How do you hang up a feather? She really hoped she didn’t have to poke the eye.

“Tanvi!” Nitya made a frustrated noise. “No. Please. This is . . .” She sighed, and Tanvi could actually see the fight drain from her face. The face that should have been recognizable or else a stranger’s, but wasn’t either, that drew Tanvi in and drove her away at the same time. “I don’t know, okay? This is really weird. We thought you were dead.”

The guilt snapped at Tanvi, so she automatically turned its teeth on Nitya. “Well, I’m not!”

“I know. That’s not what I mean. It’s just—” Nitya took a breath deep enough that Tanvi could hear it. “You’re my sister, and you’re still here. Wow. Also, how? I’m super confused, but really happy?” She offered a tentative smile, and Tanvi felt herself mellowing in response. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t understand any of this, but I want to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tanvi said. Then, because this was too serious, too mushy, and she felt itchy again, she added, “I’m talking to you on a peacock feather.”

Nitya giggled. “You’re what?”

Tanvi folded the feather over so Nitya could view it. “See?”

“Whoa,” said Nitya. “Double whoa. I was already going to kill Sameer for keeping this a secret, but I’m going to have to think of something even worse.”

“I harvest mortal dreams,” Tanvi blurted, not sure why she was telling Nitya that. Or why it mattered if Nitya was impressed. “It’s my job. I sell them to the nagas. I mean, I sell them to this human guy named Venkat—he’s the broker—and he sells them to the nagas.”

Nitya watched her with rounded eyes. “Oh. Um. I take pictures? Of typical things in fresh contexts?”

They stared at each other, and Tanvi was pretty sure she’d never felt more awkward in any of her memories. But at least she didn’t want to hang up anymore.

“It’s actually pretty cool here,” she said. “Venkat just took me to this lake where butterflies eat topazes that used to be tears.”

“Uh, right.” Nitya didn’t sound pleased, and Tanvi realized her own mouth had turned up in a smile, like when she’d been in the surf with Venkat, listening to him read that poem.

Too late, she tried to backtrack. “It wasn’t real, but it was.”

Nitya only looked doubtful. “That sounds . . . nice, I guess?”

How did Tanvi keep saying the wrong thing?

“Crap, I have to get to class,” Nitya said after what felt like five years. “I don’t want to!” she rushed to explain. “But I’m happy you called.”

Tanvi nodded. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.