It was all about meeting expectations. People expected oracles to be fragile, unpredictable—at the mercy of their own talent. Time to act like an oracle.

Deciding to take inspiration from her nightmare, she shot to a sitting position and threw her head back in what she hoped was a dramatic pose.

“He who dares to enter the maze of burning mirrors without the key is doomed.”

The monster’s eyes heated with unwholesome excitement. He did not appear to be alarmed by the words of warning. If anything, he looked gratified.

Maybe she had chosen the wrong course of action. On the other hand, her options were extremely limited. Real oracles got treated with respect, because they had some serious powers. She had to act like a woman of power.

She took a moment to orient herself. She was on a narrow cot in a small, austere white-walled room. There was no religious paraphernalia, but the space looked like it had once served as the cell of a cloistered nun or monk. There was a single window. The monastery in the hologram.

She wondered how long she had been unconscious.

She swung her legs over the side of the cot. Relief washed through her when she realized she was still wearing everything she’d had on when she left the library to try to rescue Harmony. Long flannel nightgown. Down jacket. Low boots.

She looked around for the camera. She’d had it with her when she ran out into the night.

“It’s over there,” the monster said, as if he had read her mind. He gestured toward a table across the room.

She turned her head much too quickly and had to swallow a wave of nausea before her senses steadied enough to allow her to focus. The camera was on the table.

“Let’s hope you can use it,” the monster said. “It’s the reason why I’ve gone to so much trouble to obtain your services.”

“My services?”

“Allow me to introduce myself. They call me the Piper. In another life I had a more conventional name—Jake Spode.”

“You think the camera holds the key to Vortex,” she said.

This time she used her normal voice. She could not continue to toss out one-liners in the dreamstate voice, even if she was creative enough to come up with a string of fake prophecies. Spode would know she was faking it. Real oracles did not deliver their messages nonstop. They uttered their warnings only when they experienced an overwhelming need to give voice to an inner vision.

This fake oracle business was tricky.

“I’m certain the camera is the machine that is needed to access the pyramid and reset Vortex,” Spode said. “But you are the key. Unfortunately, the damn thing is locked with your grandmother’s signature. You are the only one who can operate it.”