Isaac Skinner could not escape the bells. They were a nuisance, and then a comfort, and then so familiar he hardly noticed them. They reached every nook and cranny of SEIDR’s caves, counting the short, sweet hours away.

Their overlapping harmonies greeted him at the sun-drenched atrium lake, ringing out eleven o’clock as Isaac stared at the community bulletin board.

It was a riot of color and cork, paper layered on paper. Countless fliers, old and new, screamed for his attention. Isaac had eyes for only one of them.

Bold and clean, black and white, a poster announced, “This spring: Hamlet at the Catacomb Theater!” Beneath that, in fine print: “Employees are encouraged to audition.” An illustrated skull grinned at him from the bottom of the page.

His feet were rooted to the ground even as the bells died away.

Eleven years ago, somewhere between sea and sky and Oshun’s star, Isaac woke up in a garden with no memory of himself. He had a single point of reference: his black tunic was marked with the name Hamlet. So, too, were his rough-spun trousers and soft leather shoes.

In absence of a personal history, Isaac could only assume that he was Hamlet. He was very different before that and very different after it, but the name still held him spellbound. Written or spoken, it commanded all his attention, for the past seven years had not entirely erased his memory of the first four.

“Isaac!”

He turned. Yaz waved to him from the doorway of the Spire. “I thought we agreed on ten-thirty.”

“Sorry.” Isaac pulled himself away from the poster, step by step. “I got distracted.”

He joined Yaz in her office, nestled into the base of the Spire. Unlike most of SEIDR, it was neither dark nor dingy. Its windows caught the light reflecting off the atrium lake, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow.

She had decorated the walls with potted plants and filled a display cabinet with gemstones and geodes. Isaac’s attention was captured by a geometric spiral of metal with the dark iridescence of an oil spill.

“That’s a bismuth crystal,” Yaz said. “Grew it myself.”

She took a seat at her desk, and Isaac sank into the couch across from it. “So, you mentioned a lead?” he said.

“Yes.” Yaz reached under her desk and pulled out an enameled samovar, setting it down in front of Isaac. “This.”

Isaac blinked. “That’s—how the hell did you get that?”

“Felix had it. He didn’t know what it was until Raimes talked to him. We took it off his hands last night, as soon as he got back from Boston.”

“How did Felix end up with one of Caasi’s samovars?”

“It’s an interesting story,” Yaz said, lacing her fingers together. “According to him, Caasi showed up in Felix’s workshop after robbing the museum. Felix described him appearing out of nowhere, holding a knife and the samovar. They got into a tussle, at which point Caasi dropped the samovar and disappeared.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Why?”

Isaac grasped blindly for an answer and found only a handful of questions. “I mean … why would Caasi end up in Felix’s workshop in the first place? If he could teleport anywhere, why there?”

“Dunno.”

“And how did Felix avoid getting stabbed?”

“He was pretty vague on that front.”

“When did he say this happened?”

“Last Sunday. Just before midnight. The timeline fits perfectly.”

“This reeks of bullshit.”

“So what do you suggest?” Yaz asked, raising an eyebrow. “Felix and Caasi are in cahoots?”

“No. No, that wouldn’t make sense either. I don’t know.” Isaac pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you test the samovar? Are you sure it’s the right one?”

“Positive. This is one of the three. Feel free to look, but please don’t touch.”

Along one side of the samovar, an elaborate border of flowers curved between enamel and metal. On the other, a deep blue backdrop was dotted with dozens of yellow circles. Some of the circles were intact, while others were shattered into pieces.

As Isaac got closer, he realized that even the whole spheres were dotted with cracks. They were all falling apart.

Though it was beautiful, and caught the light in a pleasing way, Isaac still didn’t know why Caasi wanted it. In fact, he was having trouble finding a “why” behind anything Caasi did. Felix’s story had thrown him for a loop, and the samovar was not helpful. It mocked him with its artistry and points of color. It was important, dreadfully important, and he could not find a single reason for it.

Yaz watched him with detached curiosity. “While you’re here, Victor wanted me to check in and see if you’ve made any progress on Caasi’s teleportation.”

Isaac frowned. “Define progress.”

“Do you know how he’s getting around?”

“No.”

“Any hints?”

“I’m pretty sure he used the rift in Boston. But that doesn’t explain how he found SEIDR, or got in. Or how he ended up attacking Felix. I haven’t got much to work with.”

“Victor is giving you a deadline. You have one week left.”

“A week?”

“Seven days. Friday to Friday.”

“I know what a week is,” Isaac snapped. “But Victor never mentioned a time limit. He just said that he wanted me to help. And I’ve been helping! I found the rift, for fuck’s sake.”

“We’ve already got riptrackers. We hired you to figure out how Caasi broke into the Institute. If you can’t finish the job, SEIDR has no reason to keep you around.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t just spring that on me out of nowhere.”

“I’ll give you some advice. Victor has been very disappointed to see your attention elsewhere. You’ve been all over the place.”

She gave him a pointed look, and Isaac’s stomach twisted. “Is this about Gray?”

“I recommend you focus on Caasi. That’s what you’re here for. You don’t need to worry about Gray.” Yaz grinned with a big movie-star smile. “Don’t waste your time. Or mine.”

“Why did she steal that ship?”

“She had delirium,” Yaz said. “There is no why. It was pointless and she died for it and you should move on before you dig yourself any deeper.”

“I want to know—”

“Isaac, a deadline is far from the worst thing we could do to you.”

***

Isaac wished he had jumped through the rift in Boston and gotten it over with. As much as he might bristle and argue and complain, SEIDR had all the leverage now, and he was helpless to oppose them. The idea of missing out on Oshun, after coming this close, was sickening.

Without thinking, his feet carried him away from the atrium lake. He turned down a curving tunnel that grew narrower and darker as he followed it. The path became a rocky ledge, hanging just over the canal.

The light from the atrium was almost gone when he reached the first lantern. It hung low and red, casting a dull glow over the cave. Isaac sat cross-legged under it, his back against the cold wall.

They were having a memorial service for Gray at the library in a few hours. It brought him a piercing, rarefied clarity. If he attended, how bad would the consequences be?

Yaz had made it very clear there would be consequences. And Isaac could not risk his chance to find Caasi. The doppelganger was his ticket back to Oshun, and he refused to sacrifice that.

But Isaac could not let anything go. Not one question, not one enigma, not one unturned stone. He picked a pebble off the ground and tossed it into the water. The splash was quiet, but the ripples kept going, running off into the dark.

It was not in his nature to pick one mystery over another, but showing up at Gray’s memorial would invite repercussions. He had no excuse for attending. He’d never even met her. Not really.

He stared out across the canal. Under his little circle of lamplight, the whole world was red. Beyond its edges, the tunnel stretched toward darkness in both directions.

And then he saw something strange.

To his left, deeper into the cave, there was a little ripple in the water. No, there were two, he realized. They were just barely visible, side-by-side, tiny dimples on the surface.

As he squinted in the low light, he saw something else. Beneath the water. Or maybe it was only a shadow.

The familiar prickle of fear ran up his neck. He sprang to his feet. Before him, there was nothing but the dark canal, and he couldn’t tell if he’d been tricked by the light and the depth or if he’d seen something. If there was even anything to see.

Isaac began to walk back toward the atrium, checking behind him every few steps. He expected nothing and got nothing, and yet his fear did not abate. He almost would have preferred to catch something, for he did not like the feeling of being followed by invisible eyes. Uncertainty was worse than real terror.

As the glow from the skylight reached him, an idea stopped him in his tracks. It wiped the lingering dread from his mind.

Maybe he could have it both ways. Was there ever a sweeter phrase?

***

Isaac’s plan was foolproof. He would show up at the library and start researching Caasi. Yaz couldn’t fault him for reading about doppelgangers; that was his job. If he happened to overhear Gray’s memorial service, or run into a few of the attendees, who would even know?

The Institute’s library was always open, for science never slept. It was a chaotic and glorious collection of books that could not be found anywhere else.

There was a cafe in the center of the room. Above it, an asymmetrical glass chandelier shone with dappled golden light. Its warped surface shifted between brown and amber and orange, flecked with spots of red.

Isaac went to the front desk and asked if they had anything on doppelgangers. He ended up with a stack of books about SEIDR’s history. When he mentioned that he was also researching teleportation, the librarian laughed and said there was a sci-fi section at the back. Isaac was disappointed but not terribly surprised.

He found a cozy armchair and curled up with a mug of black tea close at hand. His nook had a good view of the central corridor. At the very least, he’d see everyone attending the memorial as they walked past. He could pick out a few faces and try to find them later.

He plunged into the first book. The writing was woefully dry, but Isaac persevered. He’d been reading for about an hour when an emphatic and familiar voice, rising above the murmur of conversation and footsteps, drew his attention. He peered up over the edge of the cover.

Felix Marchetti was leading a class through the library, lecturing as he went. The other weavers trailed behind him like a row of ducklings. They all had the stunned, dreamy expressions of first-year students.

Felix’s voice was unreasonably loud, wavering between impatience and disdain. Other patrons turned to glare at him as he passed, but he ignored them, gesturing theatrically. “—and besides, I don’t expect much. Three sources is the bare minimum, though I’m sure none of you will bother to exceed that.”

Isaac shrank into his chair, holding the book in front of his face. The last thing he needed was another conversation with Felix.

“None of the books are allowed to leave the library, of course. There are plenty of reading rooms around the mezzanine. If you’re not done with a book by the time you leave, you can renew it for up to three—shit.”

“Three shit?” a student asked with a blank face.

“Pardon me, I just spotted our local murderer sitting in the back.” Felix pointed dramatically at Isaac, and his voice became even louder. “They were supposed to lock you up and toss away the key. What happened?”

Isaac frowned and raised the book higher. He figured that ignoring Felix was his best option. It was a test of endurance. The weaver couldn’t possibly stand here and shriek at him all day.

“This is the man who tried to kill me last week,” Felix said, turning back to his students. “He also broke into the museum and murdered one of the curators. Nasty business. Consider this a warning: steer clear of Isaac Skinner. You never know when he might snap.”

“I never tried to kill you,” Isaac said, against his better judgment. He couldn’t stand the way everybody stared. “That was my doppelganger. Raimes should have explained that already.”

“You might have Raimes fooled, but you can’t lie to me. I was there.” Despite Felix’s confident tone, he kept a good distance between himself and Isaac. His eyes flicked back and forth between the spectators. “Don’t believe anything he says. It’s all bullshit.”

Isaac lost his patience. He closed the book. “It’s not. Ask Victor, or Yaz, or—or anybody.”

Felix laughed. “Why don’t they ask me, since I was the one you tried to stab? Ah, he’s getting angry. Look at that! Just a little bit of honesty and the whole facade comes down. Believe me, Skinner, I know what you’re like under the mask, and it’s not pretty. You really think you can hide that? I dare say it’s pathetic.”

Isaac finally chucked the book at Felix.

It was almost worth it for the shock that ran across his face. His eyes were wide, his mouth half-open. He looked like an idiot.

And then he caught the book and glanced at the title. “Ah, he’s doing a little reading to get his story straight. Isn’t that right?”

“Fuck right off,” Isaac said, scowling.

“Hey!”

Isaac turned to see a very angry librarian bearing down on him. “Unacceptable!” she said. “You can’t throw books in here!”

“I—sorry—he was just—”

“And you!” she said, turning to Felix. “You can’t be shouting like this! Both of you, get out.”

“But I’m teaching a class,” Felix said plaintively, pointing back toward the students. “I can’t leave now. They need guidance.”

She threw her hands up. “Fine. But keep your voice down. I will not tolerate any more yelling. And you have to go.”

Isaac said, “But I was waiting to attend the memorial. I can’t—”

“I’m giving you a one-month ban. Come back in February, if you’re willing to behave yourself.”

“I might not even be here in February!”

“Not my problem. If you can’t respect the books, you don’t deserve the space.” She gave him such a withering look that he couldn’t muster a word of protest.

Isaac threw up his hands. “Alright. I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”

He heard Felix complaining as he left, and it stoked the smoldering embers of his resentment. His plan would’ve worked, he was certain, if it wasn’t for that thrice-damned weaver. Now he had no books, no memorial, and nowhere to go.

He wandered the shoreline, kicking rocks into the water and watching them bounce and clatter and sink. He so desperately wanted to succeed. He was aching to get it right. It was like a hot coal in his chest.

Through his aimless meandering he returned to the atrium. Its cavernous walls and sunlit water eased his frustration. He was here for a reason.

The bells sang, and he stopped and looked up. The Spire towered above him, caught in a sunbeam. Past the white granite pillars, draped with stone vines, birds perched in rocky alcoves and berries clustered in marble trees. Above those, a hollow archway peered out over the lake. He could just barely see the glint of metal from inside as the bells tolled.

They rang four times and settled into silence. In the library, Laurel’s memorial service was just getting started.

“How goes it, Isaac?”

Isaac jumped. His mind was elsewhere, and it took him a moment to realize where the voice came from.

Victor Belka stood on the steps of the Spire, watching him with faint amusement. He wore a pair of yellow silk gloves and held a book folded under his arm.

“Well,” Isaac stuttered. “Pretty well. How are you?”

“Excellent,” Victor said, strolling down to greet him. “I’ve been looking for you, actually.”

“You have?”

“Yes. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Uh, great.” Isaac’s brain short-circuited. “Could you—I mean, would you mind explaining—you expect me to—I mean, why did you only give me a week?”

“Here. Let’s walk and talk.”

Isaac hesitated, but his options were limited and his tongue was tied in a knot. He followed the director.

Victor led him to a circular tunnel carved into the wall behind the Spire. The daylight of the atrium faded, replaced by ghostly white lanterns. The floor was a polished, glossy black. Traces of purple and blue gleamed through the stone.

“Please understand it’s nothing personal,” Victor said from up ahead. “I simply can’t afford to waste any time. Raimes has spoken highly of you—”

“He has?”

“As highly as Raimes speaks of anyone. I understand you assisted him in tracking down a rift in Boston. Your efforts are appreciated, but if you can’t finish the job I gave you, there’s no reason for me to employ you.”

“But I can figure it out,” Isaac said, speaking with a determination he did not entirely feel. “I’m sure I can. I just need time.”

“Then consider the deadline your motivation to stay on task,” Victor said lightly.

“Could I get two weeks?”

The director chuckled. “I don’t negotiate. If you have nothing to show me by next Friday, your time at SEIDR will be over. But don’t fret. Here we are.”

A canal interrupted the smooth tunnel, cutting squarely across their path. There was a canoe tied up near the shore, rocking in the current. A tall, withered woman sat in the prow.

Victor said, “Mr. Skinner, allow me to introduce Ms. Oleander. She may be able to assist you in finding Caasi. I’m sure you two will get along swimmingly.”

“Swimmingly, eh?” the woman said. Her voice was cracked with age. “Don’t oversell it.”

“Charming as ever, Miri.” Victor smiled thinly. “Don’t scare him too much, now.”

“A little fear is good for the soul.” The woman looked at Isaac. “What are you waiting for? Go on, get in.”

Feeling a bit awkward and more than a bit confused, Isaac clambered over the sides and into the boat. It sank a bit as he settled down. There was a shallow pool of bilgewater at the bottom, which quickly soaked through his shoes.

Victor strode away, silhouetted against the pale lanterns. Their conversation had left Isaac with the unsettling feeling that he’d been yanked out of his depth and left to flounder in open water.

“And don’t call me Oleander. It’s Miriam,” the woman said dryly. “Or Miri, if you’re feeling bold.”

She was oddly familiar, but Isaac couldn’t quite place it. “Well, you can call me Isaac,” he said.

Miriam Oleander was a gaunt old woman with silver hair and a wicked smile. She wore a hazy purple shawl that draped over her shoulders and trailed behind her, and her eyes were dark and keen. She said, “Oh, I’ve heard enough about you, Isaac. You’ve been all kinds of busy since you got here.”

She untied the canoe and pushed it away from the dock, guiding them into the center of the canal. “Asking plenty of questions. Getting into plenty of trouble, I’d wager. You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“No?”

“Good.”

Miriam paddled the canoe toward a fissure in the wall, a wide canyon that plunged into the water. Vines dangled over the entrance, forming a green curtain that brushed past Isaac’s head and shoulders.

Inside the canyon, the passageway zig-zagged back and forth until the light spilling in from behind them was completely gone. There were no lanterns. Soon, there was nothing to see at all.

Isaac opened and shut his eyes and could not tell the difference. It was a humid, velvety, impenetrable black. Water dripped steadily in the distance. A gentle breeze stirred through his hair.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Miriam asked. Her voice was low and raspy.

Isaac shook his head, and then realized she couldn’t see him. “No.”

“You trust easy, don’t you?”

“I assume you aren’t here to kill me. I mean, if Victor wanted me dead, I’m sure he could figure out a better way to do it.”

She cackled, and it echoed off the walls. “He could, he could. But he much prefers you alive, so I’m taking you to the Guild.”

“The Wizards Guild?”

“There’s only one guild around here, dear.”

Isaac was quiet for a while. He dipped his fingers into the water, letting them trail in the cold current. “Are you a wizard?”

“Am I ever!” Once again, Miriam’s laughter bounced out across the canal. From the echoes, Isaac guessed that the walls had grown very narrow around them. “And I’ve heard some rumors that you’d like to be one yourself.”

“Very much,” Isaac said softly.

“Can’t blame you. I was the same way when—well. There’ll be time enough for that later.”

They continued in silence for a while. Isaac’s head was buzzing with real, genuine questions, but what he blurted out was, “How are you steering in the dark?”

“Carefully. It’s a straight shot from here, anyway. Look, we’re almost there.”

A hint of light illuminated the canyon now. Isaac could see Miriam’s silhouette, her shawl billowing out in the breeze and entangling with her frizzy hair.

As the light grew, the walls fell away. Their boat floated out into a wide, tranquil pool.

The Wizards Guild was built on an island that jutted up from the dark water. It was sharp, almost vertical, with open stairways carved around its outer walls and bright windows peering out from the rock. It looked like a crumbling castle, or a petrified tree stump.

A soft, trilling music drifted out from one side of the island. The pool around it was deep and still, and the distant ceiling was lost in shadow. As they approached, Isaac was struck by a feeling of reverence. Far from the chaos and bustling waterways of the Institute, the Guild hummed with its own arcane insights and purposes.

They didn’t see another soul as they climbed up one of the narrow staircases, winding around the perimeter. Isaac watched his footing carefully. On his left side, there was a steep wall; on his right, a sheer cliff dropping into the water below.

The solemnity of the place left him thrilled. There were real secrets here. He could feel them through the soles of his shoes.

Miriam ducked through a curtain in the wall, and Isaac followed her into a cozy room with a crackling fire pit in the middle. Rush mats lay scattered across the floor.

Miriam sat down on a mat, heaving out a great sigh of relief. “Well. Make yourself at home.”

Isaac sat across from her, as close to the fire as he could get. A ring of white stones surrounded the pit. They were all worn smooth, like old river rocks, and they radiated heat.

“You seem to have settled in pretty well,” Miriam said. “How long have you been here?”

“A week.”

“It takes most people a while to get used to it.”

“I’m used to the world being much stranger than I anticipated.”

“Ha. Yes, I suppose you are. Do you know who I am?”

Across the licking tongues of fire and the dark, hot coals, her bright eyes met his.

“Miriam Oleander,” he said, connecting the dots. “I read your file, didn’t I? You’ve got a doppelganger too.”

“You’ve been doing your research.”

“So you’re—you don’t remember anything, right? Your life before you fell into Oshun. How you got there in the first place.” You’re like me, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to speak the words aloud.

“Exactly. All I knew was the star. But I was only there for two months.”

“Two months?”

“Beats four years, I know.” The look she gave him was filled with a rueful sympathy.

“When did you become a wizard?”

“As soon as I could.”

“You feel the same way, don’t you?” Isaac didn’t know how to explain it, but the old woman across from him nodded twice. The understanding between them was beyond words.

“I know why you’re here. I talked to Silas about it, years ago, and we started calling it the split. You thought the star was everything. And then you came here and found out about your real past, your real history—or some of it, anyway. And now you’ve got the split, see? You can’t stay here and you can’t go back. Not fully. How are you supposed to choose?”

“I … don’t know. I’d rather not choose at all. I’d rather have both.”

She grinned. “That’s why it’s called the split.”

Isaac considered this in anxious silence. “I don’t know if they’ll give me a chance to go back, though,” he said. “I mean, I can’t get a wizard job until I figure Caasi out. I’ve only got a week.”

“I’ll give you a tip. Doppelgangers are dead simple.”

“They don’t seem simple.”

“That’s because we’re too goddamn complicated. We like to project.”

“You met yours, right?”

“Twice.”

“What was it like?”

“Not what I expected,” Miriam said. “She wasn’t me. She wasn’t made of things like flesh and blood. There was something else underneath. I could see it peeking through.”

“That’s—”

“I ain’t done. Once I figured her out, she worked like clockwork. You just need to get in a room with Caasi and he’ll start making sense.”

“I have no idea where he is, though,” Isaac said. “Shit, he could be anywhere. He might never come back.” The thought struck him like an arrow, and he took a shuddering breath. “He might be gone forever, and I missed my one—”

“Slow down, there. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I doubt he’s gone forever. I caught a glimpse of Red before she fled into the hills. Everyone said she was never coming back, but I figured it was only a matter of time. Took eleven years, but eventually she showed up again. Like I said. Clockwork.”

“But I don’t have eleven years,” Isaac said. “I have seven days.”

“Well. That’s a bit trickier.” Miriam grabbed an iron poker and prodded the fire. One of the logs collapsed, sending a cloud of brilliant embers into the air. “You might have to start with some second-hand guesswork. Did anybody else see Caasi and live to tell the tale?”

“In person? I guess. Just Felix.”

“Felix Marchetti? Oh, you’ve got a real streak of bad luck, Isaac Skinner. Has anyone ever told you that?”

No one had. But as Isaac contemplated the flames, he could not quite bring himself to disagree.