The Mermaids Madness

pushed harder. “We’re better off keeping it out of sight.”
    The pressure in her skull squeezed tears from her eyes, and the pounding grew worse. Snow maintained her concentration until she heard Talia rise. The trunk’s oiled hinges made hardly a sound as Talia stowed the knife.
    Talia started to leave, then hesitated. Snow held her breath, uncertain how much more she could push without Talia realizing what was happening. She opened her eyes, squinting at the sight of two Talia’s bending over her. Talia’s lips brushed Snow’s forehead, and then she was gone.

    Snow had an easier time keeping Danielle away. She didn’t even need to use magic, which was fortunate. After Talia, she felt as though any magical effort at all would cause her head to burst like an overripe grape. She accepted the cup of tea from Danielle, took a few sips, then lay back with a fatigue she didn’t need to fake. “I’ll be fine. You should go check in on your son.”
    “How?” asked Danielle. “He wouldn’t be in the nursery right now.”
    Snow smiled. “Do you have any idea how many mirrors I’ve hidden throughout the palace? Your bracelet will find him.”
    Danielle pushed back her sleeve and raised the glass to her lips.
    “I’m sorry, but would you mind going elsewhere?” Snow said. “The magic . . . it makes my head ache.”
    That much was true. Snow felt as though she had the world’s worst hangover and hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy herself first. She rested a while after Danielle left, until the pain began to ease. Before, she had felt as though six ogres were trying to dig their way out of her skull. Now there were only five.
    She gently tugged one of the mirrors from her choker and studied herself in the tiny reflection. Wraps of white cloth circled her brow, and her hair was an utter disaster. How could her friends have left her in such a state?
    She picked up a pearl-handled comb and went to work, carefully tugging through the worst of the blood and vomit. She surveyed the results with a grimace, then crawled out of bed to retrieve her hat. Ever so lightly, she lowered the hat over the bandage, concealing the worst of the cloth.
    Much better, at least from what she could see in her mirror. Strange that her sight through the mirrors was so clear when the rest of the world remained blurred and doubled. More evidence that the mirrors worked through senses beyond mere sight. She would have to study them more closely when she got home.
    For now, it was time to stop stalling. Snow locked the cabin door, then struggled to cast a small charm to prevent Talia from picking the lock. She leaned against the door until the pain receded, then moved to the trunk, digging through Talia’s things until she found the sheathed knife.
    From her own trunk, she retrieved a small bundle wrapped with white leather. She returned to her cot, cradling the knife in both hands. There she waited, sweat dripping down her face, until the worst of the pain receded.
    When she could move again without nausea, she unrolled the bundle on the mattress. A set of slender silver tools lay within. Knives and needles, mostly—all too small to serve as weapons. She picked a long needle, strong and sharp enough to pierce double-folded leather.
    “I know you’re in there, Bea.” Carefully, she pressed the needle’s tip into the hair wrapped around the knife’s hilt, separating the hairs to reveal a crack of dark purple. More digging showed the edge of a scale. These were Lirea’s scales, similar in size to those from the doll Snow had lost at the tower.
    The scales made sense, given the knife’s purpose. Morveren’s spell was meant to bind Gustan’s soul to Lirea.
    And they had taken that knife away. What would happen to Lirea now? How far could Lirea be from Gustan’s soul before Morveren’s original spell claimed her life?
    “You shouldn’t have made the transformation permanent,” Snow muttered. “Every kid thinks she’s in love with her first. Give her some time as a human and see how it goes. Don’t marry her off to a man she’s barely spoken to, save for a few clumsy nights together.”
    She picked up a short-bladed knife, suitable for dissecting seeds and tiny creatures. She pressed the razor-sharp tip to her thumb, wincing as it nicked the flesh.
    Fear and excitement quickened her breath as she dabbed the blood over the abalone blade. Nothing happened at first. She squeezed her thumb, spreading more blood onto the