Clothilde often knitted in front of the fire in the evenings, creating long soft scarves and complex-looking socks, using four needles at once.

“Well, thank you for the music,” said Clothilde. “We all enjoy it so much.”

“Not that you come to hear it very often,” he said.

“I know,” said Clothilde, sighing.

“And who’s your friend?” said the man, looking at Effie.

“Oh sorry!” said Clothilde. “This is my cousin Effie. And, Effie, this is Bo.”

“From the island, I see,” said Bo. “How exotic.”

The way he said this wasn’t entirely friendly, although he gave Effie a big smile afterward. Effie already knew that some Otherworld people were very suspicious of her world, which they always referred to as “the island.” They called their own world the mainland.

“She’s not a typical islander, I promise,” said Clothilde.

“What does she make?” said Bo. “What do you do?” he asked Effie.

Effie didn’t quite understand so she simply said, “Oh, I’m still at school,” which didn’t seem to answer his question at all.

Clothilde said her goodbyes and she and Effie walked off down the street. Effie soon became aware that although everyone was friendly and offered her beautiful free things, quite a lot of people avoided catching her eye. More than once she heard someone whisper something like “From the island, you can tell,” or “Islander!” just after she’d passed. People looked her up and down without even disguising what they were doing. A few of the windows had posters in them calling for “Mainland Liberation,” whatever that was.

Soon they came to the fountain where the group of teenage girls was still standing. They all turned to look at Effie. Clearly, no one had ever told them it was rude to stare. Mind you, it was hard for Effie not to stare right back. The girls were so incredibly beautiful. Clothilde got another one of her striped boxes out of her basket and told Effie she’d just be a moment. She walked off to a house beyond the fountain.

“Hello,” said Effie to the girls, who were still staring at her.

“Allora,” said one girl to another, raising an eyebrow. “Un estraneo.”

It was a language that Effie didn’t immediately recognize. Effie was fluent in Rosian, and if she needed to understand any other languages she just had to hold her caduceus. Effie was just reaching into her hair for it when the girl switched to Rosian.

“Who are you?” she said to Effie. She had long, straight blue hair and sharp, thin limbs. Her pointed cat’s ears were white.

“Effie,” said Effie.

“Why are you wearing a gold cloak?” said a girl with pink curly hair and a flying dragon on her shoulder. This girl was much rounder than the first one. Her body was covered with a layer of the most beautiful pale fur.

“Um . . .”