Eulalie looks surprised. The next moment her eyes fill with some emotion none of us are very familiar with. Mothers are a four-letter word to us. We don’t say it.

Paheli clears her throat and we point Eulalie to the coffee table where the activated pendant is still lying. It’s glowing purple, all but broadcasting its identity. Eulalie looks at it closely before she shudders and takes a step back. “You said you have an unawakened one?”

Daraja hands Eulalie a box containing one. She takes it out from the box and picks it up, turning it over in her hands. “How fascinating. You’re telling me that this will become a conjury after the word activating it is spoken?”

“What does it feel like to you?” Talei asks.

Eulalie shrugs. “Like a pendant. I don’t sense any malice in it like I do with human conjury.”

“Will it work on Baarish, do you think?” Taraana asks hopefully.

“It will more than work on Baarish,” she responds. “But you will have to face the Magic Council afterward. They will consider it murder.”

“We will deal with them when we have to,” Paheli replies. “And technically, it is murder, so they wouldn’t be wrong.” A strange feeling, like a frigid wind in winter, blows through us at her words.

“It’s self-defense,” Eulalie replies. “Baarish won’t let you simply die if he catches you. Mama Magdaline will speak for you. But the reason I made the trip today is to tell you about Wa’ad. Remember, I said I had heard of a middle worlder who was a librarian in the middle-worlder equivalent of the Library of Alexandria?” Eulalie leans back in her chair. We are in the kitchen, cooking lunch. Well, Areum is cooking. We’re just hanging around, annoying her.

“No, I don’t remember, but tell me more,” Paheli asks, pretending to cut up carrots but actually eating them, Bugs Bunny–style. Taraana, who actually is helping, takes over the cutting session, shooing her away in the process.

“She is remarkably erudite and, obviously, well-read. She might know of a way for Taraana to bond to the Between. It can’t hurt to ask,” Eulalie says. “She’s currently in Cairo.”

Paheli looks at Taraana. “Cairo, huh?”

He shrugs. “It may as well be Cairo.”

Paheli: The Cheese in the Trap

Cairo, the city of a thousand minarets, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of the cities that stood in its place. It has blood on its streets and fever in its heart. Cairo, a refuge to some and a cage to others. The magic here has a smoky feel to it, as if it is born of grief.