Page 49 of The Mirror of Beasts

“What’s so special about the mirror?” Olwen asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What is it about that mirror that can’t be replicated by placing the same spells on other mirrors or objects?” she asked.

“Well, if you believe the Immortalities, it’s been lost long enough that no one’s been able to figure out and replicate the spellwork on it,” I said. “It might have been made by the Goddess, or created in—”

I barely stopped myself in time.

But they knew.

“In Avalon,” Olwen finished softly. “Or one of the Otherlands belonging to the Fair Folk. They have superb craftspeople.”

I nodded.

“Ooooh,” Neve said suddenly, slamming the Immortality shut. “What if this is what Lord Death believes the sorceresses have? He doesn’t know what the mirror is either; he just thinks it can destroy him, so he needs to destroy it first?”

Olwen let out a thoughtful hum. “But Morgan and the others offered him something he already knew about—something he desired so greatly he was willing to let them kill his most loyal servants.”

“Good point,” Neve said. “Maybe it’ll become obvious when we find the mirror—I can write to the sorceresses about it and have them start searching too. Maybe Madrigal would be willing to help again?”

“Absolutely not,” Caitriona said. “This is something we do on our own.”

“But why?” Olwen asked. “Why not get more people searching for it?”

“And risk them betraying us?” Caitriona sent me an imploring look.

“Sorry,” I said sincerely. “But I do think the sorceresses have just as much reason to want him trapped in the mirror as we do. Whether or not they’ll actually help is another question entirely, though.”

Caitriona sat back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Together to the end,” Olwen reminded her.

Caitriona sighed and nodded.

I understood her worry. I did. But the sooner we or the sorceresses found the Mirror of Shalott, the sooner I’d be able to extract Cabell from whatever magical hold Lord Death had on him.

And never see Emrys Dye’s face again, I thought, though it was cold comfort.

“Talk to Librarian,” I told Neve. “He has a way of sending letters to the sorceresses.”

“Do you have any idea of where to begin looking?” Olwen asked me.

“No,” I said. “I’ve heard rumors that one of the European guilds has it, but nothing concrete.”

Puzzling it all out felt good—like we were finally accomplishing something after two days of desperately trying to get off the back foot. But there was a nagging feeling at the edge of my mind that something was missing.

Or not something, but someone. The person I’d gotten so used to bouncing ideas off in Avalon, when everyone else had turned their focus elsewhere.

“Uh,” I began. “Where’s our traitorous not-friend?”

“Emrys?” Olwen asked. “He said he was going to do some of his own research.”

“Did he,” I said darkly, handing Griflet over to Neve. “I’ll be right back.”

I’d only been down in the library’s lowest level once, while playing a game of midnight hide-and-seek with Cabell.

After he’d caught us slinking back up the stairs like the tiny fiends we were, Librarian had explicitly asked Cabell and me not to go down there again. Truth be told, the guilt had been less of an impediment than the steel lock he added. The stupid thing had been vexingly impossible to pick.

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