She nodded, peering at the house as I quickly pulled her to her feet. ‘‘What are they yelling? I can’t make out the words.’’

‘‘It’s probably nothing but a lot of swearing. Oh, and my nickname. Well, not my nickname—the other name.’’

‘‘What other name?’’ she asked as I hurried her away from the house and down the dark side street where we’d left the rental car. ‘‘Oh, you mean that Asian thing that someone made up?’’

‘‘They made it up because they heard you yelling my nickname in Dresden when I helped the naiad sisterhood get back the icon that was stolen. Fortunately, they were looking for an Asian person and paid no attention to little old me.’’

A guilty look flitted across her face. ‘‘I didn’t know that people would think that was your real name. Besides, that was at least ten years ago. Surely they’ve forgotten that by now?’’

‘‘Hardly. The fame of Mei Ling lives on. . . .’’

We stopped in front of the car. I was about to pull out the car key but realized with some surprise that I was holding something.

‘‘What’s wrong?’’ she asked as I stared at my hand. ‘‘Goddess! You’re bleeding! You went through the window?’’

‘‘Yes.’’ I unfurled my fingers and stared at . . . nothing.

‘‘We’d better go,’’ she said, taking the key and unlocking the door. ‘‘I’ll drive. You can slump down so you’re less obvious. I know no one can see you when you do your cloaking thing, but they’ll see the blood that you’re dripping everywhere. It’s a good thing you’re my twin, or you’d have to go to the hospital.’’

‘‘If I wasn’t your twin, I wouldn’t have been in a position to jump through the window in the first place,’’ I answered automatically, tracing out the shape of a small stone box. ‘‘Whatever the mage used on this is pretty powerful. I still can’t see it.’’

‘‘See what?’’ she asked, pausing to peer into my hand. ‘‘The cuts? They’ll heal in a few minutes.’’

‘‘I’m not worried about that—I have been stabbed, shot, and nearly disemboweled, and I know full well I’ll heal up quickly enough. It’s this,’’ I said, ducking as Cyrene shoved me into the car.

‘‘What, exactly?’’ she asked, gunning the engine. ‘‘Hotel?’’

‘‘Yes, please. It’s a box. Look at it from the corner of your eye.’’

‘‘I can’t see anything when I’m driving—oh! It’s a box!’’ she exclaimed, her gaze flickering between my hand and the street.

‘‘I think it’s crystal. I think—’’ My fingers, which had been stroking the invisible box, must have pressed a small, hidden switch, for suddenly my soul sang. I felt rather than saw a luminous golden glow radiating from the box, a beautiful light of such wondrous beauty, it seemed to fill me with happiness.