A hand rose from beneath her shawls and Ahmad and Winnie gasped in amazement at the shining object held within her palm: a puzzle piece, but one carved from heavy metal and inlaid with precious stones.

“You need to be stingy with your time and careful with your trust. The people of Paheli hold loyalty to no one but the Architect, and that is merely because his whim rules their city.”

Winnie looked pale. “It’s so intense,” she said softly. “What happens if we lose a challenge?”

“It is,” Madame Nasirah replied, resting one hand on her head. “I won’t lie to you and tell you that it isn’t. If you lose, you’re stuck here with the rest of us. But you cannot let thoughts like that cloud your judgment. You must look ahead and see the finish line without that anxiety and doubt hanging off your shoulders. You have two enemies to face as it is, Winnie. Do not let yourself become another.”

Winnie swallowed hard.

Ahmad, though, leaned forward. “Where do we start?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

THIS PLACE REALLY GIVES me the creeps,” Winnie muttered under her breath as the kids edged through a crowded alleyway. Madame Nasirah had suggested a stroll through the souk so they could get their bearings before the challenges began. But Ahmad felt he couldn’t quite find his footing.

“I know what you mean,” Ahmad agreed.

Paheli felt like it was squirming out of its skin, right beneath their feet. Maybe it was something to do with the music track that blasted in the background, on loop like any typical video game. There was something dark and wildly violent about the distant drums and shrill flute.

It was unfair, actually, because the rest of Paheli wasn’t dark or scary or disturbing at all. The best way Ahmad could think of it was that they were underwater—at least, if the ocean floor was designed by whoever at Disney dreamed up Tron: all sparkle and metal surfaces, cut through with neon avenues and hologram storefronts.

Winnie darted backward, gasping, as the sweets shop they passed blinked out of existence.

“Did I do that? What just happened?”

“I don’t know—” Ahmad started, and then gaped along with her as the store flickered back into existence. But something had changed. There was now a silver awning, and instead of the cheery, round-faced woman arranging frosted cakes alongside trays of syrupy orange jalebi in the window, a stern young man adjusted odd suits on shiny steel mannequins.

“How did it do that?” Ahmad whispered.

Winnie was leaning close to the window.

“What are those suits made of? I’ve never seen a fabric that can do that.”

The suit—a simple kurta shirt over billowing pants—seemed a vibrant green at first glance. Once the kids focused, though, they could see an underlying purple paisley print, pulsing in and out of existence like a heartbeat.