Still carrying Tansy, Emily was looking at my books. Our love of books is one thing I can truly say we share. Not just information or literature, but solid, paper-and-ink objects that one can curl up with on a cold night. Our tastes differ, however. I prefer Victorian literature, while Emily’s collection is mostly late-20th century mystery and fantasy. Fantasy, indeed, I thought, looking at the enchantress in my room. She had paused over a couple of hardbacks.