9

Shane

“this better work,” Shane muttered, backing up and admiring her handiwork.

The butterfly mirror winked back at her, perched in a high stand at the center of one of the Everlynd camp towers. All of the windows had been covered and blacked out. Braces of lit candles lined the round walls, throwing off dancing shadows and muting all of the colors. Shane’s dark coat looked almost black, Red’s dress a burgundy wine, and Perrin’s stark-white shirt a lustrous gray. Cinzel hadn’t been allowed in, so at least there was no wolf underfoot—probably a good thing, since the long bookshelves were overflowing with inkwells and delicate vials and a hundred other things Cinzel’s bushy tail could bring to a sad end. A small writing table bristled with quills ink-stained at the tips.

The whole room had clearly been knocked together hastily from the odds and ends in the camp, but somehow the Paper Witch had managed to give it the same comfortably cluttered feeling as his ramshackle tower.

Shane dug a toe under the thick purple rug. The Paper Witch had brought them to his new little workshop and set up the hand mirror before he’d gone off to retrieve something and left them here to die of anticipation.

Shane had peered into the mirror many times on their journey home. Perrin had polished it till it shone, and even the patient Paper Witch had laid a charm across its surface, the little scrap of paper fluttering as he whispered over it. It all got them nothing. At this point, Shane was just hoping this whole thing hadn’t been a colossal waste of time—they couldn’t afford to be wrong. Her eyes slid over to Red, who stood with her hands on her hips, frowning.

The girl had been acting squirrely since Shane had shaken her and Perrin awake from their ill-advised dream jaunt in the middle of enemy territory. Neither of them seemed interested in explaining what was so important they had to go fishing around in Perrin’s memories right there in Everlynd. The one time Shane had tried to bring it up, Red had ducked away from her, moving to walk next to Perrin and directing question after question at a bemused Paper Witch.

Shane was usually the first one to write off secretive Witches as just being needlessly secretive. But Red kept shooting Shane strange looks whenever she thought the huntsman wasn’t watching, a faint thoughtful frown tugging at her eyebrows. Still, anything was better than the bitter, wounded expression Red had been wearing when she told them about the left hand of the Spindle Witch. The Wraith.

Shane bit down a shudder of revulsion. One Witch problem at a time, she reminded herself, turning back to the mirror.

“Show him the pin,” Red suggested.

“Sure. Couldn’t hurt,” Shane said, holding out her hand to Perrin and wiggling her fingers expectantly. Perrin’s look said he didn’t think this was a good idea, but he passed the butterfly pin to Shane anyway.

“Hey, you in there,” she growled, dangling the pin in front of the glass. “Recognize this? It’s yours.” She shook it, brandishing the little butterflies on their delicate chains.

The three of them paused, holding their breaths. Shane and the flickering candles remained the only thing reflected in the surface.

“Hit him a few times,” Red suggested with a toss of her hair. “Maybe he just needs a wake-up call.”

Shane eyed the stand thoughtfully, wondering if a little rap of her knuckles would knock the mirror off.

“Or,” Perrin suggested, “maybe we should wait for the Paper Witch.”

“A wise choice,” the Paper Witch said drily.

Shane turned to find the man had reappeared in the doorway in a long silver robe. His pale blond hair hung loose except for a single gathered strand wrapped round and round with blue thread, the little silver bell tinkling as he moved. His expression was half exasperation, half fondness as he looked at Shane, dangling the precious hairpin like bait in front of the mirror.

“That, I assure you, will not work,” the man promised. Shane stepped back, allowing him to take her place. “This hand mirror belonged to Queen Aurora,” the Paper Witch continued, running his hand along the silver rim. “I’m afraid there’s only one way to awaken the magic for certain.” He lifted one hand into the air, raising a small sharp knife in the other.

“What are you doing?” Shane hissed. The Paper Witch slid the knife across his palm. Red gasped as he fisted his wounded hand over the mirror and squeezed.

Perrin’s eyes were wide. “He carries the blood of the Rose Witches. It might work.” As Shane watched, a few red drops splashed onto the top of the mirror, sliding into the grooves of the butterfly engraving.

“If this mirror was enchanted for Aurora, he should respond,” the Paper Witch explained. He let a few more drops fall until the butterflies were outlined in red, the hint of color staining their wings dark like the painted wings of monarchs.

This time, Shane felt the change in the air, a shivery feeling like eyes on the back of her neck. The candles flickered madly in their braces, the flames whipping and dancing as though caught in a sudden gale. The mirror went dark and then light as all the candles flared at once.

Shane blinked spots out of her eyes, and when she could see again, there was a different face in the mirror: a familiar brown-haired man in brilliant red-and-gold robes. His hair was pulled into a half ponytail streaming down his back, and somehow he seemed far less wild and intimidating than the figure Shane and Red had met in the study. Maybe it was his soft expression.

The last time they’d met a version of this Witch, he’d told Shane these were little slivers of himself, a single moment and emotion trapped in time. Shane shivered, wondering exactly who they were talking to this time and what kind of knowledge he was safeguarding.

The Lord of the Butterflies looked them over. “A descendant of Aurora,” he greeted, eyes fixing on the Paper Witch. “I did promise to come whenever she called me to this mirror. I suppose you’re close enough.”

The Paper Witch inclined his head. “Lord of the Butterflies,” he said respectfully. “We need your knowledge.”

“It’s about the Spindle Witch,” Shane cut in, trying to speed things up a little. The Paper Witch shot her a warning look.

The Lord of the Butterflies didn’t look angry, just amused. “I don’t know any Witch with that title,” he said simply.

Shane gritted her teeth. “Think hard,” she suggested. “Cruel, powerful, uses golden threads . . .”

A strange smile crept across the man’s face. “I just met a girl like that—so lonely and desperate, whispering to all her little crows. So she’ll be called the Spindle Witch . . .” He said the name as though he were savoring every syllable.

Shane felt like something slimy was crawling down her spine. There was something deeply unsettling about this man, and Shane was glad they only had to deal with little pieces of him. Even if they were all out of order in time. Shane just hoped this one wasn’t from too early to help them.

“Maybe you can tell us something about this, then.” Red reached out, closing her hand over Shane’s and holding the butterfly hairpin up in front of the glass. Unlike the rest of them, the pin reflected in the mirror. The delicate butterflies swayed in front of the Witch as though it were in both places at once.

“Fascinating,” the man breathed as Red twirled it around, making the butterflies clink and glimmer. “I never would have thought to construct a spell that way.”

“Well, you did,” Shane snapped. “You made this pin, and when you gave it to us, you—well, another mirror you—said it was a very powerful weapon, but only under exactly the right circumstances. We need to know how to use it.”

Shane’s stomach clenched at the sudden sensation of ghostly fingers brushing over hers. The pin seemed to move on its own as the Lord of the Butterflies reached up to study it. Red jerked away like she’d been burned. Shane tensed the muscles in her neck, but she forced herself to remain still.

“It’s a tool,” the Witch said finally, sitting back. “For severing someone from their magic. Though it’s incomplete.”

Severing the Spindle Witch from her magic sounded like an excellent plan. Shane suspected a nine-hundred-year-old woman without powerful magic wouldn’t be nearly so difficult to defeat. That still left one little problem.

“Incomplete,” Shane repeated. “That sounds fixable. Is there a way to complete it?”

“When I said ‘incomplete,’ I meant literally.” The man reached out, tapping the empty chain on the pin reflected in the mirror. “One of the butterflies is missing. It would have to be replaced with another of my butterflies. I gave one much like it to Princess Aurora before her coronation—it was fashioned into a ring. She kept it with her always. As her descendant, perhaps you have it.”

The Paper Witch’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you, great lord, but I do not. If it is as powerful as you say, it was no doubt buried with Aurora in her tomb.”

That still sounded fixable to Shane. Tomb robbing was not her usual gig, since disturbing dead Witches seemed like just asking to be cursed, but it couldn’t be that different from treasure hunting.

Perrin seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “So, if we get this ring, we can complete the pin?”

The Witch hummed thoughtfully, tipping his head. “Let’s just say you definitely can’t complete the pin without it. How’s that?”

It sounded suspiciously like a devious Witch leaving himself a loophole. Still, Shane wasn’t going to waste any time trying to squeeze the truth out of the Lord of the Butterflies. This version of him was much more obliging than the one she and Red had met before—probably because he was a well-dressed sliver of himself tucked inside a princess’s hand mirror. They were all parts of the same whole, though. The one who’d had a falling-out with Aurora. The one who had been enthralled by the Spindle Witch’s power. The one who had ultimately been cursed and banished.

Shane nodded to the Paper Witch. “So, if I take the mirror to Queen Aurora’s tomb, we might finally have a weapon to use against the Spindle Witch. Even if it is in the shape of a hairpin.”

The Witch in the mirror clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I wouldn’t recommend it—taking me along, that is.” His eyes glittered in the light of the flickering candles as he looked at the small space around him. “This mirror is very old and well used. I don’t have much strength left. You’ll probably only be able to call me one more time.”

“What?” Shane demanded.

“So make it count,” he suggested warningly. “Have everything in order—and have it absolutely right. No second chances.”

“Well, that’s clear as mud,” Shane grumbled, before the Paper Witch swept between them.

“Of course, great lord,” he said with another bow.

The Lord of the Butterflies smiled fondly, his eyes tracing the blond wisps of the Paper Witch’s hair. “I’m glad to see so much of Aurora lives on,” he murmured. Then his smile took on an entirely different edge. “Oh, and to the hothead: I never did anything by accident. If it’s in the shape of a hairpin, it’s in that shape for a reason.”

He was gone before Shane could even squawk in indignation at being called a hothead. The shape of a hairpin . . . for a reason? Shane wasn’t even going to guess. She’d let Perrin and the Paper Witch and other people whose job it was to untangle ancient Witch gibberish puzzle on that one.

Of course, there was one person Shane would have given anything to have at her side right now, and not just because she was the best historian and Witch puzzler Shane had ever met. Because Shane had a ruin to take on and she could have used her treasure-hunting partner at her back. She curled her fist. She’d just have to go it alone this time.

“Well, I guess I know where I’m headed,” she said.

The Paper Witch shook his head, pinning Shane with an exasperated look, the one that usually preceded her getting her way. “You want the location of Aurora’s tomb,” he guessed.

Shane grinned. “Unless you have some other treasure hunter in mind. We need that ring.”

“Whoa, whoa, back up,” Perrin broke in. “Queen Aurora’s tomb is the most sacred and protected ruin in all of Andar. Plenty of grave robbers have tried their hands, and it’s thwarted every one—for centuries. Not to mention there are some nasty rumors about that place, like people disappearing, never to be seen or heard from again. Some even say it’s cursed.”

“Perrin,” the Paper Witch admonished. “That is nothing more than gossip.” He turned back to Shane. “Little is known about the inside of Aurora’s tomb, but she was the greatest light Witch in our kingdom’s history—a queen who ruled with compassion and wisdom. She would not leave any dark curse, I assure you. I can arrange a guide from among the Everlynd scouts to take you—”

Shane shook her head. “Nope. I’m going alone. Anyone who’s not a treasure hunter is going to slow me down.”

The Paper Witch looked like he wanted to argue, but Shane was prepared to dig her heels in on this one. Aurora’s tomb was infamous among treasure hunters, too. Shane had heard her own nasty rumors about people who entered the tomb and then were found months or even years later wandering the valley with no memory of who they were. Aurora might have been good and noble and whatever in the storybooks, but her tomb was the resting place of a powerful dead Witch. Whatever happened to people in there, it was real magic—big magic. The kind that Shane couldn’t risk facing with someone who had no idea what they were doing.

“You can’t be serious about this,” Perrin started. Red looked like she had some objections herself—actually, Red looked like she had a lot of objections, her mouth twisted in a deep scowl.

Luckily, Shane didn’t need their approval. The Paper Witch’s robes swished over the rug as he moved to stand in front of her, his blue eyes searching hers.

“I have known you for a long time, Shane, and I trust your judgment,” he said. “If you say you must do this alone, then you must. But know that I will help you any way I can.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Thanks,” Shane said, her throat feeling a little thick. She could still remember when the Paper Witch was just a stranger in white reaching out to some washed-up mercenary in a backwater bar. The Paper Witch had seen something in her then that she couldn’t see—even if he had taken a few precautions at first, like putting locks on everything down to his silverware drawer. He’d given her a second chance to find herself. It meant a lot to know he trusted the person she’d become.

“Perrin, fetch a sheet of parchment from that shelf beneath the window, would you?” the Paper Witch said. Then he turned to the small writing table.

“You’re going to draw me a map by hand?” Shane asked, trying not to sound ungrateful. She had figured finding the tomb would take more than a few scribbled directions.

“That would be far too imprecise,” the Paper Witch said.

The bell in his hair tinkled as he swept quills and brushes out of the way, making a space on the cherrywood surface for the cream-colored sheet of paper Perrin had retrieved. Then he lifted a hand, gently tugging free the crystal earring that he had worn as long as Shane had known him. He held it up in the wavering light. If she looked closely, Shane could just make out the tiny pattern of a rose inside it, a deeper curl of red within the pink crystal. She’d never noticed that before.

“Queen Aurora’s resting place is a sacred location, one guarded by all the Roses of Andar. The pattern inside this crystal is made of ink,” the Paper Witch explained.

He lowered the earring until it dangled right over the smooth surface of the paper and then lifted his empty hand, twirling his finger around the crystal like he was coaxing an errant thread. To Shane’s amazement, the tiny rose began to uncoil from the crystal, sliding down onto the parchment in spindly lines. Even though there had only been the barest hint of a rose inside the earring, the tendrils of red ink just kept unspooling, like a tiny trickle of blood draining from the crystal’s heart. As the lines crawled across the page, she realized it was the beginnings of a map.

“This will take a while,” the Paper Witch said absently, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Let me help,” Perrin offered. He studied the uncoiling lines for a moment before resting his fingertips on the paper and beginning to turn it gently. The map emerged beneath their hands, slowly spreading onto the mottled parchment.

Shane felt a flicker of movement as Red sidled up to her elbow.

“You’re really going alone. You don’t need a partner?” Red asked. Her voice was painfully hopeful.

“Not this time,” Shane said. Then, softer, she added, “It’s too dangerous, Red. No room for amateurs on this one.”

Red crossed her arms. “And what about the Wraith? You’re just going to traipse around in the forest alone while he’s out there, after all of us?”

“He’s not after all of us. He’s after you, Red.” Shane caught her by the elbows, squeezing softly. “You’re the one he wants. You’ll be safe here with the people of Everlynd.” The girl opened her mouth to argue, but Shane shook her head, cutting her off. “I can’t risk something happening to you.”

“But I’m supposed to be okay with something happening to you?” Red demanded hotly.

Shane grinned. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not that easy to kill, remember?”

Red didn’t smile back. Her eyes flared as she wrenched away, jabbing her sharp finger into Shane’s chest.

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” she bit out. “Maybe I’m not worried. Maybe I just didn’t want to be left behind. But fine, Shane—do it your way.” Then she whirled around and stormed out of the tower, slamming the door so hard three scrolls toppled off the shelf.

Perrin caught Shane’s eye and winced. “Maybe she’ll have cooled down by the time you get back?”

Even Shane wasn’t that much of an optimist. But she’d have to deal with that later. Right now, she had a tomb to raid.