His weary body protested, begging for just thirty more minutes, but instead, Venkat got dressed and made his way to the workshop. Ransacking the inventory, he assembled the various fractions of “boon” left until a line of twenty-nine white orbs glowed at him like miniature moons.

Odd—that was the same number as there were current runners. Had that always been the case? Venkat had never bothered counting the boons before; there had always been more than enough to give out, and as far as he’d known, Nayan had replenished them as necessary.

But he’d never thought to ask where they came from.

In the ancient epics, when a rishi or a demon won a boon from the deities, it was a favor so powerful that Lord Brahma had to place limits on what it could be used to invoke. Immortality, which challenged the cosmic order, was strictly forbidden, but crafty petitioners had found loopholes around that: King Hiranyakashipu had used his boon to stipulate that he might die neither on land nor in space, neither in fire nor water, during neither day nor night, neither indoors nor outdoors; nor could he be killed by human, animal, demigod, or even a weapon.

The brutish buffalo demon Mahishasura, on the other hand, had kept things simple—and more misogynistic—merely seeking protection from death at the hand of any man or god.

Since both petitioners’ demands technically adhered to the rules, Lord Brahma had had no choice but to grant them, and of course, chaos ensued.

Both had been taken down in the end—Hiranyakashipu on a threshold at twilight by the claws of a lion-headed avatar of Vishnu, and Mahishasura by an incarnation of goddess Durga—but only after accessing magic so mighty they had almost bypassed death.

In contrast, Venkat recalled Tanvi trying to invoke her memories and the random milkshake just that afternoon. How only her bracelet appeared—and even it had instantly vanished.

He was willing to bet the other runners would only be able to invoke their own particular obsession, too. Like the “boons” were keyed to them as individuals.

What had Nayan said, something about the power of belief as solder for one’s purpose? What if he’d meant that literally?

A dream is only as strong as the dreamer’s belief in it.

Venkat peered through his jeweler’s loupe at the orbs lined up on the worktable like a strand of illuminated pearls. Were they dreams, then?

The idea of slicing into one felt like sacrilege, but he had to know. He chose an orb that seemed thinner than the rest and grimly set about prizing it apart.

30

“Tanvi.” The gentle voice cut through Tanvi’s dream of dicing huge mounds of potatoes and carrots as fast as she could. Her persnickety kangaroo chef boss planned to use them as actual dice. “Wake up.”