LXXVII
The sidewalk hit hard. It scraped the skin of my arm, and one knee as I landed on the cement walk. "Ow."
Cold concrete, warm air, the smell of flowers and car exhaust, none of it belonged to the world I had just left. The glacier's hum was gone. The aurora was gone. Rolan's voice was gone. Only the faint shimmer of the shop window behind me hinted at the impossible journey I'd just taken.
The cat sat primly beside me, licking one white paw like he'd simply hopped off a bus.
"It's about time, sweetheart."
I pushed myself upright, heart pounding. The city around us was loud, alive, unfamiliar. Tall buildings. Asphalt streets. People walking fast, not even glancing our way. Nothing like my hometown. Nothing like the plains. Nothing like the glacier.
"This isn't home." My voice cracked. I clutched my bag to myself like a shield. I could read everything on the signs, but the signs themselves looked wrong. No modern advertising just painted lettering. No modern lights, and the cars that passed by looked older, vintage.
The cat tilted his head, yellow eyes gleaming with amusement.
"The alien guy said I had to think of home and it'd send me there. I thought about great‑aunt's house when we passed through." I said as I stomped down the street, looking for something familiar.
The cat flicked his tail and followed like a little butterfly, flitting down the street and back, looking at it up and down like he was familiar with everything.
"I thought about home too as we passed through."
The realization hit like a slap. I slapped my forehead with my palm.
"Oh my god, you damned yellow‑eyed demon. You went through the mirror before I did. You sent us to wherever your home was, not mine."
He didn't even look guilty. He finished grooming his paw as I stopped to catch my breath.
"We have to go through the mirror again."
I turned towards the flower shop window; its glass had stopped shimmering. Earlier it had shone the same way the glacier's mirrors had before opening. I ran back and pressed the soul mirror against it, waiting for the hum, the glow, the shift.
I waited for one breath. Two. Three. Nothing.
The cat hopped up onto the window ledge, peering at the mirror with bored disdain.
"That thing's useless, pet. It's got no spiritual charge. It's a dead mirror."
My stomach dropped. The alien had tuned it. The glacier had opened it.
The aurora had powered it. There was no aurora here.
Here in this city, this place, this time, none of that existed.
The mirror was just a shard of glass now.
I clutched my bag, feeling the little stone carvings inside, the woman and the cat‑lion Rolan had helped me make. My throat tightened.
I wasn't home. I wasn't anywhere familiar.
And Rolan… Rolan was gone.
The cat hopped down from the window ledge, brushing against my leg.
"Well." He stretched lazily.
"Looks like we're stuck in my old stomping grounds for a bit. Come along, darling. Let's see what trouble we can get into."
I stared at the dead mirror, nothing. I looked at the city around me, and the cat who had dragged me here.
I realized the journey wasn't over. Not even close.
But first, we needed to get organized. Nothing goes well with panic.
I needed to orient myself to time and place.
The cat trotted ahead of me, tail flicking like a metronome, and for the first time since10 the glacier I felt the world settle into a rhythm that wasn't magic, wasn't alien, wasn't tribal. It was… urban. Human. Old in a different way.
I caught up to him, breath still shaky.
"You know where we are now, right hat‑cat?"
He didn't slow. He didn't look back.
He just hopped up onto a newspaper stand and sat like a tiny king.
"Where are we… WHEN are we?" I pointed at him, getting ticked off at his sheer smugness. "Talk!" I commanded.
He tapped his little furry feet on the metal surface, yellow eyes gleaming.
"This is the city where the living me lived and worked, sweetheart."
The words landed heavy.
And then, finally, he began to talk, reminiscing.
I took a seat on a set of steps. I had finally gotten tired of pacing and needed a little rest.
The hat man stretched his kitty body, long and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.
"It was 1928."
His voice softened, almost nostalgic.
"I worked vaudeville some days, dancer, showman, whatever my manager, Slim needed. And on others, I was a carnival barker at the funhouse of mirrors on Coney Island."
He flicked his tail.
"If you danced, you needed work. And if you needed work, you needed the mob."
He said it casually, but the weight of it settled around us like fog.
"All the nightclubs, jazz clubs, theatres, everywhere that was fun, was run by the mob.
Even the acts had 'management.'"
He made air quotes with his paws.
It was ridiculous and adorable and horrifying all at once.
"Management used performers for smuggling, messaging, small rackets. You danced, you smiled, you carried a note or a package, you didn't ask questions."
He hopped down from the stand and padded toward the flower shop window, glancing at his reflection.
"My theatre was run by a man named Slim Amon. He was also my self-proclaimed manager." His nose wrinkled as if smelling something sour. "Slavedriver more like."
His voice dropped.
"Slim was a sub‑boss under the Shapiro Brothers. Dangerous men. Real killers. They ran half the boardwalk."
He looked back at me, eyes glowing faintly.
"I wasn't a killer. I was a dancer, a magician. But in 1928, that didn't matter. If you worked for Slim, you were part of the machine."
He sat again, curling his tail neatly around his paws.
"I lived here. Worked here. Died not too far from here."
The city hummed around us, cars, voices, neon signs flickering in the dusk.
I swallowed hard.
"So this is your home."
He nodded once.
"You thought of home. And your home pulled us here." His little head bobbed in acceptance.
"Then what do we do now you smart aleck cat?"
"There's no place like home darling. It looks like I must pay myself a little visit. Just follow me..." He sauntered off to a little theatre off Broadway.