But I kept trudging forward, despite the pain in my feet never letting up. When I was a little closer to the fixture at the other end of the oval, I still wasn’t sure what, exactly, it was.

A mirror? A door? A portrait?

For there did seem to be images dancing over its surface, but they weren’t standing still, and they didn’t seem to be my reflection.

It looks sorta like the mirrors the glyphs are set in, I thought, pausing my strides to attempt to stretch out my feet—pointing and flexing my arch—to try to work out whatever cramp was getting the better of me.

It feels fine, now, I thought, irritably, as I worked my left foot around. Nothing hurt, although my right had begun to ache as if the pain had been transferred. And as soon as I put my left foot back down on the ground, pain again flared up through both my legs.

I frowned, putting my weight on my left foot, as I strode forward onto my right. Again, the pain receded, and then flared, as each foot lost and then regained contact with the floor.

Shit, I thought. It’s the floor. A memory flashed through my mind of the Little Mermaid: the “real” Brothers Grimm version of the story and not the Disney version. In that tale, after her deal with the Sea Witch gave the mermaid legs, every step felt as if knives were being driven into her feet. So that when she danced with her prince, later in the story, and everyone lauds her grace and skill, they should really have been praising her sheer masochism.

I shuffled forward, the pain increasing. After checking the soles of my shoes to make sure they weren’t ripped open, I tried a few more steps. But still the pain increased. I swore, but persevered a little more forward, cursing out loud this time.

“Shit!” I shouted, as my next step felt like a long, needle-like lance shooting up through the heel of my foot.

I continued to swear, creatively and with great vigor, as I looked up toward the mirror in front of me. My pained steps had shuffled me close enough that I could finally see what the mirror or portrait or door contained.

Iris? I thought, wondering what the succubus was doing at the end of the hall. Why on earth is Iris… But just as I finished that thought, Iris shifted to become Anyan, the man. I almost cried out with relief to see him outside of his doggie shape, until I remembered that this mirror wasn’t showing reality. I shuffled painfully forward, anyway, towards Anyan. But then the mirror changed, again, and there was my dad, smiling at me and looking—finally—so healthy and hale.

It’s everything I have to live for, I realized, as I took another painful step forward. This is a test. To see what I’ll do for the people I love.

More images appeared with each stumbling step: Caleb and that unit I’d come to ignore so well; Grizzie inexplicably wearing Western gear, including some very tight chaps; Tracy patting her enormously pregnant belly.

I finally know what those crazy people who walk on spikes feel, I thought, trying to make light of the fact I was in absolute agony. And I’m only halfway there.

A few more feet and it didn’t feel like knives on my feet anymore. Instead, it felt like fire—a burning sensation that compounded with my already sore feet to make walking murder. I tried everything to mitigate the pain in my feet: I bit my tongue and clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my skin, all in an attempt to use differently placed pain to distract the foot pain. But every step I took just made it worse.

Another picture flashed on the mirrored surface in front of me. This time, it was Miss Carrol. Then she was replaced by the Tanners, who owned our local bakery.

I screwed my courage to my sticking place and took one huge step forward… only to land in a crumpled heap. I’d heard of crippling pain but had no idea what it meant till now.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” I gibbered, collapsed in a heap over my aching feet. While I was down there, I pulled off my shoe and then pulled up my pant leg to check my flesh. But it was totally unmarred. And yet, any part of my body that touched that floor eventually began to prickle, and soon enough I was standing again. There still stood a huge gulf between me and the end of the oval.

You have to do this, Jane. Suck it up and go.

And with that, I strode forward. Unfortunately, the bigger my strides, the more the pain hit. But smaller steps meant only a constant, nattering pain. I did my best impression of Lamaze breaths as I strode forward, only to nearly pass out before I realized I was only ever inhaling. As I learned later in life at yoga, it hurt more on the exhale.

When I was about a third of the way to the mirror I stopped, panting. Sweat had broken out over my whole body, drenching my skin. I felt like I’d had a bucket of mucky water thrown on me. My long-sleeved tee clung uncomfortably, and my comfy old camo pants were stiff with mud.

Feeling tired and gross and beaten down, I looked to the mirror for inspiration. Only to be met with Graeme’s leering expression.

“What the fuck?” I asked, very rhetorically, to the empty room.

The incubus only smiled with more malice, reaching into his pants to pull out his already engorged penis. Only biologically correct terms worked to describe what he did; there was nothing sexy about the way he stroked himself, watching me. His masturbating was less like a sex act and more like to a militant feeling up his gun before shooting a civilian in the head.

Soon enough, however, Graeme disappeared, only to be replaced by Ryu’s cousin, Nyx. While I didn’t think Nyx was as evil as Graeme, I couldn’t actually be sure. She had, after all, brought a human—her “sack lunch”—to her supernatural compound, only to ignore him when a huge battle took place. She didn’t even notice when he was killed.

I took a hesitant step forward, not exactly liking what I saw before me. It was one thing to think that my friends’ safety waited for me behind that glossy surface, but to think about all the people I loathed in the same context…

Fugwat flashed across the mirror, and then Kaya and Kaori. Together, of course, since I didn’t think they could actually exist apart. When Morrigan appeared on the mirror, and then Jarl, I’d already ground to a halt. The mirror lingered, then, on the oafish, bullying face of Stuart Gray.

And therein lies the test, I realized. It was one thing to walk over hot coals—quite literally—for the people you loved. But another thing entirely to endure such torture for enemies and idiots.

But I don’t get to judge, I realized. Not in that way. If someone attacks me, I have the right to fight back. But I don’t get to allow some force to wipe out everyone—good and bad—as if I’m a god.

I’d never liked Job’s whirlwind. And that’s what would happen if I allowed Phaedra to win. She’d rouse the creature, destroying the East Coast. And then she’d destroy even more with the power she won.

So I walked forward. The pain was brutal, but I gritted my teeth and I endured. I knew it wasn’t “real” pain—no marks were on my feet or legs. I’d survive this test, but Rockabill itself wouldn’t survive if I failed.

Finally, I made it to the sigil. Graeme was back up, leering and whacking off at me, but I ignored him as I pushed at the mirror. Okay, in all honesty I sort of fell forward onto it, but it worked.

Swinging the door open, the room around me winked out into darkness as I once again plunged forward into nothingness.

This time, I didn’t even bother testing a mage light. I just flung my arm out into the darkness and lit up my surroundings like it was a beach wedding.

I was still on my hands and knees where I’d landed. Hard. There were definitely going to be some interesting bruises decorating my body after today.

For some reason, that thought made me think of Anyan, still trapped as a dog. He was the one who always healed me… The thought of those big hands rubbing over my body made me miss him fiercely.

We have to reverse that spell. Then I thought of what Blondie had said. We need the creature’s power.

Stumbling to my feet, I got my bearings. This new room was just as stark, white, and unnatural as the other one had been. Although, instead of an oval of lights, this room was dotted by four enormous statues set up to form a square. The figures stood so tall—I barely made it to their knees—that it took me a moment to realize what I was seeing.

It’s those ancient Alfar, I realized. Melichor and Tatiana stood on one side of the square, looking as forbidding as their ghostly shapes had before. Across from them, forever their seconds, stood Glynda and Straif.

As I walked into the room, I felt magic swirl around me. The statues all turned, as one, to look down. I froze, blinking in their gaze like a deer in the proverbial headlights, but they didn’t move again. Their eyes seemed still to be unseeing stone, but one never knew.

Once the statues had finished moving, a light shone down from above to land smack in the middle of the square made by the statues. Within that light floated what looked like a pedestal.

I moved forward slowly, carefully, imagining Straif’s huge hand reaching down to smoosh me like a bug. When I got to where the pedestal stood, I stared in confusion.

It wasn’t really a pedestal. Instead, a thin, gilt rapier floated horizontally, looking from the side like the pedestal top. And under that floated a vertical scabbard. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this test must be about sticking the rapier into the scabbard.

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