Page 106 of The Mirror of Beasts

Neve craned her neck, searching the sky. “It has to be midnight by now.”

The stars seemed sharper tonight, glittering with cold fire as the moon climbed the vault of the sky. Based on the moon’s position, I guessed there was still an hour before midnight, that liminal hour between one day and the next.

“Nearly there,” I told them.

“Nearly where?” a warbling voice asked.

My stomach bottomed out.

Caitriona spun around, lunging for her spear. Slowly, with every curse in every language I knew streaming through my head, I looked back over my shoulder.

Rosydd, the Hag of the Moors, was floating lazily at the boundary of the protective wards, her head propped up on one hand. She was still wearing that disconcerting blend of all our faces.

Neve rose to her feet, shivering. “Hello, Rosydd, you’re looking lovely this evening.”

The hag preened. “Thank you. You’re looking delectable yourself.”

I glanced between them, holding my breath as the hag floated closer to the wards. They repelled her with a hard snap of light and pressure.

“Ouch! That was mean!” She scowled at us, rubbing her sore arm. “Take those down immediately!”

“How many days do you have left of not eating people?” Neve asked.

Rosydd smiled, baring all of her many pointed teeth. “None.”

“Thirteen,” I corrected. “At least.”

“You couldn’t have asked for longer than two weeks, huh?” Neve muttered to me.

The hag drifted over to her, inspecting her as closely as the wards would allow. Neve drew back a step, recoiling as the hag shifted her features again, mimicking the sorceress’s wide, luminous eyes.

“Stop it,” Neve ordered.

“Stop what?” the hag asked innocently, shifting out of her white velvet gown and into a replica of Neve’s plum-colored coat. She seemed to prefer my boots and copied them down to the way I’d tied the laces. And, weirdly, I was flattered.

“Why can’t you just look like yourself?” Neve asked her. “What’s so wrong with who you are?”

“What’s so wrong with wanting to look the way I want to look?” the hag asked.

“It’s one thing to change your appearance,” Neve said, “and something else to try to become another person. Do you even remember what you originally looked like?”

The hag stared at her, her lips—Olwen’s lips—parting. “You’re mean.”

“It’s okay to change yourself to your liking, but it’s also okay to be yourself as you are,” Neve said. “You don’t have to look or be a certain way for others to like you.”

The hag glowered at her. “You don’t like me?”

“That’s not—” Neve threw up her hands. “Never mind.”

“What are we doing here, anyway, meaty-pie?” Rosydd asked me.

My mind couldn’t decide what to process first, that we, or meaty-pie.

“We’re here to see the Hag of the Mist,” I said. “Any relation?”

Rosydd drew herself upright, allowing her bare feet to settle onto the crust of hoarfrost covering the ground. If I’d thought she was capable of it, I would have said she looked hurt—as if we’d committed some grave, mortal offense.

“But why … her?” she whined. “You like me best, don’t you? And to think, we had such fun.”

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