Page 107 of The Mirror of Beasts

“If by fun, you mean we witnessed unyielding horrors and you tried to turn us over to the Wild Hunt, then sure,” I said. “Listen, Ros—can I call you Ros?”

“Can I call you Supper?”

I paused. “Touché.”

She nudged at the wards again, just hard enough to spark a little jolt. Caitriona drew closer, her expression enough to send Rosydd gliding back a step. “What do you want with that batty old creature, anyway? I thought we were friends.”

“Do friends eat their friends?” I asked her.

“When hungry, yes,” Rosydd said. “Well, all right, no. But they do eat disappointing acquaintances.”

“Important distinction,” Neve said.

“We need the Hag of the Mist to open a path between this world and Lyonesse,” I told her. “She was able to get us into Avalon before.”

The hag’s nose wrinkled. “Is that it? All of my sisters and I can do that.”

“Really?” I asked. “I thought she was the only one who could manipulate the mists that border the Otherlands.”

Rosydd put her hands on her hips. “Of course she’d want you to believe that. So conceited. She’s not any more powerful than the rest of us just because some soggy corner of the earth coughed her up first.”

“So …,” I began. “You’d be willing to open a path for us?”

“It depends …,” the hag said. One of her curved fangs poked out as she bit her lip. “What did my sister ask for?”

“An offering, and a few strands of my hair,” I said.

“Your hair?” Rosydd looked just as puzzled as Neve and Caitriona did.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I asked, tucking a strand behind my ear.

“She’s always been the odd one in the family,” Rosydd told us. “Never met a cave she didn’t want to skulk around in, likes to be as slimy as a frog. She’s probably sniffing those strands as we speak.”

A small part of me died at that thought. “What do you want, then?”

“A good question …,” Rosydd said, sounding eminently reasonable. “What about your toenails? Surely they’re easy enough to pluck out.”

“What if,” Neve cut in, before I could say something I regretted, “she gives you three eyelashes? They’re what mortals use to make wishes on.”

Rosydd looked intrigued. “Go on.”

I’d never been more grateful for Neve’s love of whimsy.

“Three eyelashes, for three wishes a god may answer,” Neve said. She held out the bottle, letting the contents slosh around. “And this wonderful offering.”

“Is that what smells like ruptured warts?” Rosydd asked, wrinkling her nose. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Whatever hags do with weird bottled mixtures,” I told her. “You’re the one with centuries of mystic knowledge.”

“Well … all right,” she said. “Maybe I’ll throw it at an unsuspecting mortal and have a laugh.”

Neve gave a pained smile as she passed the bottle over the wards. “Try not to aim for their heads, please.”

“But it never shatters right when it strikes their flanks.”

“In a moment, we will give you the eyelashes and the bottle,” I said, careful to lay out the full deal, “and you vow you will open a portal to Lyonesse there for us right now, and keep it open to allow us to return when we are ready.”

The hag pouted, and I knew then my instinct had been right. She would have turned my own trick back on me if I hadn’t worded it as a vow.

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