Chapter 11

There are few things more vexing in life than questions without obvious answers, and stories without ends. When confronted with such a mystery as this, there was only one place I wanted to go.

The guild library was hushed with night, lit by the cozy glow of the fireplace and lamps scattered across the worktables and bookshelves. With the time change, it was just past midnight—my favorite time of day to visit.

It wasn't unheard of for the other Hollowers in the guild to stay into the small hours of the morning conducting their own research, drinking to the good old days, or showing off their latest finds, but after what we had seen of the Wild Hunt, the emptiness of the old town house was telling, and ominous.

"Oh, wow, " Neve breathed as she stepped out of the atrium and into the main collection. The dark wood around us had been recently polished and now had a princely gleam.

I felt proud myself, and strangely happy to show them another piece of my life, regardless of the circumstances.

Olwen studied the stained-glass windows along the back walls, fascinated, but Caitriona only had eyes for the central display case.

"That's Goswhit," Emrys said, hovering behind her. "The helmet that King Arthur inherited from his father, Uther Pendragon."

Scarred and dented as the helmet was by an untold number of blows, it was hard not to feel disappointed by how shockingly ordinary the relic looked. Whatever magic had once been attached to it had been removed or faded in time.

"Found by Eos Dye," she read from the placard. "Any relation?"

"Grandfather," Emrys said. "Got clobbered by a skull-crushing curse while retrieving it, ironically enough."

"Shame you weren't with him," I muttered.

Every rational part of me had screamed to ditch Emrys back at the Bonecutter's pub, but I couldn't bring myself to fight another losing battle. He'd know where we were headed, and he'd follow. If nothing else, at least I'd be able to keep an eye on him.

There was no doubt in my mind that he had another purpose in all this, and I was going to find out what it was and block it if it was the last thing I did in this world.

"Are these all Immortalities?" Neve asked from behind a nearby shelf. "Your guild has been hoarding all this knowledge for how long, exactly? Do the Sistren know?"

"Those are actually Hollower journals, but if you'll allow me, I'll give you the grand tour of the place, including where to find the Immortalities," Emrys said. His courteous flourish set my teeth on edge.

Olwen and Caitriona went with them, disappearing past the shelves of folklore and fairy-tale compendiums, around the fireplace and plush leather chairs, and vanished into the stacks of the next room.

I didn't have the heart to tell them they wouldn't find anything about the Mirror of Beasts in those Immortalities. I'd read all of them, even the delicate ones on the verge of crumbling to dust, and the name didn't appear anywhere.

To my surprise, the Bonecutter had seemed just as perplexed by the mirror as the rest of us. Or maybe she knew we couldn't afford to pay for her help. The vessel hadn't contained another memory about the Mirror of Beasts—because of course not. Not having a safe place to keep it, and using the opportunity to cross off one of the many favors I owed her, we let the Bonecutter keep Viviane's vessel in her workshop to explore the High Priestess's memories, with the promise that we'd have access to it as needed.

The library cats hissed ominously as I passed, their eyes glowing from the darkened shelves. Two of them, Titan and Duchess, leapt down from the stacks of seventeenth-century maps, their tails flipping back and forth with unspoken threat. Griflet burrowed as deeply as he could into the pocket of my jacket, trembling.

"Oh, lay off, you demons," I told them. "I bottle-fed you when you were barely bigger than my thumb."

They jumped onto a nearby table and sat, their tails lashing, as I followed the sound of a vacuum cleaner in an adjacent room.

I slowed as I passed the wall of wooden lockers. Someone, correctly assuming the worst, had put up the customary black crepe mourning panels on Septimus Yarrow's and his men's. I ripped them down and stuffed them into the nearest trash bin.

Librarian was vacuuming happy little circles into the carpets, blissfully unaware that the majority of the guild appeared to have joined an undead host.

Seeing me coming, Librarian switched the device off and began to wind its long power cord around the handle. It occurred to me that we could probably afford to get the automaton a better, nicer one without the nuisance of a cord, but he'd never take it. Librarian liked to preserve traditions, not reinvent them.

I warmed at the sight of him, my throat thickening. It was silly, but I hadn't realized how badly I'd wanted to see him until this moment, and what a relief it would be after what we'd been through. His forever-unchanging bronze body, his placid expression that felt understanding at times, and absolutely murderous when you broke a rule. The consistency of him in a world determined to turn itself upside down and inside out made my eyes sting.

"Good evening, young Lark!" he chirped.

It was still a shock to hear his voice rendered in English by the One Vision after years of conversing with him in ancient Greek—though I was still sore about being the only one in the damn guild who'd had to learn it the hard way.

"Good evening, Librarian," I said. "I hope you don't mind, but I've brought a few visitors with me to do some research?"

"Of course, young Lark," Librarian said. "You will have the library to yourselves."

Endymion's wraithlike appearance flashed in my mind.

"Oh?" I said weakly. "Have people not been coming in?"

"Many in the guild have gone to England," he said. "To see what they might find in the ruins that appeared in Glastonbury."

Of course they'd gone to Glastonbury—to the ruins of Avalon. Of course. They wouldn't respect any boundaries set up by investigators or researchers as they studied the site. I could see them now, circling the remains of Avalon like the jackals they were, waiting to rip whatever meaty relics were left among the bones. Them, and every other Hollower guild in the world, no doubt.

The thought inevitably stirred up the bloodstained memories of the isle's final days, and made me sick to my soul.

"Are you well?" Librarian asked. "It has been some time since I last saw you."

It had. In the short time we'd been in Avalon, three months had passed in this world.

I cleared my throat, trying to collect myself as I took the vacuum and walked back toward the tiny office he kept. Stashing the device in its usual corner, my heart swelled at the sight of his tidy desk and the shelves of objects lining the wall. Feathers, interesting crystals, lucky charms—all things Cabell and I had collected on jobs and brought back for him.

"You kept them," I said softly.

"Of course," he answered. There was no emotion to the words, but I felt his confusion anyway. "They are treasures. "

It was a moment before I could speak again. "I know this is a lot to ask, but could we possibly use the attic upstairs for the next few days—just for sleep?"

"This is your home," Librarian said simply. "It will always be your home."

The irony didn't escape me that an ancient automaton, unpossessed of a human heart and mind, had shown more compassion to two orphaned children than the whole of the guild's membership.

Instead of casting us out into the streets, he had allowed us to secretly live in the attic, had brought us food and water, and had even given us some basic schooling. Maybe he'd somehow intuited that, like him, we were not equal to the other members of the guild and would always be treated that way.

"It will be such a pleasure to sit and read with you beside the fire once more," Librarian said.

I smiled faintly at the thought. Each night, after the last Hollower left, Cabell and I would come down and help him feed the library cats, and then we'd sit in front of the hearth, the three of us, and read to one another. It had been an easy, peaceful sort of existence, the kind I would kill to one day know again.

The thought left me uneasy, but for Cabell, I knew I'd do worse.

He deserved to have that kind of life again too.

Librarian spotted the soft gray head peeking out from my pocket and pointed to it. "A new treasure?"

Carefully, I extracted Griflet from my jacket and passed the trembling kitten into Librarian's bronze hands. Griflet gave me a look of utter terror, but I knew Librarian wouldn't hurt him. He'd never harm an innocent creature.

"The other cats don't seem to like him, so I'm not sure he can stay," I told Librarian.

He gently stroked a single finger down the kitten's back. "It is very difficult when others only see our differences."

"Yes," I agreed .

The quicksilver that flowed in his body whirred softly through the veinlike glass tubes visible at his joints. I stared at it—that liquid—and felt my breath snag as I realized for the first time how similar it was to the molten silver I'd seen in the cauldron in Avalon.

Not similar. Identical.

What you see is death magic distilled into physical form, the Bonecutter had told me. It can be used for more specific purposes this way, such as the creation or repair of a vessel.

Or, perhaps, to animate a man made solely of metal parts.

The Bonecutter had claimed that death magic wasn't innately evil, despite its source and the corrosive effect it had on your soul. Seeing the tenderness Librarian showed to Griflet, I was starting to believe her.

"Librarian, have you ever heard of something called the Mirror of Beasts?" I asked. "It would have some connection to Annwn and its king."

"An intriguing phrase, the Mirror of Beasts, " he said, his head tilting as far as it could on its neck. "In what context have you heard or read it?"

I repeated the prophecy—the riddle, really—from Merlin.

"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."

"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 some one. 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."