We choose to be visible to humans and turn heads as we make our way unstopped through the hotel foyer. Our first obstacle presents itself to us in the form of the security consisting of four pairs of middle-worlder men and women. They stand outside the boardroom, their stances aggressive and intimidating. Even their pinkie fingers look threatening. All Taraana does is smile at them and they falter, moving aside without protest.

We walk past them with Paheli leading the way and enter the boardroom unannounced. Immediately, some magic users rise to their feet, protesting our lack of etiquette. We do not pay this squawking any mind and instead stand together at the front of the room, allowing the strongest magic users in the middle world to look at us. Mama Magdaline and Tabassum Naaz are also present in the room. From them, we get reassuring smiles.

The speaker of the Magic Council is an old middle worlder who is the Keeper of the Gold in America. Mama Magdaline told us that he is also purported to be the strongest magic user in middle-world history.

“Are you the group self-named the Wild Ones?” He has a dapper style and could easily be someone’s bloodthirsty grandfather. There seems to be a market for dangerous grandfathers, especially in the middle world.

“You could say that,” Paheli says.

“And you”—the man turns to Taraana—“are the current Keeper of the Between.”

“Indeed, I am,” Taraana replies.

“We have asked you here because reports have come to us that you and the”—his pause is full of contempt—“Wild Ones were involved in the demise of the previous Dar of Uttar Pradesh. Were you?”

“Is there any particular reason I need to answer to you?” Taraana looks at the middle worlder lazily.

“If you know what’s good for you…,” another middle worlder says. Apart from Mama Magdaline and Tabassum Naaz, there are seven other middle worlders sitting at the table in the boardroom. They all resemble Baarish to a certain extent. Imagine a portion of the population glutted on power, privilege, and prestige, and you will know what they look like. If that’s difficult, think of politicians, and you will get the idea.

“Why? Isn’t Baarish’s death good news for you?” Taraana looks around the room. “Now that he’s gone, one of you can come after me. Haven’t you been hunting Keepers of the Between for centuries now?”

“What are you saying?” A red-haired magic user bangs his hands on the table in front of him with great force. “Do you have evidence to substantiate your claims?”

“I would bring in the keepers before me to testify, but they’re all dead,” Taraana replies. “Funny, you should know that, considering you were the ones who murdered them.”

“Are you going to justify your actions as self-defense?” the Keeper of the Gold asks, bringing the conversation back to a topic they think they can control.