She raised her eyebrows, glanced down at his cup, and then back up at his face.

Ahmad rolled his eyes. “It’s been a few minutes now and my stomach feels fine. Come on, Winnie.”

Winnie rolled her eyes right back but reached for her cup. “If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

She took a tentative sip. And then stared down into the cup.

“What?” Ahmad asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?”

Winnie shook her head. Suddenly, she looked very small and uncertain. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“It tastes like the tea my mom makes on sick days,” she said, biting her lip. “Dad says he married Mom knowing he would make the coffee every morning because she could burn a pot of water. She really does, every time. And then Grandma comes in quietly and does something so that it actually tastes like tea again, and just smiles and nods while Mom takes all the credit.”

“Um . . . wow.” Ahmad inwardly pinched himself for that lackluster response. How come he couldn’t say something normal, something supportive?

It didn’t seem like Winnie noticed, though.

“This morning, I was so irritated with all of them. But after seeing them frozen on the screen—after tasting the tea . . . I don’t know why I was.”

Madame Nasirah squeezed Winnie’s shoulder. Ahmad hadn’t even noticed her come back in the room. “If you want,” she suggested gently, “I could pour you a fresh cup. See what else the pot could give you.”

But Winnie shook her head. “This is good enough.” She took another sip, blinking her eyes fiercely.

Ahmad turned to Madame Nasirah. “So you are the Gamekeeper. Does this mean you pulled us into this game?”

Madame Nasirah shook her head. “I’m merely a gatekeeper—or what is the word that dreadful girl is always using? A tutorial. I’m here to let you know the rules, and what you need to do if you hope to win. Some spinach pies, dears.”

Ahmad jerked back as a plate of delightfully steaming pastries was plunked in front of him.

“Now,” Madame Nasirah said, watching approvingly as Winnie stuffed a spinach pie in her mouth and hummed happily. “This game is one that only ever seeks young players. And I will tell you right now that now that it has you, it will not want to let you go. So listen carefully.”

A shiver ran down Ahmad’s spine.

“Paheli is a place of riddles,” Madame Nasirah said softly. “This game is not a simple one of throwing dice and moving forward spaces. It is one that will require you to remember what you’ve seen, keep track of what is in your pockets, and know who your allies are. Even the rules I tell you now may shift.”