Dinah backed off, then turned her eyes to the other half of the team. “So if she’s Allie the Outcast, who are you?”

“My name’s Mikey.”

Dinah laughed. “Not much of a name for a finder.”

“Fine,” he said, clenching his fists by his side. “Then I’m the McGill.”

But that just made all the other kids laugh too, and Mikey, who had a low threshold when it came to being mocked, stormed away.

Allie still held the ornament out to Dinah, but she didn’t accept it. A small boy that had been hiding in Dinah’s long trailing hair peered out.

“Please, Dinah … can’t we keep it?” But Dinah shushed him.

“Do other finders come this way?” Allie asked.

Dinah paused purposefully before answering, perhaps to make it clear that she was in control of the conversation. “Sometimes.”

“Well, I’ll give you this ornament,” Allie said, “if you promise to save all your really good finds for me.”

“We promise, Allie,” all the little kids said. “We promise.” Dinah nodded, reluctantly giving in to the wishes of the others, and took the ornament from Allie.

“You also have to promise one more thing.”

Dinah’s face hardened. Allie could tell by that look on her face that although she appeared to be no older than ten, she was an old, old soul. “What do I have to promise?”

“That if Mary the Sky Witch ever darkens the sky with her great balloon, you’ll hide, and you won’t let her take you away.”

The kids all looked to Dinah for guidance. “Then who will protect us from the Chocolate Ogre?” Dinah asked. “Who will protect us from the McGill?”

“It looks like you’ve done a pretty good job yourself,” Allie told her. “And besides, there’s no reason to fear the McGill or the Chocolate Ogre. Mary’s the one you need to worry about.”

They all nodded but seemed unconvinced—after all she was the Outcast. No matter how starstruck they might be, Allie’s advice was suspect.

Dinah gave the ornament to one of the other children. “Hang it on the coatrack,” she told him. “It’s the closest thing we have to a Christmas tree.” Then she turned back to Allie. “We’ll keep our promise; we’ll save the best finds for you.”

It was a satisfactory business deal. She had won the loyalty of many groups of Afterlights. No—not groups—vapors, she thought, with a bitter little shake of the head. In one of Mary’s annoying little etiquette books, she had insisted that a gathering of Afterlights was properly referred to as “a vapor.” A flock of birds, a gaggle of geese, and a vapor of Afterlights. It irritated Allie no end that Mary so effectively determined the language they all used. Allie wouldn’t have been surprised if Mary herself had coined the name “Everlost.”