Obsidian Mirror Sampler_Aug12.pdf - Hachette Childrens

quickly she pegged a row of clothes to the line. Trousers,
vests, a shirt.
A baby cried, indoors.
‘All right,’ the woman muttered. ‘Mummy’s coming!’
She went in, slamming the door.
Sarah moved. Keeping low she ran across the lane and
crouched outside the garden. Through the gate she could
see toys, a yellow swing.
And a vehicle.
It was black. It stood, all glass and metals, on the drive
of the house. Fascinated, she inched through the gate,
closer to it, and touched the icy metal. In its curved
surfaces saw herself, warped and strange. Had she been
altered? Become aged, unrecognizable? A thread of terror
chilled her spine. But then the wing-mirror showed the
same cropped blonde hair. The same sharp blue eyes.
Her relief was stupid.
The door opened. She leaped back round the corner of
the house as the woman came out again, this time with a
baby in her arms. Over the mother’s shoulder the baby
saw her, and screeched.
‘Don’t be naughty now. In you go.’
The vehicle flashed and clunked. Its door was open;
the woman strapped the child into a small seat, then
climbed in after it.
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