![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Cold Mirrors (2/4)
Author: Emma
Characters: Canonical Torchwood Three members… sort of.
Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Summary: Toshiko is drawn into a web of lust and murder...
Author's Note: This is Adam
Author's Note: "Because no one has more thirst for earth, for blood, and for ferocious sexuality than the creatures who inhabit cold mirrors" Alejandra Pizarnik
First part is here
The rat-tat-tat of frantic knuckles on the door brought Tosh out of a fitful sleep. She started to roll over, then suddenly the memory of the previous night flooded into her mind, and she jerked straight up, looking around in panic. The ginger cat was curled up at the foot of the bed, unblinking eyes fixed on the open bathroom door.
'Calm yourself. He did not try to visit you.' There was a brief hesitation. 'He fed last night.'
Tosh shivered. She had managed to attend to her evening routine without looking at the bathroom mirror, except for quick glances that had shown her only her own reflection. On the ginger cat's advice, she had thrown one of the extra blankets over the antique cheval mirror that stood by the armoire, and then she had turned the mirror around and pressed the swathed glass against the wall. Only then did she feel safe enough to change into pyjamas and crawl into bed. True to his word, the ginger cat had jumped in after her and stayed the night, his deep, slow breathing lulling her into closing her eyes.
The door rattled. “Miss Sato?”
“Yes.... just a moment.” She jumped out of bed and shrugged into her robe; whoever was on the other side was one second short of hysterical. “Hold on.”
She opened the door to find a young man in police uniform bent over and gasping for air. He looked at her with terrified eyes. “Miss Toshiko Sato?” At her nod, he continued. “Do you know... you were acquainted with Katherine Vaughan?”
Tosh did not miss the were. “Yes, I am.”
“My guv'nor wants to talk to you, then, Miss.”
“I want to talk to your guv'nor myself. Hold on, let me throw something on.”
She dashed to the armoire and grabbed what she considered her Torchwood uniform: black trousers, red jumper, black leather jacket, and high-heeled boots. He put her ankle holster on and put her ID in her back pocket. The cat watched her, his amber eyes full of sardonic cat humor. She stuck her tongue out at him.
'My thanks for your assistance. Will you return later?'
'If I see anything you need to know. You better go with the kitten outside. He sounds about to pee himself.'
Laughing, Tosh held the door open for him and watched him sashay down the corridor, then turned to the young policeman. “Let's go, Sergeant.”
They went up one flight of stairs and down a short corridor. People milled around, most looking shocked. The last door on the left stood open, but there was an uniformed constable blocking the way. She looked green around the gills.
“This is Miss Sato,” her escort told her.
“I’ll get DI Sullivan,” she said, looking over her shoulder uneasily.
“Why don’t I just go in?” Tosh suggested.
A tall, rather handsome dark-haired man appeared in the doorway. “Because civilians are not allowed in crime scenes,” he said. “You can just identify the body when the medical people remove it. It’s just a formality.”
Toshiko took out her Torchwood id and flipped it open under his nose. “Why don’t I just go in?” she repeated gently.
The two constables stared at her as if she had grown an extra head. The detective Inspector examined the card carefully and then stepped aside. Toshiko caught the flicker of annoyance in his eyes as she passed him. For a brief moment she felt the need to smooth things over; then she decided to hell with it.
“Don’t worry, DI. Torchwood doesn’t want your case…. yet.” She looked around. “Have you found her fiancé?” When he didn’t answer she sighed. “Look. You can answer my questions and you’ll end up with a commendation and a nice chance at promotion. Or you can be obstructionist and you’ll be picking up drunks on Broad Street until you’re sixty.”
He grimaced. “No fiancé. In fact, nobody remembers seeing him except with her.”
“Not surprising.” She studied the room. “But he was here last night. Champagne, two flutes, fruit, cheese. No migraine, then.”
“Migraine?”
“Last night at the party she told me she had a migraine and wanted to go to bed early. Obviously an excuse.” She shivered. “I wonder… The body is in the bedroom?”
“Yeah. Listen,” he touched her arm. “It’s pretty ugly in there.”
Tosh laughed. “I’m Torchwood, DI Sullivan. You can’t imagine some of the things I’ve seen.”
“No, I suppose not. But this… do the nightmares ever go away?”
“No that you’d notice, no.” She shrugged. “You learn to cope.”
She made a slight gesture towards the bedroom. He led the way, hesitating once more on the doorway, then straightening his shoulders and marching in like someone being led to the firing squad. Tosh followed, ignoring the curious stares of the cops and the forensic men.
The romantic atmosphere was even more pronounced in the bedroom. There were crystal vases full of red roses everywhere and tall seven-armed candelabra flanked the fireplace. An elaborate Victorian birdcage with two doves had been placed on the mantel. The four-poster bed had been made up with very expensive Irish linen and lace bedding and piled high with satin pillows. To one side of the bed, placed so that the bed was clearly reflected, was an antique cheval mirror similar to the one in Tosh's room.
Propped up among them was Katherine Vaughan's desiccated corpse. She looked to be a thousand years old dead and buried, like a mummy whose wrappings had been removed, skin leathery and brown, her shoulder-length hair grown into a curtain that shrouded her torso. The nails in both hands and feet had grown as long as those of a mandarin prince and curled upwards. Her face was peaceful.
Tosh took a deep breath and approached the bed. The medical examiner glared at her but DI Sullivan shook his head and mouthed Torchwood. The other man glared but said nothing.
“Gloves, please.” The technician handed her a pair of latex gloves and she put them on and examined the skin of Katherine's face and hands. 'Temperature?”
“Ah...” The technician said. “We don't think...”
“Dead for at least four days, right?” Tosh said, then made an impatient gesture at the two medical men. “No, your instruments are not malfunctioning.”
“Then maybe Torchwood can explain how a woman who was seen having drinks with you last night at around nine p.m. has been dead for four days?” DI Sullivan nearly snarled. “Because the rest of us are still trying to catch up.”
“Whatever killed her accelerated her cellular aging. That's not just retraction of the skin around her nails. Katherine's body aged nearly sixty years in one night.”
“Nothing I know of can do that.” The medical examiner, whose coat had the name Forbes neatly stitched over the left pocket, said. “No illness or drug.”
Tosh nodded. “Exactly. No human or natural agency did this, Doctor Forbes.” She looked around the room again, then approached the bird cage. 'Did you see what happened here, little ones?'
The male looked down his beak at her but the female answered readily enough, 'The he and she mated. Then the she was like that. The he left through the frozen water.'
“You are a speaker-to-animals?” demanded DI Sullivan.
Tosh nodded. “They say the Katherine and her fiancé made love then she was dead and he left.”
The thought of the mirror had her turning towards it. In that split second she caught a glimpse of Adam, face distorted with rage, heaving something towards the glass.
“Out! Out!” She put as much authority in her voice as she could, while at the same time she grabbed DI Sullivan's arm and dragged him with her. “Now!”
They ran into the sitting room. Behind them, glass shattered. Something inhaled loudly, and they felt the air around them being sucked out of the room; then the exhale, a nearly silent whoosh followed by a blast of heat that sent them sprawling. Tosh’s breath was knocked out of her as DI Sullivan landed on top of her. After a few seconds he rolled off to lie on his back next to her. They looked at each other and then burst into laughter.
“I should have asked you what kind of help you needed.”
Tosh looked up and met Owen’s eyes. She expected amusement but what she found was blankness marred only by a faint impatience. It was Owen’s why the hell did you bother me? look. She took a determined hold on her own temper.
“Not the kind you’re thinking of, obviously.” She giggled as she stood up. “DI Sullivan, this is Doctor and Healer Owen Harper. He will be able to tell us more about…. Kathy.”
“If there’s any left after that.” Sullivan pointed over his shoulder at the bedroom. “It sounded like the world was coming to an end in there.”
This time Tosh and Owen laughed together. “Not even close,” Owen said. “ What did you run into, Tosh?”
“Some sort of revenant that lives in mirrors. He is able to alter memories if he is very close to his target.”
“Yours?”
“Fine, thank you. His only improvement was to make me believe I knew him at college. Myself, Anamaria Gonzalves, and professor Brown. He was making himself a place in Kathy's circle.” She frowned. “At first.”
“And then he went after you.” Owen said.
“Yes. Something about me... he said I had too much of everything he wanted.” She looked at him helplessly. “Too much passion.”
She felt his arms come around her and relaxed into the hug. Her best friend. She loved the faint lemony scent of his aftershave and the way his chin rested on her head. She could trust him to the end of the world and back. She felt a little bereft when he pushed her away gently.
“Did you get any sense of his age, Tosh? Is he a newborn?”
She thought about it. New revenants were destructive, but much easier to manage than the ancient ones, grown wise in their wickedness. She thought about what she had been able to sense in the garden, when Adam's rage had opened him up to her.
“He's very old, Owen. Older than any we've faced before.”
17 comments | Leave a comment