We slam the door to the city behind us and stand still in the Between for one charged moment. All of us are drenched from the rain, but the reason we are shaking has very little to do with the cold. Taraana’s fear is catching, and all of us are nearly drunk from the force of it.

“Follow me,” Paheli says, and walks ahead, pulling Taraana behind her.

“We were betrayed,” Valentina says. She doesn’t move a step from her spot. Paheli stops and half-turns to her. “Eulalie—”

“Eulalie wouldn’t,” Paheli cuts her off.

“How can you be so sure?” Valentina demands. We look between them uneasily.

“Think on it, Tina. If it were Eulalie, she would have granted Baarish access to the house when we were sleeping and at our most vulnerable.” Paheli shakes her head. “It wasn’t Eulalie.… It was probably me.” She looks chagrined. “The voodoo store clerk sprinkled some lake water on my palm. The palm containing the star, I mean. She said the water was from a lake in India, but I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never think.” Valentina’s voice is cold, and the air in the Between is colder.

Paheli nods and a smile blooms brilliant on her face. “That is correct. I never think. Thinking is vastly overrated.”

The lights of the Between flicker suddenly, and we look at Taraana. He has stopped shaking, but he refuses to relinquish his hold on Paheli’s hand. The magic in the Between covers him so he looks like he is made of coruscating balls of light.

He looks at Paheli for a long moment but doesn’t say a word. Instead, he slips a hand around her waist, touching her more easily than any of us have ever dared. Paheli meets his eyes and looks away, the smile on her lips fading slightly.

“Let’s go.” She starts walking again and we follow her, keeping our counsel. The only person willing to fight with Paheli is Valentina. We don’t know where Valentina gets the courage from, but Paheli never responds to her provocations.

We pass many doors and turn several corners before arriving at a solid black door we have never seen before. We turn to Paheli, but our questions simply compound when she brings up her free hand and knocks on the door in a complicated pattern.

We have never before needed to knock on doors, as we operate on the assumption that none will ever fail to open for us. Half a minute later, this door is pulled open by a brown-haired, hazel-eyed boy of about nineteen. We look at him suspiciously, but he merely nods at us and smiles warmly at Paheli.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he says to her, and we lean forward, puzzled. He stands aside and gestures for us to enter.