Page 146 of The Mirror of Beasts

“I’m Mage Robin,” they said. “Are you … stuck? Do you need some help?”

Mage was the neutral title chosen by those who felt the title of sorceress, and the feminine implications of it, did not fit them, but their skill and depth of power were the same.

“Can you pretend you didn’t see me?” I whispered hopefully.

“How about I do you one better and just take you where you need to go?” Robin was already unscrewing the vent cover. Their wand was unusually short, at least compared to the one I’d seen Neve and the others use, but the athame end was a handier substitution for a screwdriver than my busted toothbrush.

With the cover lifted off, I got a better view of Robin. They wore their hair bleached blond and cropped close to the scalp, which created a beautiful contrast to the rich brown of their skin. With their warm, pleasant face, and eyes that damn near sparkled with excitement as they took in the sight of me, I felt myself relax, just a little bit.

Robin reached a hand down to help pull me through the opening. Knowing I wasn’t about to escape now, I grasped their arm. The sleeve of their amethyst velvet duster was stained with what looked like splotches of ink. Their black shirt and trousers were simple but elegant.

Somehow, with Robin pulling and me pushing, I negotiated the opening and crawled out onto a wood floor. Turning onto my back, I surveyed the room.

Shelves upon shelves of Immortalities were stacked up to the vaulted ceiling on all sides. When I drew a breath, it was perfumed by old paper and ink. A nearby table was cluttered with leather notebooks and open Immortalities.

A library, my mind sang.

“Where … ?” I began, forcing myself to sit up.

“Welcome to the attic,” Robin said. “Otherwise known as the Council’s archive. I’m one of the recordkeepers.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said warily, pushing a strand of damp hair out of my face. They might have been perfectly nice thus far, but they were still part of the Council. I’d need to watch my words, and my back.

“You’re Tamsin, right?” Robin asked. “One of the Unmakers.”

I tried not to melt back through the floor. “Yeah. We’re big fans of that nickname.”

“Sorry,” Robin said. “I take your point. Where were you going, anyway?”

“I was trying to find Neve,” I said, my eyes greedily scanning the shelves again. “Do you know where she is?”

“She’s with the most senior members of the Council of Sistren,” Robin said. “They’re warding the room for her protection as we speak. I promise you, she’s quite safe.”

I gave them a dubious look.

“It’s all right,” Robin said. “They won’t hurt her. I’m doing research for them right now, to see if there’re any instances of this happening before.”

“I need to see her,” I said. “You seem nice and all, but I hope you understand why I can’t just take your word for it.”

“I get it, believe me,” Robin said. They stepped over to their desk and lifted something from behind the teetering stack of books: a perfectly modern laptop.

A silent video feed was playing on its screen. The crisp footage revealed Neve stretched out over a large bed, her eyes closed. They’d taken care to clean the dirt and blood from her and had dressed her in a pristine white gown. A crown of flowers had been arranged in her hair, and more flowers were scattered around her. The sight of it made bile rise in my throat. She looked like she was about to be sacrificed. Or buried.

“Why did they dress her like that?”

“They’re honoring her,” Robin said.

A circle of sorceresses, including Kasumi, were consulting one another about something I couldn’t hear, even as I turned the volume up. As I watched, a ripple of that same fiery magic raced over Neve’s skin, burning one of the flowers in her crown to ash. The bedsheet caught fire, but it was quickly stamped out.

“Listen, I know you want to see your friends,” Robin said. “I can help you get to them. But in return, I’m wondering if you can do me a favor.”

“I’m listening,” I said, still guarded.

“I wanted to question you about what you witnessed in Lyonesse, and Neve’s power,” Robin said, “but the High Sorceress didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Of course not,” I said bitterly.

A new thought occurred to me as I turned to take in the shelves again. We must have been in some sort of secluded corner; I could hear hushed voices and creaking floorboards somewhere just beyond the bookcases.

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