Her logical mind wondered where the waterfall came from—the source was lost in the mists—or where the water went when it drained off. Inside the library, though, such questions simply didn’t apply. Ending took care of it, as she took care of everything.

In the center of the little jungle was a circle of flagstones, cracked and overgrown with grass and flowers. In the middle of the circle there was, of course, a book, a thick, ancient-looking thing bound in green leather. Alice had left it carefully alone during her visits here; reading even the first page would take her through. If it was a portal-book, that wouldn’t be so bad, she’d be able to return by the same route; but if it was a prison-book, there was no way out except by defeating the prisoner. One lesson that both Geryon and Ending had drummed into her was never to open a book if you didn’t know what was on the other side.

The magic that leaked through, even while the book was closed, had gradually created this sprawl of jungle, and it was that energy Alice hoped to capture. She’d gathered a handful of acorns out in the woods and brought them here, priming them with a careful tweak of the tree-sprite’s power. They would drink in the magic until they were full to bursting, and then Alice would able to call on them when she needed to.

That was the theory, at least. Getting the little tweak right proved harder than she’d thought. This was the third batch—the dozen acorns in her first two tries had variously sprouted into miniature trees, decomposed into necrotic slime, or simply exploded like tiny grenades when she’d picked them up, lodging bits of nutshell in her skin. Each attempt had to be left to soak for a week, so experimenting was a slow process.

In this batch, laid out in a neat ring around the book, she could see two of the little short-lived oak trees, and the one nearer her seemed to have transformed into a small patch of mushrooms. The other three looked intact, though, and she wondered if she’d finally gotten it right. Ending, while tremendously knowledgeable, could only describe what she had to do, not actually demonstrate it—using the powers of bound creatures was magic for Readers alone.

Ending’s voice, a deep velvet purr, reached Alice’s ear as though summoned by her thoughts. “Hello, Alice.”

Alice kept herself from jumping only by strenuous effort. As usual, the only sign of Ending was a pair of huge yellow eyes at a level with Alice’s own, staring out of the deep shadow of the undergrowth. Beneath them, Ending’s long fangs were just a hint of an ivory gleam.

“Hello,” Alice said, keeping her voice calm.