The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

She carried it in. “Bright red, all fluted, and with an apple on the white inside bottom. It’s perfect. I was just going to use this plain old glass one I found up here.”

“Molly. She sent me up a platter for the pot roast I made for the Doyles. Lissy’s platter. A wedding gift.”

Cleo set the pie plate down, hugged Sonya’s shoulders. “It’s hard, I know it’s hard, but Owen was right. We can’t change what happened to her. Well, to either Lisbeth Poole or Molly O’Brian. To any of them.”

“It’s terrible watching them die, Cleo. Worse somehow knowing it’s not just a dream, but that I’m somehow there and can’t do anything to stop it.”

“I know it. But, Sonya, you’re bearing witness. Just like you said outside Molly’s room. And I think it’s important. And I think there’s a reason Molly looks after us the way she does. Like sending me this dish, so I can make a pretty pie—hopefully. It matters to her. You matter.”

“They all matter to me now. I want to stop Dobbs. I want to make her pay for all the misery she caused. I want—”

Doors began to slam; windows flew open and closed.

“Oh, blow it out your ass,” Cleo shouted. “You blackhearted old bitch!”

Despite herself, Sonya let out a peal of laughter.

The iPad began to rock out, inviting them to celebrate good times.

“That’s right, that’s right, Clover.” Cleo waved her fists in the air, shook her hips. “We’re going to have a good time tonight.”

“Come on!” Sonya sang, and plopped the roast on the vegetables. She picked up the wine she’d already opened, and poured it over the meat. “A whole damn bottle.” She put the lid on the pot, then slid it into the oven, wagged a finger at Cleo. “Hours. No peeking.”

“This already smells amazing. And I’m making pie.”

“Show us how it’s done.”

It didn’t live up to the phraseeasy as pie, but they agreed it looked pretty when, after the measuring and the rolling and patching and peeling and slicing and stirring, Cleo slid it into the second oven.

“Son of a bitch! They better appreciate every bite of that. That’s a ton of work.”

“Let’s take Yoda out, get some air.”

Sonya waited until they walked outside in air cool after the heat of the kitchen.

“She stopped banging and bitching when we made fun of her.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Cleo sent a smug glance back at the manor. “She feeds off fear and grief. That’s what you said last night.”

“We can’t stop all of it, but we can fight back some with a few well-placedBlow it out your asses.”

“I’m all for that. And we’re going to throw that party, hold our Event in a few weeks. We need to start planning the details of that one.”

“We do. We will.”

“It’s going to piss her off, having the house full of people. Happy people.”

“It really is. We need to have your parents. I hope your grand-mère and my mom are up for that. And I should have my grandparents, all of them if they can make it. My aunt Summer and uncle Martin.”

“We’ve got plenty of room for them.” Cleo paused, looked back at the manor. “The house was meant for what we’re doing in it, Son.”

“And what’s that?”

“Living, working, planning. And in your case,” Cleo added, “having really good sex.”

“It is really good sex.”

“And as your friend, I applaud you. But she doesn’t want any of that. She only wants the grief and the fear.”