Another giggle, followed by a finger lightly running down the center of my back. I spin in place and reach out, catching hold of something solid, something that, by the sound of the gasp it makes, might be human. The fog shifts, revealing gold eyes and frizzy black hair, a face whose shock likely reflects my own. Gul.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. “Were you the one singing?”
Did you touch me?
“Do I look like a peri to you?” Gul’s eyes narrow into slits. “I was going back into the palace when a fog appeared in front of me. A voice was coming from it, singing a strange song.”
The back of my neck prickles. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want. I heard it this morning as well. Along with whistling.”
Low-pitched and playful, the sound emerges again as if summoned by her words:
They heard Rooh’s voice at the mountain bend
They heard it in the bog
They searched and scoured from end to end
They lost him in the fog
A series of childish giggles follow, and we both stare at the entrance, which glows so brightly the inside might as well hold two full moons.
“We should find someone,” I say at last. “A guard.”
“We should,” she agrees.
But the fog is thick, and no matter where we turn, we end up at the entrance, a light giggle mocking us the whole time, singing bits and pieces of the song. I can’t tell if the door is moving or if it’s just the fog that’s confusing me by turning everything else into a blur. Tricky, I remind myself. This palace is tricky.
“Looks like we don’t have a choice.” Gul pushes a strand of hair off her forehead. “Whoever it is wants us to go in.”
I’m quiet for a long moment. “I’ll go in first. See if it’s safe.”
Two steps in, a hand reaches out and grabs hold of mine. “No,” she says firmly. “There’s magic at work here. We’ll go in together.”
Another girl might have let me go. Might have even sent me in herself. But then I see a dagger blade gleaming green in her hands, the hard glint in her eyes. My mouth grows dry.
“Good thing I went to check on my weapons before dinner,” she says. A tiny dimple creases her right cheek, one I’m sure I haven’t seen before. “Grabbed one of these right when the fog hit and I heard that creepy song.”
The pretty smile doesn’t fool me. Gul holds the dagger like it’s a part of her, her grip on the weapon relaxed and comfortable. Though I will never admit it out loud, I’m glad she’s here with me right now.
“Right,” I say. “Let’s go in.”
The moment we step into Chand Mahal, the lightorb overhead disappears. Moonlight pours in through the beehive windows, throwing shadows like lace over the ground. Mirrors embed the walls and the ceiling in octagons and tiny crescents, darkening only when our reflections fall on them. We are not alone. The singing, though softer now, is still audible. As if the thing that drew us in here is waiting. Watching.
“What do you want?” Gul asks sharply, and I know she can hear it, too. “Why did you bring us here?”
The singing stops abruptly, leaving behind a silence so thick it could choke.
Then, a laugh. Followed by a hand—a child’s hand—appearing in thin air.
“Do you see that?” I murmur.
“See what?” Next to me, I hear Gul spinning, her feet squeaking once on the marble floor. “What are you talking about? I don’t see anything.”
“She will never be able to see what you see,” the voice says. “Though she can hear me.”
I stare at the hand, which now extends to an elbow and then a full arm. A girl with pigtails, perhaps half my size, appears slowly, wearing a tunic with a slash through the middle, dark liquid staining the edges of the tear. The grayish tinge to her skin is simultaneously familiar and skin-crawling.
“Did Latif send you?” I ask the girl.
She laughs—scornfully this time. “Latif is not my master. Neither is he the only one of us.”
“There are more of you?” Who—what—is Latif?
“More of who?” Gul interrupts. Her eyes scan the room, looking past the gray-faced girl and focusing on empty space. “Cavas, what do you see?”
“It’s a girl,” I say slowly. “She’s…” My voice trails off as I stare at the stain on her tunic, which is too dark to be anything but blood. “I think she’s dead.”
“We prefer the term living specters,” the girl says. “Though, for your purposes, dead is also acceptable.”
“That’s impossible,” Gul responds before I can. “Living specters can’t be seen!” She spins around, not seeming to realize that her back is to the girl. “You’re playing a trick on us with an invisibility spell! Show yourself before I force you to with my dagger!”
My skin prickles the way it does when warming after a chill. What Gul says makes perfect sense. Living specters are invisible to magi and non-magi, and the little girl’s invisibility should be because of a spell. But then …
“If that is true, then how can I see her?” I ask. Invisibilty spells work exactly the same way on magi and non-magi. There is no way I could see someone Gul couldn’t.
Gul frowns, opening her mouth to argue, but then shuts it almost at once. I can see realization sinking in, the incredulous look on her face replaced by a strange sort of understanding.
“Cavas, are you a see—”
“No,” I cut in. It’s not possible. I am not a seer. Or a
