Darlington bowed to the figure dressed in celadon silk robes and a golden headdress that also served as a half-mask.
“How may we address you this night?” Darlington inquired.
The wearer of the mask represented Lan Caihe, one of the eight immortals of Chinese
myth, who could move amongst genders at will. At each gathering of Manuscript, a different Caihe was chosen.
“Tonight I am she.” Her eyes were entirely white behind her mask. She would see all
things this night and be deceived by no glamour.
“We thank you for the invitation,” said Darlington.
“We always welcome the officers of Lethe, though we regret you never accept our hospitality. A glass of wine perhaps?” She raised a smooth hand, the nails curled like claws but smooth and polished as glass, and one of the acolytes stepped forward with a pitcher.
Darlington gave Alex a warning shake of his head. “Thank you,” he said apologetically.
He knew some members of Manuscript took personal offense that Lethe members never sampled the society’s pleasures. “But we’re bound by protocol.”
“None of our suggestions for the freshman tap were accepted,” said Lan Caihe, her white eyes on Alex. “Very disappointing.”
Darlington bristled. But Alex said, “At least you won’t expect much from me.”
“Careful now,” said Caihe. “I like to be disarmed. You may raise my expectations yet.
Who glamoured your arms?”
“Darlington.”
“Are you ashamed of the tattoos?”
“Sometimes.”
Darlington glanced at Alex, surprised. Was she under persuasion? But when he saw
Lan Caihe’s pleased smile, he realized Alex was just playing the game. Caihe liked surprises and candor was surprising.
Caihe reached out and ran a fingernail up the smooth skin of Alex’s bare arm.
“We could erase them entirely,” said Caihe. “Forever.”
“For a small price?” asked Alex.
“For a fair price.”
“My lady,” said Darlington in warning.
Caihe shrugged. “This is a night of culling, when the stores are replenished and the casks are made full. No bargain will be made. Descend, boy, if you wish to know what’s
next. Descend and see what awaits you, if you dare.”
“I just want to know if Jodie Foster is here,” Alex murmured as Lan Caihe returned to
the banquet table. She was one of Manuscript’s most famous alums.
“For all you know that was Jodie Foster,” said Darlington, but his head felt heavy. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. Everything around him seemed to shimmer.
Lan Caihe turned to him from her place at the head of the banquet table. “Descend.”
Darlington shouldn’t have been able to hear the word at this distance, but it seemed to echo through his head. He felt the floor drop away and he was falling. He stood in a vast
cavern carved into the earth, the rock slick with moisture, the air rich with the smell of turned soil. A hum filled his ears and Darlington realized it was coming from the mirror,
the vault that still somehow hung on the cave wall. He was in the same room but he was
not. He looked into the mirror’s swirling surface and the mists within it parted, the hum rising, vibrating through his bones.
He shouldn’t look. He knew that. You should never look into the face of the uncanny,
but had he ever been able to turn away? No, he’d courted it, begged for it. He had to know.
He wanted to know everything. He saw the banquet table reflected in the mirror, the food
upon it going to rot, the people around it still shoveling spoiled fruit and meat into their
mouths along with the swirling flies. They were old, some barely strong enough to lift a
cup of wine or a withering peach to their cracked lips. All but Lan Caihe, who stood illumined by fire, the golden headdress a flame, her gown glowing ember red, the features
of her face changing with each breath, high priestess, hermit, hierophant. For a moment,
Darlington thought he glimpsed his grandfather there.
He could feel his body quaking, felt dampness on his lips, touched his hand to his face
and realized his nose had started to bleed.
“Darlington?” Alex’s voice, and in the mirror he saw her. But she looked the same. She