Damsel reached out with one hand, bladed fingertips touching the crystal pane that she was using as the mirror. It was like looking at a drawing of a cube, sans shading. From one angle, the cube could be seen as exterior walls, point facing out. From another, it could be seen as interior walls, point facing in. The bladed fingertips pulled away, then touched down again. Switching between the two with each time she tapped them.

Byron, with a bloody nose. Byron talking, with a haunted look in his eyes.

Damsel pushed him, with enough force it looked like he would smack into the pane of crystal. Her bladed fingertips tapped. He hit the interior wall, rather than the exterior one, bounced at a less violent angle than he would have if it had been the latter, a half-dozen reflections around him moving in sync, sliding out of view as Byron moved out of their frame of reference.

The Byron Damsel had just been handling slid out of the frame too, for that matter. It was another one who moved to the edge of its particular facet of crystal and kept moving beyond it. Damsel put her foot out, toe against crystal, her leg keeping him from falling too violently. I saw a flash of light appear at her foot, before racing off to the distance by a lightning bolt of a path.

“Wuh,” he said.

She didn’t bend down to help steady him, only keeping her leg where it could brace him until Tristan knelt by his brother’s side.

Byron looked up, then around. The sky was pitch black above us. The ground was like any other landscape, except with a bit more twist to it. Rolling hills that tilted a bit too far to the left or right with each roll. All in red crystal that trended toward black, with faint red glows where the two planes of crystal met, highlighting edges and cracks.

“Uhh,” Byron said. He looked at his brother, then seemed to realize who he was looking at. “The fuck?”

“That’s the last of us,” Rain said.

“Now that I’ve seen it done, and now that it’s too late, I’m really feeling super uneasy about this,” I murmured.

Damsel sniffed.

“Also really freaked out you’re that good at doing that,” I said.

“Good,” Damsel said. “Freaked out is a compliment.”

Byron and Tristan talked, exchanging words in murmurs.

“Where did that Byron come from?” I asked. “Where did the sleeping Byron go? Kenzie didn’t get hurt, is Kenzie the Kenzie I know?”

“No,” Kenzie said. She touched her pinafore dress, then hair. “I don’t think I ever wore this combination of stuff.”

I hadn’t either, for that matter. Costume top, the Brockton Bay watercolor remembrance dress.