Lyra checked the address again. She wasn't one to judge other ponies' living arrangements, but this simply wasn't what she had imagined.

The building before her was an imposing behemoth. Its many windows gazed at Lyra with blatant disapproval. To the imaginative, it appeared as if somepony had plucked a mansion of immense proportions from some distant part of Equestria and delivered it to downtown Manehatten. Either that or the city had sprung up around this house like a collection of weeds around a gorgeous flower. The sign outside read “Wilted Lily's Home for Lost Fillies”.

“When was the last time this place saw a lost filly?” Lyra wondered aloud.

She returned the directions to her satchel and knocked on the door. Despite her assurances to the contrary, Lyra doubted anypony was home.

The door swung open almost instantly. Lyra cried out and stumbled backwards, one hoof darting into her satchel. She relaxed—but only slightly—when she saw the mare standing in the doorway. This mare appeared too frail to so much as lift a spoon, let alone tackle Lyra to the ground and steal her satchel.

“Lyra Heartstrings?” the mare said.

Her voice reminded Lyra of a violin being plucked after decades of neglect. It was a timid and delicate voice, yet it was filled with obvious purpose.

Lyra pulled down the scarf she had tied around her muzzle.

“I don't know anypony by that name,” she said. “In fact, I'm not sure such a pony ever existed.”

The mare stared at Lyra for a full minute. Then she moved aside and gestured into the dark hallway.

“Follow me,” she said.

Lyra crossed the threshold, her hoof casually upon her satchel. She jumped as a hoof touched her side in the darkness.

“This way,” the mare said.

She led Lyra into a slightly more illuminated room. A series of candles lined a long staircase that descended into pure darkness.

“Downstairs,” the mare said.

Lyra gave a nod of comprehension. She trotted across the room to the open doorway. She peered downward into what must have been the basement. Why did ponies who dealt in “curious wares”--Wilted Lily’s words, not Lyra’s—go to the trouble of establishing needlessly dramatic surroundings? Lyra felt as if she’d stumbled onto the set of a play.

After a minute of steeling herself, Lyra descended the stairs. Lyra stopped at the bottom of the stairs and found herself in front of a door. It was one of those big metal doors ponies used to guard valuable—and often illegal—secrets.

“Fitting,” Lyra muttered.

She gave the door a strong push. Lyra had to lean all of her weight against it, but after a moment the door swung open. She stumbled forward into a large room.

It took Lyra a minute to adjust her eyes to the brightness. Contrary to the upstairs, every surface in this basement room—tables, the dresser, even the chairs—was crowded with various lamps, lanterns, and candles. Lyra noticed at once that the room she had mistaken for “large” was nothing of the sort. It was actually more of a closet than a living space. It was simply the amount of furniture and bookshelves that made it appear huge at a glance.

Sitting at the room's only desk—glasses pushed back on her forehead as she worked feverishly at a typewriter—was Wilted Lily. Wilted Lily appeared very healthy despite her obvious old age.

“It's open,” she said absently.

Lyra jumped as the metal door swung shut behind her. She turned and frantically felt around for a door handle.

“It will automatically unlock after ten minutes,” Wilted Lily said.

Lyra reluctantly stopped beating her hooves against the smooth surface. She turned to face Wilted Lily. In return, Wilted Lily swiveled her chair around to face Lyra.

“The mare from the newspapers,” Wilted said.

Lyra bowed mockingly. The last few months had been absolute Tartarus in that respect, but she'd adapted to her “fame”. Would ponies even recognize her anymore if she shed her disguise?

“You have it, right?” she said.

She wanted to jump straight into business. She had taken Wilted Lily's comment about the door unlocking to be an actual time limit.

Wilted Lily slid off her chair. She moved with surprising grace for such an old mare. She trotted in a somewhat elegant manner to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a thick book. The book had clearly suffered more from age than Wilted Lily had, but it appeared in readable condition nonetheless.

Lyra came closer to give the book a through inspection.

The Illusion of Death: Necromancy in Private and in Practice. The title was written in an ancient language not many ponies spoke, but Lyra had studied dead languages in school.

“First published over one hundred years ago,” said Wilted Lily. “The last book on the subject ever published before necromancy was deemed illegal. All four hundred copies were burned by order of the princesses. Well, all four hundred copies they knew about.”

Wilted Lily laughed to herself.

Lyra reached out to touch the book, but Wilted Lily pulled it away. The humor left Wilted Lily's face immediately.

“I trust you have the bits,” she said.

The nostalgic collector had disappeared. In her place stood the suave businesspony who’d made her fortune through clever negotiations.

Lyra pulled a sack out of her left saddlebag. She dropped it on the floor, allowing it to spill its shiny gold contents.

Wilted Lily busied herself counting the bits one by one.

Lyra wandered over to one of the bookshelves and casually ran a hoof across a row of books. She tilted her head to the side to read the titles. As promised by Lyra's research, Wilted Lily had amassed the most complete and impressive collection of rare and forbidden books that had ever existed in Equestria. Lyra pulled a book off the shelf and studied it with interest.

“May I ask why you're so desperate to get your hooves on this book?” asked Wilted Lily.

Lyra ran a hoof across the cover of the book she was holding. This particular book did not appear to be anything special. It was merely a somewhat old history book.

“There was somepony I loved,” Lyra said. “She died a few years ago in a way I could have prevented. I want to bring her back and apologize.”

Wilted Lily smiled. Ah, the classic tale of two lovers separated by the veil of death. It was a romantic concept, but Wilted Lily found it rather saddening. There was no way this unicorn was powerful enough to master necromancy. If she was, she wouldn't be leaning all of her hope on a rare book. Wilted Lily felt sorry for her, but bits were bits.

“Everything alright?” asked Lyra.

She placed the history book she'd been studying on a nearby table.

Wilted Lily nodded. All the bits were there. She decided not to tell Lyra she'd overpaid just slightly. What Lyra didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?

Lyra's hooves quivered as she took the book from Wilted Lily. She regarded it as one would a newborn, her eyes lighting up with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Just looking at it made her feel as if she'd accomplished everything. In her happiness, Lyra backed into a nearby table and knocked several items from it. She cried out apologies as she scrambled to pick them up.

Wilted Lily pressed her hoof against the metal door. As promised, the door had unlocked itself as the enchantment upon it loosened. The door swung inward at her touch.

“I hope you find what you're looking for,” Wilted Lily said.

For once, she meant it.

Lyra slipped the book into her saddlebag and hastened from the room.

As soon as Lyra was gone, Wilted Lily turned her attention to the mess Lyra had made. The things Lyra had knocked from the table had been returned in a haphazard fashion. Wilted Lily trotted to the table and began rearranging the items.

What an interesting pony, she thought.

Wilted Lily picked up the book Lyra had placed on the table. She stared at it, a subtle grin on her face.

Indeed, Lyra was a very interesting pony.

Lyra slowed to a stop. She had put a lot of distance between herself and Wilted Lily's house. She was now standing in the deserted nighttime streets of Manehatten.

“Safe,” she said.

Lyra pulled the book from her saddlebag. She was smirking. Lyra had pulled it off with the mastery of an accomplished thief: the distraction, the performance, the meticulously crafted story. Most importantly, she’d pulled off the switch with ease.

As Lyra watched, the cover of the book shifted. Its hoof-drawn illustrations and title evaporated to reveal its true identity, the book's fabricated age melting away. It was a simple illusion spell, but for a situation like this it was perfect.

A Complete and Objective History of Equestria: Volume 3. This volume had been pulled off the shelves around ten years back and an updated version hastily issued. This was the only original copy of the book that hadn't been cheerfully surrendered during the “recall”. Supposedly the original version contained “several historical inaccuracies that might confuse or mislead readers”.

Lyra felt bad about lying to Wilted Lily. Then again, that story wasn’t entirely a lie, was it?

Lyra hurriedly shoved the book back into her saddlebag and galloped off. She didn't slow down until she saw her apartment building in the distance. She pulled the book from her saddlebag again and studied it. Lyra's stomach clenched. Up until now she'd been working on pure hope and speculation, but now things were about to get real.

“Strategist mode activated,” she said with a nervous smile.

Lyra was about to start a very risky game with a very skilled opponent.