I look at my sisters and they look back at me; their confidence in me scares me, but I take a breath and walk into the alley. There are walls around us, so we can retreat to the Between in case of danger, but I prepare a scream anyway. We all tense when a low, masculine laugh reaches us. Talei sucks in a breath and clenches her fist. I realize my mouth is open and the scream is building in my throat.

I close my mouth. We all have nightmares. Ours are just a bit realer.

“Let’s go.” I put on my most brazen mask and stride ahead, determined not to let the fear have me. I will not be afraid.

I enter the first teahouse we come to, and my sisters follow. It is a tiny place; there are only five small tables inside, and all of them are occupied by middle worlders who bless us with their attention.

We could have done without their blessing. The proprietor has eyes found more often in a snake. I hold his stare for a long moment before he suddenly breaks into a smile I find more disturbing.

“I’m afraid you will have to wait for a table,” he says. He has a snake’s tongue, so his voice curves around his letters in interesting ways.

“I am not here for tea,” I tell him politely. “Is there someone called Tabassum Naaz here?” I pitch my voice so the patrons of the teahouse can hear.

“You will find her next door,” a not-human boy says. He has red eyes. There are flowers blooming under his light green skin. I nod a thank-you at him, and we leave without making eye contact with anyone else.

The teahouse next door is a bit larger and more welcoming than the first one. Warm gold light pours out from a chandelier dangling low in the middle of the room. The corners are covered in dark, but the middle seating area is cozy. The patrons of this teahouse seem to be younger and more human-shaped. Music hums in the background, providing an accompaniment to the many conversations occurring simultaneously.

The proprietor has a welcoming smile that fades slightly when she sees us. But she recovers her composure and waves us toward a recently vacated spot in a darker corner of the room. We sit down, keeping our eyes to ourselves at least until we are settled in with cups of mint tea into which we have added liberal amounts of sugar.

“There,” Valentina says, her eyes trained on her cup. “That girl bears a resemblance to Baarish.”