“That would be telling, wouldn’t it,” the MasterMind’s ghostly voice came. “But now, the ball is in your court. I think you’ve seen enough to realize what the right decision is.”

The screen parted in its middle, forming a doorway. Through the shimmering vortex at its center, Ahmad could just make out the park and its frozen trees and . . . His eyes narrowed. No, there was something different about that park on the other side.

The MasterMind’s parting words floated over them.

“Paheli awaits. Enjoy every last drop of it. . . .”

CHAPTER FOUR

SO WHAT DO WE do now?” Winnie said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

It wasn’t remotely cold, but Ahmad understood why she was doing it. After the MasterMind’s hologram had disappeared, the black mass had seeped down into the ground. They were no longer boxed in, but around them, Central Park was still caught in that horrible, silent stillness. He had the shivers too.

It didn’t help that the doorway was still looming in front of them.

“What else can we do?” Ahmad asked back. “We play the game.”

It was weird, but unlike Winnie, he wasn’t in shock. Instead, all that he could feel was a cold, hard knot of anger in the pit of his stomach. His parents’ frozen faces hung in front of his mind’s eye.

They didn’t ask for this.

And he couldn’t let them down. Not again.

No, there was no other choice. They had to do this.

Winnie didn’t seem to think the same way though. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“Ahmad, are you kidding me? We’re kids. Shouldn’t we call the police? Or maybe someone at school.”

“Like anyone at school would believe me!” Ahmad burst out. His hands clenched into fists at his side. “Like any adult—if they aren’t Popsicles right now—would believe this could even happen. Winnie, you saw the spider. You saw our parents.” He waved his arms around, gesturing to the still life of Central Park. “We don’t have anyone to rely on in this but us.”

He bit back the words that were coming next: “I know that better than anyone else.”

“Ahmad,” Winnie said softly. There was a look in her eyes that he didn’t like: the same look teachers gave him the day before a parent-teacher conference or when, even with extra time to finish a test, he struggled for the right words to write down.

It was pity.

“No matter how we do it, we need to play,” Ahmad said firmly, before she could say anything else. “We need to do this for our parents, and we need to do this for ourselves. I don’t think we can count on anyone else.”