I looked at the tragic shreds of black, red, and gold fabric in Jojo’s arms and all over the floor. Ashwini must have hacked at them with her sword because they were beyond repair. And there was no time for Jojo to make new ones for everyone, even if we all helped.

Then I remembered a bird shaking itself loose and flying into the sky, and my hand closed over the broken piece of my pencil in my pocket.

“Maybe I can help,” I said.

They stared at me, but I didn’t explain. How could I explain it, anyway? Better to show them.

I started laying shreds of fabric out on the floor, like puzzle pieces. After a moment of bewildered silence, the others started to help, with Jojo directing which shred should go with which specific pile, and eventually there were several mostly complete jigsaw puzzles of fabric on the floor of the front room.

Then I picked up my pencil and started to draw.

I drew lines between the shreds on the floor, like pulling a jacket zipper up, and everywhere I drew the lines, the fabric merged. Suki gasped and Jojo’s eyes went wide. I sketched line after line and filled in any gaps and holes with smooth strokes of the pencils that Samara fetched for me. And I watched with as much amazement as the others as, one by one, torn pieces of costumes became whole.

When it was done, I knelt on the floor while the others stood around me, their jaws slack. Seeing all his hard work repaired, Jojo looked like he might start crying all over again.

“Extraordinary,” said Simha.

“How did you do that?” Samara asked, using the same awed whisper she had used that first day when she saw me at the door and said, “It’s you!”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I didn’t know I could until yesterday. It’s not much,” I added quickly, fully aware that a few costumes wouldn’t win any battles, “but I hope it makes you feel better.”

“Oh, Kiki,” she said, hugging me.

“But where’s your costume?” Simha wanted to know.

“Well, I didn’t think—”

“Don’t worry,” said Jojo, grinning, “I’ve been working on yours for the past couple of days. I can finish it in an hour.”

“But I—”

“Stop it,” Samara said. “You’re part of this family, too.”

Lej shook his head in amazement. “I was wrong about you,” he said. “It doesn’t matter that you can’t aim an arrow or use a sword. You have your own kind of power.”

And Suki, at the sunlit window, said, “Little girls are always more powerful than people think we are. People think we’re sweet, precious things, all sugar and spice and everything nice, but we’ve got iron and steel in us, too.”

I looked down at the broken pencil half in my hand, thinking of little girls and monsters and power. An idea started to take shape in my mind.

“You have a look on your face I don’t like one bit,” Lej said in the doomed tone of someone who can see a storm coming and knows he’s about to be swept up in it.