Act 3, Chapter 94: A spy in the land of mirrors

Day in the story: 29th January (Thursday), around noon—11 hours into the time trial

Alexandra May using a little birdy

My little bird found itself riding the cold January currents above New York. Despite the gravity of everything unfolding below, the air at this altitude remained strangely untouched. The sky stretched overhead in a vivid, cloudless blue, and for a moment it was possible to forget what was happening on the ground.

Below, however, the city was caught in a deep, unrelenting shitstorm. Chaos spread in every direction. Thick columns of gray and black smoke clawed their way into the sky from the sites of recent explosions. One plume rose from a damaged skyscraper in the heart of Manhattan, another from Grand Central Terminal. More scars marked the horizon—one somewhere in Queens, another in the Bronx. Each column seemed to swell with every passing minute, darkening the skyline and swallowing entire sections of the city behind curtains of smoke.

The attacks had triggered a massive emergency response. Fire engines poured into the affected districts from across the boroughs. Streets were choked with flashing lights, stalled traffic, and crowds of frightened people trying to flee the danger zones. Sirens wailed without pause, overlapping into a constant, piercing chorus that echoed between the buildings.

Even from hundreds of feet above, the city sounded distressed. Shouts rose from the streets. Helicopters circled overhead, their rotors hammering the air. Drones darted between towers at high speed, their buzzing engines adding to the growing cacophony. Smoke, noise, and confusion hung over New York, turning the city into a landscape of emergency and uncertainty.

As I rode the wind, I found myself wondering whether the attacks of the past—the ones surrounded by contradictory witness accounts and reported impossible inconsistencies—had also been the handiwork of mages imposing their will upon reality or acting on their own vengeful impulses. All those people who claimed there had been additional explosions when the planes struck the World Trade Center. Those who swore the towers couldn't have collapsed the way they did. Perhaps they had caught fleeting glimpses of memories being overwritten by Reality's self-correcting nature, and the truth had been far more sinister than anyone realized. Or perhaps events had unfolded exactly as history recorded them.

What was certain was that my artistic creation—a creature with two wings, a beak, and sensory paintings working as my own—was approaching a monument built to preserve the memory of that day.

It dove from its lofty altitude until it was level with the tenth floor. The people behind the windows were anything but still. Through the glass walls I caught fragments of their smaller, more contained chaos: frantic phone calls to loved ones, anxious pacing, quiet tears shed in corners, angry outbursts, objects thrown across rooms, and even a pair of coworkers seeking comfort in each other's arms amid the uncertainty.

Then, in a room dominated by a long stretch of glass overlooking the city, I found my targets. Joan stood beside an open window, dressed in a tailored business suit that complemented the more masculine lines of their frame. They had been talking while keeping an eye on the skyline, clearly searching for me.

My bird banked toward them. I knew exactly where they were. I'd been listening for quite some time already as they weren't alone. Several others stood with them—all members of the Shattered, all except for one pretender.

She had been modeled after me, just as the others had been. She shared my height and slender build, and freckles dusted her skin in familiar patterns. Her complexion, however, was a rich chocolate brown. Cracks of shadowlight glowed through her dark eyes, leaking from within. She had no hair however and her head was completely bald.

Shattered Miriam

Joan was agitated, and they clearly hated that I was here.

Ever since I'd arrived among the flock carrying a baffling case of memory loss, they had suspected foul play. Where the Solitary Twin had accepted me on principle, Joan had done the opposite, scrutinizing every word and action as though waiting for me to slip up. I couldn't blame them. I'd never trust myself if I woke up in their shoes, or lack thereof, given their penchant for walking around exactly as they were remade and simply pretending to have clothes on.

However, I wasn't in their position. I was in mine. At first, that mistrust worried me. The entire project already felt dangerous enough, and I had fully intended to abandon it at the first sign that the risks outweighed the rewards. Yet the god of the Shattered had extended its protection over me almost immediately after they found me wandering out of the corpo-zombie horde, looking exhausted and worn down.

The first few days went exactly as I'd expected. I was treated, shown around the more accessible parts of the god's fortress, and subjected to a series of tests. Some took the form of probing interviews, while others consisted of simple manual labor. In every case, I did my best to present myself as someone useful in the realms of conversation and deduction, a capable diplomat and negotiator who could represent the Shattered in dealings with other beings.

My real goal was to get close to Joan. Not only because I felt that was their primary role within the flock, but also because it was something I could realistically do myself. I wouldn't have minded being placed in someone else's orbit either, as true to their name, the Shattered, as I quickly discovered, were deeply fractured in their internal politics.

The god trusted me enough to place me near Joan. Four days ago, I was assigned to remain at their side and learn everything I could from them. That trust and protection, however, had not come freely. While I was within the tower, the god was always present in my mind. It saw through my eyes and heard what I heard. Or rather, what the brain inside this body was aware of. The god observed the obedient, cooperative personality I had crafted for this role, the amnesiac Shattered eager to find their place among the people of the tower.

The other mind, the one connected solely to this body and carefully hidden within the Domain, was responsible for all the dangerous thinking I preferred to keep behind the curtain. Alexa had also deliberately removed herself from direct oversight, leaving no trace that could lead back to her through me. To her, I was more like an organ, something that functioned as intended without mindful oversight or conscious control from the larger body.

Even now, my thoughts were almost entirely my own. Although here on Earth, I had finally allowed Anansi to reconnect with me and relay what I'd learned back into the greater web of my primary mind.

"It has to be Edge of Tomorrow. They've been preparing something for years." Vivian, a Shattered Indian woman, spoke from behind Joan.

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She had been trailing them as a direct collaborator for most of the time since the confrontation in front of the Solitary Twin. Part handler, part helper, part overseer, and entirely an obnoxious, deeply flawed bitch.

"It might be. Even if all the signs point that way, we can't rule out other possibilities," Jamal answered. The black-skinned Shattered was no taller than me, but he was wiry and packed with muscle. He looked like the kind of thug who might throw a punch the moment an opportunity presented itself. Yet he often spoke with a level of wisdom that suggested he thought problems through carefully before opening his mouth.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Joan replied, their eyes fixed on me. Their distrust was obvious, yet they honored their god's wishes and kept me close most of the time.

"It could be rogue mages, Elves, Fey, or the Vatican. There's no one on this land the Guild hasn't scorned in some way. And in this city especially, getting rid of them is a good way of hurting them badly."

"It creates an opportunity for us," Vivian added.

"It does. Someone laid the foundation, and the area is primed for the taking. We could move first and use that to our advantage. That's what our god wants. But without knowing exactly who is behind it and how much power they hold—"

"She's here," Joan interrupted Jamal’s speech, opening the small window wider to let Alexa's bird into the room.

The creature darted inside, circled the ceiling several times while carefully avoiding Vivian and Jamal, then finally landed on a small desk beside one of the monitors.

The room itself was an office normally used by graphic designers employed by the company. At the moment, however, it stood empty at Joan's request. Every now and then, they even posed as one of the company's executives, which made clearing out an office for private meetings remarkably easy.

"Okay, I'm listening," Alexa's voice emerged from a painted mouth hidden somewhere on the bird's body. As she spoke, the creature pecked at an imaginary feather with its beak.

I remained near the back of the room, careful not to overstep my role as an observer.

Up until this meeting, Joan's responsibilities had been remarkably mundane. They mediated crises of faith among the Shattered, helped organize their lives on Earth, and handled the countless small problems that arose whenever those shadow-changed people collided with mundane authorities. There was nothing particularly supernatural about any of it.

Mostly, it was just boring, so I welcomed the change of pace. For the first time, I felt like I might actually learn something significant about them.

"We're aware of your dealings with the Guild, the training you undertook, and even the fight between you and the Edge of Tomorrow employee named Robert Reyes."

"Come on, Joan. Say something I don't already know. Or did you call me here so we could make lists of things that are obvious about each other?" Alexa's voice came from the bird again.

It remained perched on the desk while Joan closed the window and stared out at the city beyond.

"What we don't know is why, and who, attacked the Guild."

"I possess no such information either."

"But you will, sooner or later. As a Hexblade, you'll be informed about efforts to find the mages lost on the Shadow World side, or you'll be called into an offensive against the perpetrators, or some other operation that will allow you to draw conclusions about the state of affairs. When that happens, we'll reward you handsomely for a whisper. The name of an organization or an individual, along with information about the Guild's movements, will suffice."

"You speak my language. How handsomely are we talking?" Alexa asked.

"I will prepare an artifact tailored to your Domain's needs, along with essence cast into crystal. Enough to push you deep into the next stage."

"Nah. That's what I got last time. I'm not much of a fan of the whole essence-grab thing anymore. It seems like it might come with adverse effects I wasn't properly informed about. I'd rather earn my power in smaller steps now. So if that's all, I'll pass."

Joan remained standing, visibly unsatisfied as they watched the bird twitch its small head.

"You may name a soulmark, and we'll get you what you need, or as close to it as possible," Vivian said, raising the stakes. The bird immediately focused on her.

"And who might you be? Is your word worth anything?"

"Her name is not important," Joan replied turning around, their attention fixed entirely on the bird. "I vouch for the change in terms."

"Fantastic, Joan. Good to hear. It's still hellishly boring, though. Throw in some art-related artifact, the one you mentioned earlier. Actually, let's make it three, and I'll consider it."

"That's too much for simple information."

"But it won't be simple information, Joan. You know it and I know it. You're making a small ask before the bigger one, when I'm already on the hook for leaking Guild secrets to the enemy. A name is worth shit to you. Logistics only slightly more. Your Concord wants something else, probably enough power to become the biggest powerhouse in New York, and to do that you'd have to cull both the remaining Guild members and whoever's opposing them. Am I close?" Good thinking on Alexa’s part. If they knew already about her own advancement and tasks within Guild’s ranks, that meant they already have or had spies on the ground and that meant that information wasn’t what they were looking for.

"Not everyone is as power-hungry as you."

"Then what exactly will you need after I'm on the hook? Is this conversation already being recorded? Or were my previous dealings with you?"

"We might require one additional favor from you. That's true," Joan replied, turning toward the bird.

"I thought we ended our last meeting on good footing, Joan. Why the lies?"

"That's just a negotiation strategy. The USG is holding a few of our people in custody in the prison beneath the Hexblades' headquarters. We intend to free them. We might require a way in and out."

"That does sound like something worth what your colleague proposed, and what I corrected with a proper valuation. I'll call you when I get the name of the organization behind the attack. Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Joan replied and stepped closer to the paper bird.

Their Domain spread around them, flooding the room. Vines and flowers crawled across the walls. The desk sprouted branches, and the floor transformed into a carpet of grass. As the Domain took hold, the paper bird became real—nested between the flowery bed—turning into a mockingbird with curious eyes.

Joan grabbed it that very second, glanced toward Vivian, and crushed it with such violence that it burst into blood, feathers, muscle, and bone. In an instant, it became nothing more than a mangled lump hanging from their hand. It hit the ground with a wet splash.

The moment Alexa's connection was severed, Joan addressed the other two Shattered.

"She saw through us. We should never have agreed to a conversation through proxies. We got sloppy, and we apologize." Their eyes entirely focused on Vivian’s.

"You take that upon yourself, but it was Vivian who overstepped." Jamal's eyes followed Joan's movements.

"She understood that this wouldn't end with simply giving us a name, a time, or a place," Vivian replied with a shrug. "She still has no idea of the full extent of what will be required of her."

"Better to be bothered by someone intelligent and unruly than by someone obedient and stupid." Jamal walked over to the windows. "Good thinking with the prisoners, by the way. She bought it." He rested a hand on Joan's shoulder.

"Miriam, leave the room. Now." Joan turned toward me. "What we're about to discuss is none of your concern."

"I was instructed to learn from you," I replied. "I can't do that if I'm not close enough to observe how you handle situations like this." I made sure my voice wavered slightly. I wanted them to see someone whose identity had been worn thin by obedience to a higher Authority. Someone who had sacrificed so much of themselves that uncertainty had become their natural state.

"Then let this be a lesson as well," Joan said. "People you've known for less time than it takes to become acquaintances are not trusted with sensitive information." They folded their arms. "If our God decides that what is discussed here should be shared with you, then you will be informed. Is that understood?"

"I understand, Joan." I inclined my head and left the room. One way or another, I would learn what they wanted from Alexa anyway. In truth, I had already deduced quite a bit.