tiles, following the one she showed me and certain not to let it out of my sight. She isn't a good shuffler. The pieces move in simple, sweeping motions, slow and easy to keep track of. I suppress the smile that creeps onto my face. She must think I'm a fool. Winning will be easy.

"You have a sharp tongue." She arranges the five tiles in a neat row and lifts her hands. "Go ahead and choose."

I point to the far left. Confidence drags a wide grin to my face, and I lift my chin. "This one."

Her bracelets clink as she turns it over. A white lily greets me instead of the bluebonnet. I shoot to my feet. "You cheated!"

"Now, now." There's an arrogance in her voice that grates on my nerves, but her face is deceptively empty when I shoot her a glare. "Please, sit. You may guess two more times."

Gritting my teeth, I swivel to the tile next to it. "That one!"

This time, it is the spidery red flower.

I slap her hand away and turn over the one on the far right. Everything inside me burns, a rage I cannot explain. The white lily greets me again. With a growl, I throw the tile. It bounces off the table and clinks to the floor. "Turn over the other two."

She pouts. "Don't be a sore loser."

"Just do it!"

Sighing, she resigns to my request. Both tiles flip over with the wave of her hand, and both are painted with the bluebonnet. "I confess, I did change it up a bit. I thought I would go easy on you since it's your first round." She touches one hand to her cheek and furrows her brows. "This is not a game you can win if you get flustered, you know."

"You're a cheat!" I slam my fists against the table so hard the tiles bounce and my hands ache.

Her face hardens, and the silver darkens again. "No, you're an arrogant little boy. Behaving like you do won't change anything, so sit and I shall begin again."

For a flash, I think it wouldn't be so difficult to lunge across the table and crush her slender neck in my hands, but there's a look in her silver eyes that's as sharp as a blade. My words have cut deep enough already. Spirits are not known for their mercy; if I act rashly, I'll meet my end at her hand.

Instead, I take the tiles in my arms and sweep them toward me, collecting a fresh one from the stack she had shoved to the edge of the table. I flip it over to show her the flowers on it—a cluster of forget-me-nots. "Let's see how well you fare, then."

"This is against the rules, but I will allow it if it will help you cool your head." She sighs and gestures for me to continue.

I'm already shuffling the tiles. Father taught me a trick to it. It's easy to force the watcher to focus on an object of your choosing by drawing repeated attention to it. I blend her tile into the others and seamlessly switch its position with a dummy, keeping my movements quick and always certain to keep the dummy where she can see it. Soon, she will begin to forget which tile has the forget-me-nots.

But when I look up at her, she isn't even watching. She's eyeing her nails with a pinched frown that scrunches her perfect brows together. She doesn't even spare me a glance as I lay the tiles out in a row. I have to clear my throat to catch her attention, but even then she doesn't look as she picks one out—left of the center.

I start to laugh as I turn over the tile, but it dies in my throat. Somehow, the forget-me-nots are staring up at me, but I was certain they were on the far right. My gut sinks, and dread settles heavily over me. "Let me do it again."

She waves her hand. I shuffle them again, and again she picks correctly without looking.

The world shrinks around me, and I can only gape at her. I've lost three rounds. I've lost the first game. "How did you...?"

"The first thing you should learn is that you must never underestimate a spirit," she says plainly, leaning in and raking all the tiles back over to her side of the table. Taking one tile between her pointer and middle fingers, she lifts it up, the flower side facing me. At first, it displays a pair of pink roses but, with no movement from her, the painting shifts, and a begonia takes its place. "The tiles have traces of silver in them. I can manipulate them the same way I can manipulate your reflection in the mirror."

"I didn't underestimate you. I said you were cheating and you are!"

Her eyes flash. "We agreed on no such rule to prevent the use of my magic, and you have no power to dictate how I use it otherwise." Then, she smiles, and she again leans over her folded hands. Her silver skin glistens in the light. "Unless you make me your patron. If we form a pact, you would be in control at all times, and I would even teach you to use far greater powers than these little tricks."

Her eagerness makes me shrink from the suggestion, though the inkling of power I have seen does spark a little envy. Having magic would change everything, and if she was under my control, the problem of her haunting would disappear as well. But I don't trust the gleam in her eyes nor her tight-lipped smile. I don't know much about being a sigil-bearer, but I know patrons prey on such people.

"I'll think about it," I say instead, cautiously as I sink back into my seat, uncertain of how long I have been standing. "Can we agree that the loser picks the next game?"

"Of course. I'm willing to play anything you bring me." She rises, smoothing the front of her white dress. "I will call you when it is time to play again. Until next time, Kyren."

She snaps her fingers, and I am back in my room, sitting on my bed instead of the chair. The card table is gone, along with her evil silver-flecked tiles and her gray, lifeless mirror-room. I finally breathe again, but the world is still spinning.

I lost. I was foolish. I should have been more rigid in my rules, but I've never had to say such specific things to another player before. I still have four games to play. Four chances to win.

In spite of myself, I turn and spare the large, ornate mirror a glance. Arcene is gone, but so is the haunting silver-eyed creature that's always watching me. Instead, I see only a small, fragile boy sitting on my bed. I leap up and hurry to the mirror, tripping over my own feet to get there. When I do, my hands press against the glass.

My eyes stare back at me. I had forgotten how dark they are—so brown they are almost black. My skin, once tan from the sun, is now pale and sickly, and it clings too close to my bones. My face is gaunt, my eyes sunken. My nose, crooked and broken at the bridge, looks no better and no worse than it did when Therion broke it. Dark brown curls hang flat against my face, slick with dirt and grime. In fact, all of me is disheveled and dirty, and I suddenly can't recall the last time I had cared for myself at all. My shirt hangs awkwardly over a frame too thin, and my hands aren't as callous as I remember. Now they're bony and weak as glass like the rest of me.

I don't look like someone who has only spent a short time in the house. Instead, I look like a boy who has been wasting away for much longer.

And suddenly, I can't remember how long it has been.

But I see myself in the mirror, and I laugh.

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