“I did,” Selene said.
“This I have asked and you have answered.”
The ghost looked apologetic. She took a deep breath, searching for something she could ask him that wouldn’t drive the dark to him.
“What happened when a mage lost themselves to magic before?”
“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, as if trying to pull the memory from the darkness.
“You don’t remember?”
His eyes opened, bright as a winter sky. “It never happened.”
“How can you be sure?”
“There’s no gap there. With some things, I just know. Like the sky is blue and there’s salt in the sea. I’ve seen a magician spent of their power. I remember a bone-deep exhaustion and days of sleep and ravenous hunger. But I don’t remember why I did the magic, or for whom. It’s like knowing the names of things but not the faces.”
It made sense why he wouldn’t remember the Asylum. It had been built after he’d been locked away. And perhaps L’Opéra du Magician and time had pushed mages to their edges. Tried to make them better. Opened them further to the magic.
It was an easy explanation.
Too easy.
Like the books in the library. None of them were older than she was. There were new editions each year to be studied when it came to music and magic. Selene had always assumed that was a mark of innovation. But what if it was more sinister? What if the very nature of magic was being wrought from them? In all her years of studying magic, Selene was sure of how magic happened. It was music, and nothing else. She had never questioned if there might be anything more.
But there was.
She had been lied to.
What had Madame meant about bringing lambs to the slaughter?
Selene didn’t have time to worry about any of that. She could feel the press of the darkness, knew that the ghost’s request was coming. He could feel it, too, she was sure.
“What happens if it’s not me?”
His smile was half in shadow. “I thought you were relentless, Selene. Making doors out of nothing and finding your way into mirrors.”
The words held weight and resonance.
“Were there libraries, a hundred years ago?”
He laughed. “We had the greatest library in the world, just north of the city.”
“There’s nothing there now, save the Asylum.”
“That’s—” His eyes went dark—just for a moment. He focused on her, the intensity in his gaze growing. “Find me a song that sings itself.”
Selene pressed the pin into her skin, not ready to leave but too afraid of the consequences to stay. “Wish me luck?”
“You won’t need it,” he said.
She lost gravity, slipping out of his stasis and into the cold dark below the opera house. She thought she heard the echo of his voice from the glass. A word, a whisper.
Luck.
Real or not, Selene would wear it like armor. She’d let the sound of his voice bring the strength to face what came next.
Chapter 20
