Ethel wasted no time readying herself. Just as Barclay had now seen in many of her matches, she conjured a giant mirror, stretching from one edge of the field to the other. Barclay didn’t even have a chance to run for her flag before she leapt into the glass and became one with her reflection.

He already knew Ethel’s strategy—in less than an instant, she’d jump out in front of him and deliver a quick chop to the side of his neck, knocking him down and snatching his flag. But he wouldn’t be beaten that easily.

And so Barclay did what he did best—he ran. As far from the mirror as he could.

I won’t attack like her past competitors, Barclay thought. If she wants me, she’ll have to come and get me.

Then something solid pressed against his back, and to Barclay’s horror, a second mirror had appeared behind him, just as massive as the first. And Ethel was now right behind him.

She lunged out of the new mirror, her hand outstretched to swipe the flag tied around his arm. He ducked away, but only just in time. Before he could counterstrike, Ethel fled back into the glass.

And that was how it went for several minutes. In the mirrors, Ethel was faster—as though she were the speed of light. And so wherever he dodged, she easily followed.

But whenever she did leap out of the glass, she lost her speedy advantage. Every kick and swipe ended up short, and Barclay’s few attempts at attacks of his own had her fleeing back into the safety of her reflection.

Soon they were both doubled over, panting. Ethel in the mirrors, Barclay on the field. Barclay shed his scarf and tossed it aside, overheating even though his breath still fogged in the Winter air.

She’ll have to come out again eventually, Barclay thought. And if I can grab her, then—

Suddenly another reflection appeared in the glass. It was foggy to look at, even if the rest of the mirrors were clear. It looked a little like Ethel, if Ethel had colorless gray skin, shapeless clothes, and strange, undefined facial features—as though she’d been drawn two-dimensionally.

That can’t be her Beast, he thought. It looks just like her!

It was clearly some other type of trick. And besides, like Ethel, it would need to come out to land a blow on Barclay.

Then something solid struck him in the back of the head. He whirled around, but there was nothing there. Then something tripped him, and he fell to the damp grass.

In the mirror, the real Ethel hadn’t moved. But the Ethel-looking Beast pinned him down beneath its boot, and Barclay could feel it. As if it were really there.

We almost never keep our Beasts in their Marks.… They’re invisible to other people, Ethel had told him about her and Abel’s Beasts. Barclay remembered all the instances when Ethel and Abel had dropped things, as though they had been knocked aside, glaring at or scolding things that weren’t even there.