Anatov nodded. “Can’t describe it, right?”

Sunny shook her head.

“That’s the wilderness,” he said.

They paused, Anatov looking pensively at Sunny. Sunny sniffed loudly. Then Anatov smiled and shook his head. “What in Allah’s name were you thinking when you did that to the society’s capo, Sunny? I hope you’ve learned your lesson. You could have died in that basement. We’d all have been torn up, but the world would have moved on, eventually, and you’d have been gone. Don’t you understand yet?”

“My bro—”

“I know it was your brother,” he said stepping closer. “I know you love him and that guy hurt him . . . badly. Nearly killed him. But you are in a secret society. A real true one that is older than time. And we have rules, strict, real, deeply upheld rules. While you were in the basement, Sugar Cream came to me angry as hell. She couldn’t believe you’d do something so stupid. Do you know that? I have never seen her even break a sweat. But this night, she was shaking with fear and anger.”

“I’m sorry,” Sunny whispered.

“Tell that to your mentor and never ever cross that line again. We can’t protect you if you do.”

Sunny’s nose ran and now her eyes were tearing up, too.

“You essentially died; that’s what traveling fully into the wilderness requires,” Anatov said bluntly. “When it pulled you in, if you weren’t Sunny Nwazue, if you were Sasha or Orlu or Chichi or any other kid without your specific ability, you’d have stayed dead. Do you understand this?”

Sunny took a deep breath as his words sunk in. “I get it,” she breathed.

“Good.” He looked down his nose at her. “You set Ogwu and her young free.”

“They were never really in prison,” Sunny muttered. “She was just ashamed.”

“Hmm,” he said, putting a long arm around her shoulder. When she looked up at him, his nose ring glinted in the moonlight. Anatov the Defender of Frogs and All Things Natural couldn’t defend her from everything. “Come,” he said. “I assume you brought your usual box of tissues?”

Sunny laughed and smiled, wiping her tears with her hand. “Yeah.”

He grasped her shoulder warmly, pulling her into a hug. He smelled of his favorite scented oil—Egyptian musk—and his caftan was scratchy. “Good,” he said. “Good, Sunny.”

The four of them sat on the floor of Anatov’s hut. Sunny had blown the heck out of her nose, but it still ran happily and freely. She pulled out another tissue, lifted her glasses a bit, and blew. By now her nose probably looked red as a cherry.

“You okay?” Orlu asked.

“Get her some water, man,” Sasha said, chuckling. “With all that snot, she’s going to get dehydrated.”

“Tonight,” Anatov loudly said. He spoke in Igbo. He did this often to help Sasha practice. “In celebration of Sunny’s return, I’ve decided to throw out the planned lesson and replace it with something I think you all need: masking jujus. Jujus you use when you want to perform juju on or around Lambs but do not wish them to see or know it.”