“Why is he telling me this?”
She hesitated. “Honestly, ma’am—miss, he didn’t specify. I’d recommend asking him when there are no other mages in the room. But I know he was worried about the integrity of the mountain and your…inability to properly control your reactions, begging your pardon.”
“It’s a fair point,” Austin said. His alpha mask was on, but I felt his compulsion to laugh.
“You can also change the spell he gave you,” the woman said, “to fit your needs. He said it was…robust, I believe. Easily adaptable.”
“Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“Yes, miss.”
She took a right at a fork, heading down the tunnel that Nathanial, Isabelle, and Edgar had explored earlier. They’d made it to the end, only to discover a big, fat wooden door—similar to what we’d found at the end of our exploration—that could not be moved by magic or physical force. There would be no fast exit, and given the magic I’d seen around the exit we’d investigated, there’d be no sneaking in. We couldn’t even ask the town gargoyles what lay on the other side, since they were in rock form, and even if they weren’t, there wasn’t cell service and the cave phones in our rooms didn’t call out.
There was one glimmer of hope: the basajaun thought there was another grouping of tunnels elsewhere in the mountain. Above us, he thought, or maybe in a sister mountain. Possibly both. All mountains were different, it turned out, and this one was hard for him to read.
The question was, could we access those other tunnels through this grouping?
He didn’t know the answer yet, but he hoped to keep exploring and figure it out.
Like the tunnel I’d explored with Austin and Broken Sue earlier—that name was too good not to use, especially since Brochan didn’t seem to care—the space and light diminished the deeper we went, the tunnel a little cramped. The basajaun would have to stoop back here, which meant we were probably getting close to one of the exits.
The woman stopped beside a double door painted green, covered in a mural designed to make it look like the grand entrance to a dining hall. Magic crisscrossed over it. She wiggled her fingers and the spells bled away.
“They’ll have to stay outside.” She gestured around us, and I didn’t hide my confusion. My people had already lagged back so I could assess the situation. They weren’t crowded in around us like she clearly thought. Which meant she couldn’t see them but still knew they were there.
“What?” I asked, squinting at her.
“I am equipped with a revealing spell, and your people will need to stay outside. Except for the phoenix.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Good guess, obvious lie.”
She paused. “Beg your pardon, miss?”
“You can’t see my people. Yes, I have some, but no, they aren’t where you’re guessing. Did Elliot tell you his revealing spell probably wouldn’t be powerful enough to break my invisibility potion?”
She stared at me for a long beat. “Yes, he did. Your honesty is…odd.”
“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t’ve tried to smuggle them in,” I mumbled.
“We have spells that should still work to point them out. I should’ve run interference to make up for my lack of sight, but I am not used to being in this situation. I’ve never met anyone that has more power than Elliot Graves. Please, after you.” She gestured me in.
The room on the other side had a high ceiling, brightly painted walls, and a stage for a small band. Currently a string quartet was stationed there, quietly playing soothing music into the dim light provided by several hanging chandeliers.
A large table spanned the space to my right, and the eight filled spaces save one flickered with holograms of varying strengths. The other was a gaunt man with graying hair, loose skin, and spindly hands resting on the table.
“No, no, Burke…” Elliot sat at the head of the table, his hologram the strongest of the group, barely flickering. “No hands on the table for those here in the flesh. You know the rules.”
“What are you going to do about it?” the man sneered. “You’re too chicken to show your face. All of you are.”
“What is there to fear? No one sitting at this table in the flesh is worth half a thought,” said a young man with a snooty voice, blonde hair parted pristinely to the right, wearing a perfectly knotted bow tie the basajaun really should study.
The woman in red closed the door after Cyra before leading Austin and me to the two empty chairs next to each other, in between two holograms. Cyra would apparently need to stand behind us.
“Is it Jane culture to be late?” asked a man opposite Austin’s place, his face pulled tight like a rubber band. Clearly he lacked the ability to pull off a convincing magical illusion and had chosen to pay a plastic surgeon. White hair crawled out of his ears and nose.