I raise a wary eyebrow at the nickname. “Okay, so, my mom died in October the year I turned six,” I say. “By the time early December rolled around, there was none of our usual cheer. Everything felt…wrong.”

Ines gives me a sympathetic look, but Aarya looks like she wishes I would get on with it.

“Then one evening,” I continue, “my dad came into my room with a pile of those holiday magazines…did you have those? The ones where everyone is wearing terrible Christmas sweaters and looking pristine while ice-skating?”

Ines shakes her head.

“Well, anyway, he came in and dumped the magazines onto my bed and told me to sit up. He said that winter was always our family’s favorite season and that he was going to be damned if it was going to transform from one of the happiest times of year to the death season. He said we were going to treat that winter as the first winter.”

“So the ‘death season’ could translate to winter,” Ash says.

“Right,” I say, feeling more confident. “He said we would treat it as the first winter and that it was time to make a change. He told me to pick a day, any day in December, and we would start a new tradition, something that was just ours, that had nothing to do with the years before. So I chose the twentieth.”

“Hmmm,” Aarya says, like she’s considering the whole thing. “Winter and December twentieth.”

“The weird part is that it’s five days past that date,” I say. “And December twentieth is obviously in winter, so why the redundancy?”

“Unless the December part isn’t necessary,” Ines says, and I look at her.

“How so?” I say.

“Your story said to pick a day, right? And you picked the twentieth. So what if it’s winter and the number twenty?” she says. “Like in, for instance, an address.”

My eyes widen. Could this really be the clue I’ve been waiting for all along? “Ines, I think you might be a genius.”

Ash grabs the atlas of the UK and spreads it out on the table. He flips to a map of London and we all crowd around it.

It only takes a few seconds before Ash plunks his finger down. “Found it. Winter Street.”

“And Winter Avenue,” Aarya says, pointing to the complete opposite side of the city.

For a brief second we’re quiet.

“We’re taking to the street in treason,” Ash and I both say at the same time.

“Well then,” Aarya says, grinning. “Twenty Winter Street it is.”

“Or One Winter Street,” I say, “considering the rhyme says first Death Season. It could be One Winter Street, apartment number twenty, for instance.”

Aarya gives me a look that almost appears to be respect. “Yes, yes it could.”

“But what about the last line?” I ask.