She woke up, heart pounding.

My bedroom, she thought, eyes darting around the room. It’s ok. I’m home. Everything’s fine.

Pale green curtains stirred from the breeze, carrying the scent from the peach trees that lined the streets below, mingling with the riot of herbs on her balconies. Birds twittered in the plants trailing down the exterior walls.

She disentangled herself from the sweaty sheets and pressed her feet into the cool sheepskin of the rug with a sigh. From a silver pitcher, she poured out a glass of soma, pale honey gold in the crystal goblet.

The little box filled with dreaming dust was still open on her nightstand. She shook it, watching the iridescent grains shimmer before she closed it with a snap.

“Yosa, darling. Your apartment is a disaster,” came a voice. Yosaka Datza, lady of the woods and sage of the sixth element, looked up at the faceless white-clay creature in her doorway and screamed.

A woman, her long silver-blonde hair caught in a confectionary updo pinned with softly chiming steel combs, peered around the creature, her rosy-cheeked face scrunched in concern. She shoved the thing aside, and tucked her robes around her. They were creamy white, tinkling with hundreds of tiny pale-copper sequins. Embroidered birds and fanciful cages festooned the hem.

Yosa blinked at her. “Maria?”

One silvery eyebrow shot up. “Gods, are you sick? Did you take too much dust last night?” the woman fussed. “You look like hell, darling. I was going to give you shit for not making the meeting but ...”

“Hela. Hela Hevansu,” Yosa muttered as the other woman sent the creature off for a damp cloth. “Lady Metal, I think I had a very bad dream.”

“I saw the mess of manuscripts on your desk, Yosa. How deep did you dive for your research this time?” Hela daubed at Yosa’s forehead.

“I need a shower,” Yosa grunted, pushing up from the bed. “I’m so sorry about the meeting, Hel.”

“Don’t worry about it. I convinced the others to put it off until this afternoon. There was much grumbling. You know old people don’t like having their routines disrupted.” Hela chuckled as Yosa padded her way through the open space of her rooms towards the bath. The ceiling was a dome, thin slices of translucent gems set in delicate metal fretwork, creating a lush canopy of floral light.

Yosa shed her leafy green sleeping gown and froze at the sight of herself in the polished silver mirror on the wall. She looked too tall, too thin. There were circles under her rose-pink eyes and her green hair stuck up in all directions. “Hela?”

“What is it, dear? I’m ordering you food, by the way. Chugging back soma on an empty stomach is a fine way to get a tummy ache.”

Is this how I’ve always looked? she thought, prodding at her nose. There wasn’t enough of it, for one thing. “Nothing. I thought you’d left, sorry.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re not going to fall on your face, dear,” Hela shouted as the the water pelted down on Yosa’s head. “We need to discuss the expansion of the drone system, though. I won’t take it personally that you screamed at Unit One just now.”

White clay faces tearing and smearing and… Yosa cranked the water colder. “I’m not convinced the daemon system needs overhauling, Hela. The drones are doing fine as library security, but the daemons are the heart of the system. They maintain the stacks, assist the patrons in their research, and…”

“Boss, I’ve brought your sna…” Caim’s voice came from the outer room. It cut off just as Yosa slapped the water off and grabbed a towel. She skidded out of the bathroom to see the daemon standing there with a tray.

Her peacock hair was caught in a neat bun, the severe lines of her grey uniform at odds with the riot of colour in the room and the pretty warmth of her golden skin. She and Hela stared at each other, the tray between them like a barrier.

Floral pink tea, tiny cakes with citrus curd and honey, and a pale jade bowl of soup, all arrayed on an elegantly carved tray. She knew it – she’d watched Caim carve it absently while he’d assisted her on a research assignment.

Caim wore a woman’s form now, and her opal eyes darted back and forth, trying to find a way to set the tray down without actually walking past Hela.

“Caim, it’s ok, you can set it down over here.” Yosa motioned, and watched Hela watch Caim in turn.

“We don’t have to completely get rid of the daemons, dear,” Hela said, taking Caim’s chin in her hands and turning the daemon’s face to her. “They’re certainly aesthetic. I mean, gods, this one is a work of art. What do you call it, again?”

Caim was one of the few tall enough to look the Authors in the eye. “My name is Caim, Lady Metal,” she said, keeping perfectly still.

Hela dropped her hand, pale eyes widening, then narrowing sharply. Yosa hurried between them.

“Caim, I didn’t spend all that time developing your hair for you to wear it in a bun,” she snapped, sharper than she’d meant to. “Take it down.”

“Of course, Lady Wood,” Caim said, shaking it out, shimmering strands falling over her broad grey shoulders.

“And don’t be so humble regarding craftsmanship, Hela. You made a lovely one yourself.” Yosa crammed a pastry in her mouth.

“What, the medical text? What did I call it again, oh. V.. Val something, I think.” Hela waved her hand dismissively. “I gave that thing to Lord Fire when I was done. You all insisted I make one as proof of concept; I did, and I have better things to do than…”

“Caim, are you…!” Another daemon came skidding into the doorway and froze. He was rosy gold, with tumbling sunset sapphire curls and eyes tinged with violet twilight. “…My Lady Authors, greetings and salutations.” He bowed unctuously, rubbing at his neat little beard. “My deepest, most humble and sorrowful apologies, but I must request Administrator Caim’s presence. We have a riot in the children’s book section.”

Yosa shoved another pastry in her mouth, feeling Hela’s eyes on her. Instead of any of the million questions that were running through her brain, she shot a glance at Caim. “Go, deal with whatever Nergal here caused.”

Caim had the good graces not to look too relieved. “At once, Author,” she said, striding past Hela without looking at her.

In the corridor beyond, she watched Caim’s form subtly alter to his male shape, and he pulled his hair back in a ponytail, thinking he was out of her sight. Hela was saying something to her, but Yosa focused on the shape of his mouth in the glassy walls.

(So, did you cause a riot?) Caim was saying.

(Yes. No! I mean, maybe. Grendel said you were in trouble and since I have a reputation to maintain...) Nergal scratched his head with a sheepish smile, and they were gone around the corner.

“… what happens when you anthropomorphise software, Yosaka. You get books that think they’re people,” Hela sniffed. “And exactly why we need to replace them. They’re practically spontaneously generating these days, as the pinax’s power grows.”

Yosa kissed her on the cheek, leaving a crumb on Hela’s rosy skin. “We’ll talk about it this afternoon, my dear,” she said. Behind Hela, the drone loomed silently, and Yosa shivered.