through Valkyrie’s veins, followed by puzzlement, and then anger. “What are you doing out?”
“I’m sorry?” the reflection said.
“You’re out of the mirror. How the hell are you out of the mirror?”
“You didn’t put me back in.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No. You didn’t. You told me to get into the mirror, but you didn’t touch the glass.”
Valkyrie frowned. “I did. I did touch it.”
The reflection shook its head. “You must have forgotten.”
“I didn’t forget, for God’s sake. It was two hours ago. I climbed through the window, you got in the mirror, I touched the glass and absorbed your memories. I remember everything you did today.”
Now it was the reflection’s turn to frown, a perfect simulation of a puzzled expression. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“Oh for God’s sake … I let you out of the mirror this morning, you went downstairs and Alice was crying—”
“That was yesterday.”
Valkyrie stopped. “What?”
“You’re remembering yesterday. Alice was fine this morning. You came back two hours ago, I got in the mirror but you left the room before you touched the glass, that’s all. You just forgot.”
“But I remember touching the …”
“Do you? Do you actually remember? Or do you just assume you did it because it’s what you always do?”
Downstairs, the baby started crying.
“She probably needs her bottle,” the reflection said, and walked past Valkyrie, out of the room. Valkyrie watched it go, still frowning. She looked at the mirror, piecing together the events of the last two hours. She’d climbed through the window and the reflection had been doing their homework for school the next day. Valkyrie had told it to step into the mirror, and she’d changed her clothes, fixed her hair and … and …
She was sure that she’d touched the mirror. She was sure that the reflection’s memories had flooded her mind. She was almost certain of it. It was possible, of course it was, that she was getting mixed up. It was an easy mistake to make, after all. It was like locking the front door before bed, then lying in bed minutes later and wondering if you’d actually locked the door or you’d just thought about it.
Valkyrie went downstairs. Keeping track of two sets of memories had been tricky at first, but she was an expert at it by now – two parallel tracks of experiences, happening at the same time, sometimes even in the same space. It had taken the longest time to get used to sorting through conversations that she’d had with herself. Viewing a conversation from both sides had been brain-meltingly unsettling. And even though there were some flaws in the process, some gaps in the reflection’s memories that she couldn’t access, she had always felt that she had a handle on it all. Until just now.
Valkyrie walked into the living room. The reflection had Alice in its arms, and it was smiling gently as the baby guzzled from the bottle. Fletcher stood nearby.
“Sorry,” he said. “She kept batting the bottle away and then started crying.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Valkyrie said, keeping her eyes on the reflection. “So you’ve been in the mirror for the past few hours?”
“Yes,” the reflection said.
“And then what? You got bored? Decided to go for a walk?”
“I don’t get bored. There was homework that needed to be finished. I finished it.”
“Right. But, see, I’m sure I touched that mirror.”
“You didn’t. I’m sorry if I startled you. Fletcher, could you hand me a tissue?”
Fletcher snagged a tissue from the box on the mantelpiece and gave it to the reflection. The reflection used it to wipe milk from the baby’s chin, and then went back to feeding. “You can continue your conversation, if you like. Forget I’m even here.”
Fletcher started grinning, and Valkyrie turned her frown on him. “What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. Well … OK, I was just thinking … And don’t get mad, because this is just a thought that entered my head, so it’s not my fault, it’s the thought’s fault, but … If you found me with your reflection one day, would that technically be cheating?”
Valkyrie’s frown turned to a glare, and Fletcher backed away, laughing. “It was a thought! It was a question I had to ask! I mean, come on, you’ve thought about it yourself, haven’t you?”
“No,” she said coldly, “I haven’t.”
“Yes, she has,” the reflection said, and Fletcher burst out laughing. The reflection laughed along with him.
“I knew it!” Fletcher cried. “I knew it!”
Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
The reflection smiled at her. “I’m simulating appropriate human responses. Fletcher found the truth amusing and I joined him in laughing at your embarrassment.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Yes, you are.”
“It’s fine,” Fletcher said, “forget I ever said anything. I have the real Valkyrie anyway – why would I ever need a substitute?”
Fletcher went to wrap an arm around Valkyrie, but she moved away from him, keeping her eyes on the reflection. “Give me my sister.” The reflection walked over, did as Valkyrie ordered. “Now go upstairs. Get into the mirror. Stay there.”
“Of course,” the reflection said, and its gaze dropped to the baby for a split-second. As it walked out, it smiled at Fletcher. “Goodnight,” it said.
Fletcher waved, then frowned. “Goodnight,” he said, unsure. They listened to it climb the stairs. “It’s never done that before. It’s never said goodnight.”
“What the hell were you doing? You were encouraging it. You were playing with it.”
“I was just having a laugh …”
“And it was having a laugh too. It was laughing at me. You don’t find anything about that slightly weird? It’s not supposed to do that.”
“Well, I don’t know, it’s not supposed to do a lot of things, is it? The programming is a little off. There’s a malfunction somewhere. So what? It does its job. It imitates you to perfection. And it got Alice to stop crying the moment it took her. So it acts weird every now and then, so you forget to touch the glass every once in a while, so what? It’s not the end of the world, and you’ve got other things to worry about. Like the end of the world.”
Valkyrie sighed. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Here. We have an evening to ourselves. An ordinary, average evening, where we can be a normal boyfriend and girlfriend, babysitting and snuggling on the couch. I can pop over to Milan for a pizza from that great place under the arch, I can get that ice cream you love from that place in San Francisco … It’ll be a nice, quiet night in. That sound good to you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it sounds nice. I’m starving, actually. Get the pizza.”
“And the ice cream?”
“And the ice cream.”
He smiled, and vanished. Valkyrie laid Alice in her cot, made sure she was comfortable, and went upstairs to her bedroom. The reflection was in the mirror. Valkyrie tapped the glass firmly, and the memories transferred as the girl in the mirror changed to reflect her own image. The memories