‘They’re already your slaves,’ Ashes had said. ‘How much crueller do you need to be?’

It wasn’t like slavery, though. Not really. The swarmers didn’t even exist when she didn’t call on them, so it wasn’t like they were waiting around and getting bored. It’s more like . . . having a dog. One of those clever dogs that can herd sheep and do tricks when you whistle. For all she knew, the little things loved bouncing around and running into walls for her. Maybe I should feed them. Geryon hadn’t mentioned anything about that; all his instructions had focused on making the swarmers do what she wanted them to.

Ending’s voice purred at the back of her mind. ‘He is a Reader. His magic is based on cruelty and death. It is his nature.’

I’m a Reader too. So . . .

She shook her head, with a frown, and focused on the swarmer. According to Geryon, she ought to be able to reach into it and see through its eyes. Trying that with a whole batch of them had left her with an instant headache. I ought to be able to manage one, though.

Alice closed her eyes and reached out to the swarmer with her mind. She could feel it, a little silver mote in the inner darkness, connected to the shining thread that wrapped back around Alice herself and led back to the prison-book. Alice shifted her attention into that little mote, working hard not to open her real eyes and instead letting the swarmers’ senses flow into her. All at once, she found herself looking down at a girl in a blouse and a dust-covered skirt, with a long straight scar cutting through the freckles on her cheek.

It works! Alice clamped down on her excitement, not wanting to lose the fragile connection, but she couldn’t help a little giggle. I’ll never have to worry about having a mirror.

She tried moving the swarmer. It was disorienting, swinging its point-of-view round while her real body insisted she was standing still, but she fought through a wave of something like seasickness and kept at it. Before long she had it scampering back and forth across the shelf, brushing dust from the books as it passed. She could do more than see through it too – the tiks of its claws on the wood sounded loud in the swarmer’s own ears, and she even thought she could smell the dust up close.

I didn’t even know they had ears. They must be buried under the fur somewhere.

Turning back to herself, she caught sight of something moving, further down the aisle. Anything in motion was brighter and more obvious through the swarmer’s eyes, while stationary objects faded slightly, like a painted backdrop. She made it run to the edge of the shelf and look down, expecting to see one of the ubiquitous library cats.