“It’s clever. All those separate layers. What’s in each of them?”

Ajay pointed at the bottom one. “Rice.” His finger moved to the middle. “That’s kachumber salad—diced cucumber, tomato, and red onion, with cilantro and lemon-cumin dressing.”

“Yum.” She peered closer.

“And the top one is called moong dal. It’s made with mung beans and garlic cooked in butter and spices.” As he spoke, he spooned it over the rice.

Bridget inhaled appreciatively. “It smells wonderful. Your mom must be a great cook.”

“My mom?” Ajay chuckled. “Sexist much?” Sure, in his grandparents’ generation, the women did all the cooking, even down to reheating foods in the microwave, but times had changed.

“Oh, sorry.” Her face reddened again. “Your dad.”

Ajay was enjoying himself. “Excuse me, but I am the one who made everything.”

“Wait—what?”

“I’ve been the main cook at my house since seventh grade.” His mom was a pediatrician with a busy practice, and, frankly, not much of a cook. He’d learned to cook in self-defense. He filled the spoon with rice and beans. “Want a bite?”

“Um, sure.” At first she chewed quickly, as if she wanted to get it over with. Then she slowed down.

“That’s more than just cooking,” she said. “That’s like magic. At our house, we mostly heat up food from Trader Joe’s. Sometimes if I’m feeling adventurous, I’ll combine bags of various frozen things.”

Ajay kept his face neutral, although inwardly he flinched. Before he took over the cooking duties, his mom’s approach to making roti had been to buy it at Trader Joe’s and nuke it in the microwave. Trader Joe’s food wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t home-cooked.

Ajay reminded himself that he hadn’t come out here to talk about himself, but to listen to Bridget. “You still need to explain those books to me.”

“Okay, in the first book, King of Swords, there’s this baby, Jancy. She’s the illegitimate daughter of the king and a serving wench. But after a seer prophesied that one of the king’s children would grow up to overthrow him, the queen ordered all his illegitimate children killed.” Bridget took a bite of her taco.

“Harsh,” Ajay mumbled as he chewed. “Are there a lot of kids?”

“At least a dozen, and he keeps making more. When you’re a king, you can get away with a lot of bad behavior.” Bridget shrugged. “But Jancy’s mother managed to save her from the assassin. Then to keep her safe, she gave her to the Skin Changers to raise.”

“What are Skin Changers?”