“I’m looking for something,” Alice said. “A book. It’s called The Infinite Prison.”

“That old thing?” The masked figure laughed. Alice felt strange, hearing her own laugh echoing around her. “Of course you can have it. Here.”

The mirror-Alice turned to the table and picked up a small, leather-bound book that Alice hadn’t noticed there a moment before. She flicked through the pages, shrugged, and snapped it closed again.

“Catch,” she said, and tossed the book at Alice. Alice brought her hands up automatically, at the same time not expecting anything to reach her—it’s only a mirror, after all—

The book fluttered open, bouncing off her hands, and she grabbed it before it could fall. Long practice made her avert her eyes until she got the book properly closed. It was light, and the cover was worn, but she could just make out an image tooled into the leather, two identical men staring at each other.

“Thank you,” Alice said.

“It’s been lying around in a corner all these years. We’re glad to be rid of it.” The mirror-Alice’s voice had a pleading note. “But there must be more we can do for you. We’re so alone here, and you’ve come so far.”

“Do for me?” Alice looked over the food. “I don’t suppose you could throw me one of those apples?”

“I’m afraid not. The book was given to us, long ago, and aside from that, all we have are—”

“Tricks of the light,” Alice said. “None of it is real.”

“But,” the mirror image said eagerly, “tricks of the light can be useful things. We can show you anything you desire. Any time, any place, any person. Whatever you like.”

Alice hesitated. She felt like she should leave—she’d gotten what she came for, with no difficulty at all, and asking for anything more seemed like pushing her luck. But the mirror-Alice sounded so eager, so lonely, blank mask leaning forward until it was practically pressed against the glass.

Could they show me my father? Even Readers couldn’t just call up a view of the past from nothing. Pyros’ warning, and Helga’s, floated across her mind. It could be a trick. She decided to test them first.

“Well,” Alice said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing my old house again. The way it was a few years ago, before—”

And suddenly she was standing in it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

VISIONS

SHE WAS IN the front hall, with its grand staircase and walls hung with her father’s favorite paintings. In later years, the sitting room had been closed up, its furniture covered in dust cloths, and some of the paintings had been sold; but this was the old house at its height in 1929, when the good times looked as though they might go on forever.