The sky over Cairo is a disconcerting blue. The air in the city has the smell of a new day, car exhaust, and spices. Taraana and I separate from the others a little while after we enter the city. They are going to follow us from a distance. Daraja and Ghufran left with Eulalie the day before, preferring to provide emergency relief should we need any.

Our first destination in Cairo is an unnamed eating establishment run by a not-human woman called Tayseir. She has dark hair, brown skin, and eyes the gold of desert sand. She is standing at the front of the restaurant, talking to a customer, and moves aside to allow us entrance. With her kohled eyes and multihued scarves, she is as beautiful as her name. Her smile brightens when she sees us and sharpens a moment later when she notices Taraana.

“Who is this, Paheli?” Her voice makes a song out of my name. “Are you looking for trouble?”

“I hope so,” I reply with a grin. I’m always pretending. “I’ve even sent it an invitation.”

My reply gets me a glower from her. I sketch a bow and turn to follow Taraana, who has chosen a table close to the back of the restaurant, away from the light and the inquisitive patrons.

We exchange Between diamonds for currency and, upon Tayseir’s insistence, order lunch. No matter what Tayseir cooks, the flavors in her food evoke the taste of the time you were happiest as a child. This is the magic of this restaurant and the real reason I brought Taraana here. He should taste some happiness before bad things happen.

The food arrives and we gape at the bounty being placed on the table. Tayseir has outdone herself.

“It’s not often you bring a man here,” Tayseir says with a grin, and Taraana raises an eyebrow.

“I have never brought a man here!” I protest.

Tayseir laughs and introduces the food. “I have feteer, gollash, fresh bread, bamia, and ful medames. Here is a platter of rice and a jug of icy sharbat. Eat your fill, and if you want more, just tell me.”

Taraana stares at the feast in front of him and takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the delicacies. Then he notices that the plate before him is the only one on the table.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asks.

“I am not hungry,” I reply. He shrugs, then dips a piece of bread in ful medames and pops it into his mouth, closing his mouth to savor the taste. I watch him chew and swallow. A few seconds later, his eyes widen.

“Did you remember it, then, your happiest memory as a child?” I ask, and he nods. “Will you tell me about it?”

Taraana takes a sip of his sharbat. His fingers are trembling, so he clenches them into a fist.