Alice finds a hidden portal in the abandoned wing of Primary School No. 31, and the school’s rumours turn out to be only the first strange thing waiting for her.
Alice had never liked being told not to look somewhere. That was probably why, on an afternoon when most of the school had emptied out, she slipped towards the sealed-off wing of Primary School No. 31, where the corridors were supposed to be cursed, haunted, or both.
The door groaned when she pushed it open. Beyond it, the air felt older, colder. Ivy had crept in through broken windows and dragged green fingers across the walls. Dust lay thick on the floor, untouched except for a few faint tracks that might have been left by mice. Or by someone else.
Alice slowed her breathing and moved deeper inside. The noise of the rest of the school vanished behind her, swallowed by heavy doors and dead silence. Then, at the end of the corridor, something flickered.
She stopped. The light came and went in a slow pulse, as if it were breathing.
A huge mirror stood against the wall where there had been only peeling paint yesterday, or so it seemed. Its frame was cracked and dark with age, but the glass itself was wrong. It did not reflect the corridor. It reflected a city Alice had never seen before: towers of pale stone, bridges glowing blue-white, and a sky streaked with colours that looked impossible.
Alice took one step closer.
Behind her, a voice hissed, "What are you doing here?"
She spun around. Cuba stood in the doorway, pale and breathless, as if he had been following her for a while and had only now decided to be seen.
"You were watching me?" Alice whispered.
Cuba did not answer. He was staring past her shoulder, his face drained of colour.
Alice turned back to the mirror and felt her stomach drop. Her reflection was there, but it was not dressed like her. Neither was Cuba's. In the glass, they stood in strange clothes, like something out of a history book, only the city behind them was alive with light.
The surface of the mirror rippled.
A warm gust brushed Alice's face, carrying a scent like rain on stone and something sharp she could not name. The pressure in the corridor changed. It felt as if the air itself was leaning towards the glass.
"Alice," Cuba said, very quietly, "I don't think that's a mirror."
She lifted her hand before she could stop herself. Her fingers touched the surface, and the glass gave way like water.
On the other side, the city lights flared all at once.