The Mad Hatter comes to cup my face with a smile. She kisses my cheek before melting away. Claudia grabs my hand, pulls me through the thinning press. And then we are rushing into a tunnel, up a stair, and onto the street. Piotrek veers left onto a main thoroughfare, all but abandoned this time of night. There’s an old blue tram rolling toward us. He leaps up onto the outer step, and Claudia has followed suit. They’re out of their minds, I think, even as my foot finds a hold on the second car, my fingers fighting for purchase as if I were a climber on a sheer rock face. I glance back, purple hair in my eyes, to find Luka laughing at the end of the car.

We let go several blocks east and run down the side of the street. Piotrek jumps up onto the post of a chain fence, teeters, then balances like a ballerina. I laugh and then gasp as Claudia leaps for him. He hops at least five feet to the next post just as she lands where he was perched a mere second ago, and then Claudia’s chasing him the better part of a city block from post to post, one long stride at a time.

“He’s crazy.” Luka laughs, and I nod in agreement. But my heart races with them as we run to catch up.

On the very last post, Piotrek jumps into the street—right toward an oncoming car. I scream, too late, as he skirts across the car’s roof, landing on his feet with an audible chuckle. The car screeches to a halt.

“That was you,” Claudia says, her finger pointed at me. And only then do I realize my mental shout for the driver to stop!

By the time we find ourselves back in the city square, the sky is indigo, threatening dawn. That can’t be right.

“I know a place,” Piotrek says, slowing to a walk. We’re at least a mile from the upper city on a narrow side road. He leads us to a tiny restaurant. The windows are dark, a lone light shining from a back room, maybe the kitchen itself. Piotrek slides his mask up, presses his forehead to the window. When nothing happens, Claudia turns to stare intently through the window beside him. A minute later we’re admitted by an older man who welcomes us as though we were expected—even though he’s still in his nightshirt.

By the time we sit down I feel the soreness of my feet. My lower back aches. My ears are still ringing.

I sigh and slump back in my chair as the proprietor comes with coffee, not even caring what Piotrek is apparently ordering for the table.

And then I smile up at the ceiling. A laugh rises from my chest. Claudia removes her mask. She looks spent and sated at once.

Luka groans.