Page 48 of The Mirror of Beasts

“Though many divinations do not speak in literal terms,” Librarian said, “this one does appear to describe a mirror. Would you like me to research it for you, young Lark?”

“I would appreciate any help you can give us,” I told him, accepting Griflet’s delicate weight back into my hands. “Thank you.”

“Young Lark?” Librarian queried as I started to head back to the others. “Is your brother here as well? I would be quite glad to see him, too.”

“No,” I said quietly. “He’s not.”

I wound my way back through the stacks, retracing a path I’d taken thousands of times. The smell of varnish and old paper filled my chest, easing some of the tightness there. I slowed for a moment, leaning against a shelf, trying to gather my thoughts. A warm light filtered through the bookshelves to my right, demanding my attention.

The mass of amber had been the entry fee for a member of the guild a century ago, who was remembered only for dying on his first vault job. I wandered over to it, drawn, as always, by its honeyed glow. Instead of sitting on the floor, the way I had as a kid, I stooped down, examining the bodies of the spider and scorpion, imprisoned forever by their fate.

Merlin’s words rose again, whispering through my mind like smoke. As I capture all in my glare …

I straightened, electrified by the realization. I looked at Griflet, who stared back up at me like I’d grown snakes for hair. “It can’t be that easy …”

The library blurred around me as I hurried back into the central chamber, shooting across the room like an arrow. I was almost breathless by the time I reached the others.

They made for a cozy scene in front of the fire. Neve had taken up one of the oversized leather wingback chairs, her feet tucked up to the side as she pored over an Immortality, devouring each word, oblivious to the way Caitriona was watching her from the tufted couch, A Journey through Welsh Legend unopened in her lap.

Olwen sat cross-legged on the floor, three separate books open in front of her, but she was far more interested in playing with a nearby lamp cord, marveling as she clicked it on and off, on and off, on and off.

“Remarkable …,” she whispered. “Oh!”

She jumped, first at the sight of me, and then at Librarian as he clomped by across the room. Headed, I knew, to tidy up the atrium before retiring for the night in his office. “When you said he was very human-like, I didn’t—”

The words burst out of me. “I think I know what the Mirror of Beasts is.”

Neve blinked. “Librarian knew?”

“I do occasionally—like, once in a blue moon—actually figure things out on my own,” I said, ignoring the way the library cats were gathering in the shelves above us, hissing again. Griflet burrowed down in my jacket pocket and stayed there.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “So what is it?”

“I think it’s something we call the Mirror of Shalott,” I said. I honestly couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it immediately. “The frame is carved with beasts, of this world and of the Fair Folk.”

“Shalott?” Neve glanced at Olwen and Caitriona, who looked just as confused. “Why do I know that name?”

“There’s a famous story—a poem—about a woman, the Lady of Shalott,” I explained impatiently. This was why Cabell had always been the better storyteller—I just wanted to get to the point. “She was trapped in a tower, cursed to view the outside world only through a mirror’s reflection. When she escaped the tower, the curse killed her, and she was later found by Lancelot floating down some river toward Camelot.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a real way with words?” Neve asked wryly. “I’m so moved, I could cry.”

Olwen, however, looked genuinely distressed. “What an awful tale.”

“Oh, don’t worry. As per usual, the real story is even worse,” I said. “Unlike the poem, this all happened shortly after the death of Arthur and the fall of Camelot. The titular lady was a love rival of a sorceress. They both had their hearts set on the same knight, so the sorceress trapped her in the mirror to get rid of the competition.”

Caitriona’s face darkened. “Oh, really.”

“Maybe Miss Lady of Shalott deserved it,” Neve said, holding up a finger. “Did you ever think about that?”

“She deserved to be trapped in a mirror’s cold void?” Olwen asked, aghast.

“Considering most Immortalities refer to it as ‘that regrettable Shalott affair,’ the consensus seems to be that she didn’t,” I said. “And that’s why someone came around and released her.”

Eventually.

A few centuries later.

“Think about it,” I told them. “What if there is no way to destroy a soul after all, and that’s why the corrupted ones are sent to be imprisoned in Annwn and why Morgan and the others were only able to destroy Lord Death’s physical form? Wearing the crown of Annwn grants him unlimited access to death magic there to sustain his soul. Maybe the only way to truly stop him is to imprison him.”

---