“Kiki,” she said earnestly, “look at the statue. Mahishasura is a monster who takes and takes from us, but he hasn’t been able to crush us. We resist him every day because we believe we can get the city we love back. And the reason we believe that, the reason we resist, is because of you. Because you made us fight. Because you created a world with monsters, but there are also thousands of extraordinary ordinary people in this world who resist those monsters.”

“But I’m not like you. I’m not like those people.”

“Yes, you are,” she insisted. “Even if you don’t know it yet.”

I wanted so badly to believe her, but I didn’t know if I could. How could the girl who lay awake in the dark worrying about murderous geese and unlocked front doors be the same as the one on the marble plinth? The statue was just an echo of a Kiki who was gone now. My own brain had made me someone else and the new me wasn’t the girl this world needed me to be.

But what if I could be? What if there was a chance Ashwini was right? After all, hadn’t I created that statue because it was a version of myself I wanted to be? What if I could be one of those extraordinary ordinary people who resists instead of running?

I clenched my hands inside the pockets of my pajamas. One of them curled around my pencil and it made me feel a little better. Braver. A bit more like the marble girl, the plucky heroine of her own story.

I had absolutely no idea if I could save Mysore from Mahishasura, but I would try. With all of my messy, anxious heart, I would try.

Now that I’d recovered somewhat from the sight of the statue, I remembered the other thing it meant. “If we’re in this square,” I started, “then that means—”

“Yep.” Ashwini beamed. “That means we’re home.”

With that, she gestured for me to go ahead. It was the first time either of them had let me lead the way, and I didn’t need telling twice. I knew exactly where to go.

I crossed the square to a weird, crooked, tall, pale-blue house with a ruby-red door. It looked like someone had picked three different types of houses and stacked them on top of each other, without the slightest interest in whether any of the edges lined up. And by someone, I meant me. Oops.

Beside the bright red door, on a little wooden plaque, were the words CROW HOUSE.

To an Asura, the house would look the same, except there would never be any lights in the windows, never any noises from inside, never any sign that anyone lived here. The house had a mind of its own and it was determined to hide the mismatched family of Crows who lived inside.

I knocked tentatively on the door. It opened immediately, as if someone had been on the other side, waiting.