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back towards the main room of the boutique, anxious to get out-
side for a breath of fresh air. As she headed towards the door, she
felt eyes on her back. The others must be worried about her sud-
den departure. She turned around to explain, but to her surprise,
the girls had wandered father into the depths of the accessories
room and had not even seemed to notice that she had gone. The
only eyes that Maggie could see were her own, scrutinizing her
from the mirrors that seemed to be placed just so as to allow her
to reflect back perfectly.
The inexplicable sensation of the eyes on her back did not
let up as Maggie turned away again, perplexed. What was going
on with her today? She must be worse off than she thought. She
would find Amanda and let her know that she had to leave early,
get some rest.
Now, where were those dressing rooms again? Maggie
wended her way around the dress racks, trying and failing to
retrace her steps back to the guest couch where they had all been
sitting a moment ago. It was easier to get lost in here than she
had thought. Her eyes darted about, trying to catch a glimpse
of something she would recognize. As she passed by a rather
ugly set of drapes decorating the wall (really, who would pick
a pattern that looked like wilted, rotting roses?), she suddenly
detected movement from behind them. She froze.
Cautiously: “Amanda?” There was no response. She turned
and drew toward the spot slowly, carefully, her feet too loud, her
breathing too heavy in the thick, unrelenting air. She reached up
and pulled the curtains aside.
It was another mirror.
Maggie let out a gasp of laughter and mentally berated
herself for letting her imagination get the better of her. Of course
she had seen her own image. The store was covered in mirrors.
She should have guessed.
Purely out of habit, she leaned in to examine her ref­lection.
With a twinge of dismay, she noted that her bottom lip was

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