“He who bartered his soul away.”
The sisters began to cackle again.
The Queen stared at the women coolly. “I demand you tell more. What is this barter you speak of?”
The sisters began a tale that was less fragmented than the Queen had ever heard usher from their lips.
They spoke as one. “You see, the maker of mirrors, his wife wanted a child—wanted a child more than anything. Yet she was barren. And the maker of mirrors could not bear to see her unhappy. And we, we cannot bear to see one so unhappy, so we engaged the maker of mirrors. We told him, that for a price, we could make it so that his wife might bear fruit. But the cost was not small—”
“His soul,” the Queen finished.
The sisters nodded in agreement, then continued.
“So, the child was hers—and his—but he owed us dearly….”
The Queen was perplexed by her emotions. She should hate the sisters for what they had done to her father, but the Queen herself so hated the man that she took great comfort in the sisters’ weird imprisonment of him.
“Go on,” the Queen commanded.
“So when the child was born, we sealed the deal for his soul, and he had his gift—his child. We would claim his soul once he shuffled off this mortal coil. A pity—an irony—that your mother would not live to appreciate his sacrifice.”
“We delivered the mirror to your husband,” Lucinda said.
“And did you the favor of having him give it to you,” Ruby finished.
“Oh dear, how hard it must have been for you to be without either of your loving parents,” Martha said, grinning.
“But now, with the Magic Mirror, your father is always near,” Lucinda said, grinning now, too.
“I believe you said something to me at the funeral. About the mirror. About my father. About taming the spirit within,” the Queen said, ill at ease with the conversation and becoming increasingly anxious.
“Are you experiencing problems? Is it not working quite right—are you having some trouble calling upon your father, my dear?” the sisters asked, moving dizzyingly from one speaker to the next.
“Yes,” the Queen said. “Can you show me how to tame the spirit?”
The sisters chuckled.
“Are you certain that is what you wish?” they asked.
The Queen nodded.
“You might find yourself ruined by the things—”
“He tells you.”
“Go on. I command you,” the Queen snapped.
The sisters shuffled over to the mirror and linked their hands. They held their arms over their heads and began to chant:
Slave in the Magic Mirror,
Come from the farthest space.
Through wind and darkness we summon thee.
Speak! Let us see thy face.
A cool wind began to blow through the room, and the curtains danced like ghosts. A flame appeared in the mirror, and then—the face appeared in a swirling purple mist, just as it had all those times before. But something was different. The face in the mirror was almost expressionless and much more docile than it had previously been. Was what they said true? Had their incantation tamed him?