Page 55 of The Mirror of Beasts

I caught a glimpse of lanterns and fur-draped seats, but once my gaze landed on the feast, I couldn’t tear it away. A long serving table nearly the length of the hall was laden with immense platters of fruits and cheeses, festive cookies, and bright sweets. My stomach gave a pitiful moan at the regiment of roasted turkeys being carved by the chef. She offered each fresh cut to the line of guests, who carried their heavy plates over to one of the smaller round tables that dotted the space.

Most guests, however, had forgone the food and were gathered around a well-lit case at the center of the hall.

As in my own guild’s library, the London guild had chosen to display the relics submitted for membership. A dozen display cases lined either side of the hall, interspersed with windows and full suits of armor. My lip curled in annoyance as I recognized Pridwen, King Arthur’s shield, in one; the girdle of Brynhildr in another; and what was rumored to be Merlin’s druid spoon in a third. All, however, paled in comparison to the hooded cloak.

It had been carefully displayed on a faceless mannequin, swept out to reveal the woven image of a stag in a flowering forest. The fabric looked unbelievably delicate—as finely woven as gossamer. Certain threads glimmered silver and gold in the light, like winks of magic.

“Arthur’s mantle?” Emrys whispered. He met my look of disbelief with one of his own. “They found it? Wyrm found it?”

“Why would one of Arthur’s old cloaks be worth finding?” Olwen asked. “Unless—you mean the one Morgan gave him?”

“The very same.” I sighed. “It renders the wearer invisible. Allegedly.”

“I guess we know what the party’s for,” Emrys said. “And here I was thinking it was just a night of festive fun, when it’s actually an expensive excuse to show off his latest find.”

“Ugh,” I muttered, almost too disgusted to keep looking. “Botheration. I hate that he’s the one who found it.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the bigger relics?” Neve said pointedly.

“I don’t,” I answered, fighting the urge to punch a fist into the ground like a child. “But I don’t want him to have it either. He’s awful, and not just by my standards. The first time I met him, he told me to look him up in a few years and he’d show me a good time. I was seven. And believe me, he only got worse from there.”

It wasn’t worth going into more detail when that appeared to have sufficiently repulsed everyone. I tried not to notice the way a shadow seemed to cross Emrys’s face, or how his hands clawed at the near-frozen soil.

Stop it, I thought. To myself. To him. Once we had the mirror and I was sure Emrys hadn’t found a way to swipe it out from under us like he had the ring, I’d never have to see his face again.

“So what you’re saying is, you would trap him in a mirror if given the means to do so,” Neve said after a moment. She held up her hands at my expression. “Just making a point.”

The crowd parted around the glass case, and the man himself appeared.

Edward Wyrm pushed through the guests like a cannonball, throwing his arms out as he regaled them with some highly exaggerated tale of how he’d found it. The din of the party music was too loud to make out much. His white tuxedo shirt strained over his barrel chest, but the manner with which he carried himself was immaculate, as if centuries of noble breeding and besieged nannies had gone into the making of this moment.

His face was even rounder and redder now, and the once-red ring of hair around his head had faded and thinned like a shedding rug. The deep scar across the bridge of his nose, however, was exactly as I remembered it. As he turned toward the fire, a silver pin on his lapel flashed.

As I watched the party whirl by, shining and carefree, a strange melancholy crept up on me. I wondered if this was how the Lady of Shalott had felt, forced to watch the world passing by through glass.

“Come on,” Emrys said from the front of the group. “And try not to brush against the wall—there are a few curse sigils carved up near the roof to protect the house from intruders.”

We scurried along the edge of the house like mice, until Emrys stopped beneath the window he’d pointed out before. It was higher and smaller than the others along the hall. I looked back over my shoulder, but the arrivals seemed to be winding down, and much of the staff had gone back inside.

The small pouch on Emrys’s belt had been hidden by his jacket until he unclasped it and dug around for the crystals he needed. Arranging the amethyst, quartz, and tourmaline in a pattern I’d seen Cabell use hundreds of times, he sat back, resting his hands on his knees. Neve leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a better view of what he was doing.

“When they’re in the right grid formation, the crystals work to absorb some of the magic and deflect most of it away,” he whispered to her.

“Yeah,” she said, “I have eyes.”

Cabell was the only known Expeller in hundreds of years. Unlike the rest of us, he was able to use his own innate magic to break the curses in sorceress vaults. Though the work took enough out of him that he often relied on crystals as well.

Hang on, Cab, I thought. As soon as we had the mirror, we’d finally be able to confront Lord Death directly, and end this.

Protective magic hugged the white stone wall so tightly, it was all but invisible, even with the One Vision. It was only when it flowed up and away from the crystal grid on the ground that I saw its iridescence.

I didn’t bother to hide my smug smile. Some sorceress had probably charged Wyrm an arm and a leg for this so-so cursework. If anyone deserved to have his finds hollowed from his possession, it was him.

With one last look toward the entrance, Emrys turned his gaze to me. “You can pick a lock, right?”

“You can’t?”

His expression turned exasperated. “Are you going to hoist me up there?”

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