She wondered, though, if he would have approved of her work with Geryon. She wasn’t sure she approved of it. Going into prison-books to force the creatures inside to submit to her—or killing them if they refused—still felt wrong somehow, though since her moment of defiance in the world of the tree-sprite, Geryon had not tested her against anything remotely intelligent or human-looking. “He is a Reader,” Ending had said of Geryon. “His magic is based on cruelty and death.” She half suspected her father would agree.

But this is the way forward. Emma, Geryon’s mindless, obedient maidservant with her vacant eyes, was always there to remind Alice of the only other way out.

She hadn’t had an afternoon off in a while. She thought about trying to catch up on her reading—there was a small and rather eclectic collection of books she’d borrowed from the library on her desk—but the sight of the sun pouring through her window changed her mind. She shrugged into a light jacket and went downstairs.

Pittsburgh’s summer had been hot but brief, and now, at the end of October, fall was well enough along that it wasn’t unusual to find frost on her windowpane in the morning. Now and again, though, the forces of the departing season seemed to rally for a last effort, and you got days like this one, with perfect golden autumn afternoons, just chilly enough to put red in your cheeks. A line of clouds darkened the sky to the west, suggesting the break in the weather wouldn’t last, but for now it felt just right.

Alice wandered across the lawn that separated the Library mansion from the library building proper, which seemed like a good enough place to practice. She grabbed the dinosaur’s thread and pulled it toward her, testing how much strain it put on her mental grip. More, she decided, than any of the creatures she had bound so far, but to her surprise it was well within the limits of her strength. Geryon had said her power would grow with practice, but this was the first time she’d realized it was actually happening.

The dinosaur appeared beside her and made a noise that was half rumble and half honk, like a goose with a sore throat. Alice walked around it, giving it a leisurely inspection like a field marshal looking over his troops, then sent it walking toward the trees. Like most of the creatures she met, it was considerably more appealing when it wasn’t trying to kill her. In spite of its size—Alice thought she might be able to ride it, although probably not for long—it had an endearingly doglike quality about it.

Spike, Alice decided. I think I will call him Spike. Though, for all she knew, Spike was a girl; she had no idea how one could tell, with dinosaurs.