‹That magic phone in your jaw. I’m using it as a kind of modem. I created a telepathic connection to a secure laptop, built a hard firewall and sent the signal through a series of encrypted Tor routers, and added a layer of magical programming just to be safe.›

‹If they took my memories, they’d know about the communicator.›

‹I’m sure they know about it. That doesn’t mean they know what I can do with it. You didn’t.›

‹Or you’re Kiyoko, trying to trick me into trusting you so you can access more of my mind.›

‹True enough. But you’re as helpless as a brain in a pickle jar, so there’s not much you can do about it either way. If I wanted your cooperation, all I’d have to do is stimulate the pleasure center of your brain. Or your pain center, if I was feeling unkind.›

‹Good enough for me. So how do we get me out of here?›

‹You’re going to do magic.›

‹Cool. How the hell am I going to manage that?›

‹With help. I’m going to try to activate the parts of your brain that deal with reading and memory. In some ways, it will be similar to what Kiyoko is trying to do.›

I felt trepidation and uncertainty in her words, along with something more. A moment later, I recognized it as guilt. ‹What aren’t you telling me?›

‹I need you to think about a book you’ve read, one that would do serious, targeted damage to a server room.›

Firestarter was the first book that came to mind. It was fresh in my memory after encountering its magic at Alexander Keeler’s home.

‹That should work,› said Talulah.

‹I’m not doing anything until you tell me the truth.›

Silence stretched between us. ‹If I do, you’ll wish I hadn’t.›

‹If you were trying to make me trust you, you missed badly.›

Another pause. ‹You’re not Isaac Vainio.›

I felt like she’d tossed me off the Mackinac Bridge. ‹I don’t understand.›

‹The first thing Kiyoko did when she spliced your brain into her network was to make a backup.›

‹I’m . . . a backup?›

‹One of three, and taking up an obscene amount of server space. From what I’ve been able to map out, there’s the original you, unconscious in your physical body. Then there’s a dev and QA environment, along with a clean backup.›

‹That can’t be right. I’m me. I mean, I’m not just memories. I’m conscious.› Wasn’t I? Life wasn’t limited to the flesh. Libriomancy had proved that a thousand times over. ‹Which one am I?›