She moved her feet, then her arms; she sucked in deep breaths of the smoky, acrid air. She was parted from Cassandra, then tossed out to her again into a little space on the edge of the crowd.

“You see? Isn’t it great?” Cassandra’s face came and went. The scorpion on her forehead came and went. She had lit a joint; its end glowed then was dark. “Here.”

She passed it across; Mina sucked in the wonderful sweetness. It was instant lift: she could move on the music; the lights buoyed her; she felt she could touch the rafters fifty feet above her head—one more little suck and she might reach out her hand and touch the sky.

Cassandra was smiling; her face was making flashes of encouragement and understanding.

“You see—just wait. Come and find Star.”

She turned her head the wrong way, into the music, into the strobe, and Mina, for whom time was braking, realized that Cassandra couldn’t sense him the way she herself could. She tried to shape the words and tell Cassandra: she knew even without looking that Star was already beside them. He had come out of nowhere; without even turning her head she knew he was there.

She turned around to look at him and knew at once that she trusted him. At first, because he was so startlingly beautiful, he was like an apparition. She stared at the flash of his eyes; the strobe made his smile like lightning. Then he took her hand, and Cassandra’s hand, and she felt it immediately, just as Cass had described it—the jolt of his power.

He greeted Cassandra, then turned to Mina and gave her a long, unwavering stare.

“And this is Mina,” he said. “Your American friend. Welcome, Mina. I’ve been told all about you. Are you happy tonight, Mina? Are you flying yet?”

“A little,” Mina said. “Yes, I am.”

“Good.” He pressed her hand, then released it.

“I can help. I’ve brought you both wings.”

It was like watching a conjuror magicking cards out of air. A moment before, his hand had been empty. Now he extended it slowly, uncurling his fingers, and there, flashing in the strobe light, were two little pills. One was pink, bright pink, the color of cotton candy; the other was smooth and white as a pearl.

“A White Dove and a pink jewel,” he said slowly. “Star’s special gifts to two very special girls. Now, which shall it be? Is Mina a dove girl or a jewel girl?”

“Which is stronger?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh, they’re both powerful. I brought them back myself, from across the sea.”

“From Amsterdam?”

“Maybe. Who knows?” The music gave a twist, and Star gave a smile. “Pink for Cassandra, I think,” he said, “and white for Mina. Pink like a fine Burmese ruby, and white like a nun’s veil.”

“No.” The strobe lit Cassandra’s face with little flashes of mutiny. Mina, who could not stop looking at Star, could sense something new in the air, something edgy like jealousy, or resentment.