Smoke In Mirrors Novels & Stories

I remain silent during this process, still not sure what to think about this situation. “Oh, this isn’t good.” Axel exclaims, checking his phone. “I have an alert, the police are looking for a fugitive with telekinetic abilities who may be able to identify a high-risk Abnormal known as a ‘Mimic’.” He looks confused and turns to Myah, “Do you know what a Mimic is?” He asks. She doesn’t show any reaction but simply states; “I can’t think of anything relating to that, CC?” Myah looks towards her sister for a further response,

I drew a breath and tilted the mirror toward me. The world around me faded, the way it always did. The flames dimmed. The shadows held their breath. The room seemed to melt away. For a moment – nothing. No visions. No ripples. Just my own reflection, pale and sleep deprived. The irony. And then – smoke. Curling at the edges. Like fog moving through a forest I couldn’t see. My breath caught. The mirror pulsed once. Shapes began to form – blurry outlines, hints of color.

I ran past the sculpture and down the narrow passage, hearing footsteps behind me but not caring enough to turn around. My vision blurred, making it almost impossible to see clearly or judge distances accurately. I quickly covered my nose when I saw the black smoke moving in sinuous, swirling patterns, almost like liquid darkness. It had a shimmering, oily quality, reflecting the faint light from Stalagtor’s luminescent eyes. Though the smoke was primarily black, it occasionally pulsed with eerie glows of deep purples and greens, hinting at a supernatural energy and ancient magic. Even after covering my nose, it was difficult for me to slow down my breath.

Because for him, it has. “Prepare them,” he says casually. The guards move instantly. Not rushing. Not hesitating. Obedient. A massive object is brought into the chamber. It takes several warriors to carry it—an obsidian mirror framed in jagged stone that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it. The surface ripples faintly, as if something beneath it is aware of being used. A communication relic. Old. Unstable. Powerful. It is set upright before Malrik. He steps in front of it, adjusting nothing, waiting for nothing. The mirror responds immediately to his presence, dark energy curling across its surface like smoke trapped behind glass.

The sound did not originate from the cylinders; it emanated from the very air around us. I forced myself to look at the walls. The millions of hexagonal mirrors didn't reflect our current positions in the room. They reflected bleeding possibilities. In one cluster of mirrors, I saw myself sitting peacefully in the bakery back in Newark, the warm morning sun hitting the white flour on my apron. In another, I saw myself standing black-clad over Luciano’s fresh grave in the Vance crypt, the rain washing the soot from my cold face. In a third, terrifying mirror, I saw the 2016 fire, but the historical roles were entirely reversed—I was the one holding the match, and Silas Vance was the one screa

Her expression immediately darkened when she saw us alone. “Where’s Damon?” “He went downstairs with Rylan,” I answered. “A guard was attacked.” Mira muttered something under her breath before walking toward the door again. Then she suddenly stopped. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What is it?” I asked. Mira slowly turned back toward us. “Do you smell that?” Maya frowned. “Smell what?” “Smoke.” The moment she said it, I noticed it too. A faint burning smell drifted through the room. Maya looked alarmed. “Is something on fire?”

"You're right. I was nothing but a smokescreen—a scapegoat, if you will." My voice sent shivers down his stiffened spine. "However, it was never to shield you. Rather, I was the perfect smokescreen to shield the Carozza Famiglia from all legal risks in their takeover of the Zappa Famiglia." Anna stopped struggling on the ground as her voice shook in disbelief. "That's… That's impossible…" I stood up and looked at them again. "The game was already over from the moment you both decided to take advantage of me."

"Think of the garden. Think of the rain. The soft rain back in Seattle. Before the wolves. Before the blood." The snakes slowed. They began to melt. Their scales turned to water. The water turned to steam. The steam smelled like lavender. "How are you doing that?" Zack dropped the harpoon. It hit the deck and turned into a loaf of bread. He stared at it. "I want a sandwich, not a weapon." "It’s not a vending machine, Zack." Camille wiped her nose. Snot ran down her lip. She smeared it with the back of her hand. "It’s a mirror. If you’re angry, the air burns. If you’re scared, the walls close in."

The room murmurs approvingly. “See?” Maris says. “A mirrored affirmative.” My blood goes cold. That wasn’t consent. That was compliance recognition. A mirror doesn’t confirm freedom. It confirms the system is reading what it wants to read. A trainee raises their hand. “What if the subject lies?” Maris smiles like she’s been waiting for the question. “Then the mirror detects instability.” She turns to the woman. “Now, say no.” The woman hesitates, then whispers, “No.”

“I’ll open the path. But if either of you betray me—” The witch’s laugh was low and dry. “Everyone betrays. The clever ones wait until the end.” Mira placed her hand over both of theirs. Her smile was sharp, confident. “Then let us betray Lucian together.” The swamp answered. A thin blue-green flame sparked on the black water, rising and twisting like a lantern without a wick. Marshfire. It flared, steady and bright, then sank back beneath the surface, leaving only ripples in its wake.