Clearly moving from their muddy camp in the Tangled Forest to the Crow’s Nest hasn’t changed the Lost Girls at all. Their hair and clothes are just as grubby. One of them—Flora, I think—is sucking the end of a grimy, matted braid, and Nell is chewing a stick. They might be scruffy and bruised, but they’re a riot of color. Their pink T-shirts, yellow dresses, and striped leggings—all patched and ripped—give the gloom of the Crow’s Nest a party feel, and I think they’ve got even more rainbow loom-band bracelets stacked up their arms. I guess Stella gave out a lot of rewards after the battle that won them the Crow’s Nest.

“I s’pose you want to come in and take a look around?” says Stella.

“Yes, please,” says Win, followed by, “Arthur just got attacked by an octopus!”

“Oh, that would have been Pearl,” says Stella. “Don’t worry about her. She was just being friendly.” Then she spins on her heel and disappears into the shadows of the castle, yelling over her shoulder, “Shut the doors. You’re letting in the cold!”

We follow Stella down a long hallway, the Lost Girls darting around us. Flaming torches line the walls and I notice Stella is wearing a new coat over her denim shorts. It’s long and made of scuffed black leather.

“Is that Crowky’s coat?” I ask.

“Yep!” She grins and gives us a twirl. “It’s a bit big, and I had to patch up his wing holes”—she pauses here to show us two circles now filled in with flowery fabric—“but it’s warm and that’s what matters because this castle is very drafty.” Then she leads us into a round chamber.

It’s huge—like a cathedral—and for a moment all we can do is look around us and stare. Rose and I have never been in the castle. The closest we got last time was the dungeons. I’m not sure what I imagined the inside of the Crow’s Nest would look like, but I never pictured anything like this. The ceiling rises far above us, and a curious twiggy staircase clings to the curved walls. A fire crackles in a cavernous fireplace, but it doesn’t generate enough heat to take the chill off the air.

“It’s kind of . . . beautiful,” says Rose, her voice echoing.

I know what she means. Torches flicker from crow-shaped sconces, and the twisting staircase seems to grow out of the wall like ivy. It’s like something from a fairy tale.