Asha glanced over. “Hurry,” she urged. “If I must resist shopping for more feather seeds, surely you can resist everything else.”

They raced around the Market through spirals and loops. It felt like every vendor they passed flashed a predatory smile, wielding enticements like weapons, but Tanvi had her dream runner single-mindedness to fall back on. Nitya. Nitya. Nitya.

And then Asha came to a halt before a small square garden of bleeding hearts that actually bled. A roomy tent stood next to it, flamboyant yet intensely creepy. Butterflies in many colors served as its trim, occasionally abandoning their role and flying off. The only source of light inside the tent was a single floating bulb, burning through the layers of gloom like a lost star.

A scowling old woman rose from a chair within the tent, grunting as her knees creaked. “These bones are not what they once were.” She turned her glare on Tanvi. “So you are the reason for all this to-do? A waste of my time.”

“Grishmabai—” Asha began, but the old woman clapped sharply.

“Urvashi! That silly apsara is never around when you need her.”

Venkat squinted at Grishmabai. “You look like my grandmother,” he said warily. “But—”

The old woman cackled. “Child who once wished so fiercely for a deadened soul, I look like everyone’s grandmother. Who speaks for this girl?”

Venkat and Asha answered in unison. “I do.”

“Then the cost is doubled. From you, nagini princess, a scale; from you, lost boy, a story. The story of your heart, the one you take solace in. No, you will not tell it; you will give it to me.”

“No!” Venkat stared at her like she was asking him to trade the sky for the sea.

Grishmabai cast him an antagonized glance. “Do you wish my help or not?”

“I already gave it to her,” he said, with a nod at Tanvi.

Tanvi remembered him reading to her. How dare this mean old woman? “What about me?” she cut in. “I can speak for myself.”

“Tripled, then,” said Grishmabai. “From you, the first taste of your grief.”

What did that even mean? Tanvi shot apprehensive looks at Venkat and Asha, but she didn’t see any other choice. “Fine.”

“Hold out your hand,” Grishmabai instructed.

Tanvi reluctantly obeyed. Grishmabai’s long nails cut into the flesh as she ran them over Tanvi’s palm. Then she gasped.

“What?” Tanvi demanded. Was her past really that horrifying?

Grishmabai dropped her hand with a snort. It was a coarse, phlegm-ridden sound. “You humans are always so easy to fool. So quick to panic.”

“Grishmabai, please,” Venkat said. “You can have the story. Just help us.”

Tanvi started to tell him to shut up. That was his favorite story. Except, she realized, she could read it to him.

“Naturally shed nagini skin.” Asha removed a length of molted scales from her bag. “As I hear you are constantly seeking for your spellcraft.”