arms out in hang-ten position.

Kurt and Gwen seem unaffected.

I head toward the bow where Arion is making his presence known.

He’s hovering midair off the ship on his black ropes, arms crossed

over his chest. The usually kind smile is replaced by the same face my

mom wears when she’s trying to haggle with a guy at the farmers’

market-all “Five dollars for an apple? I don’t care if it’s organic!”

“Are you going to be okay here?” I ask, not getting a particularly

warm feeling from the men unloading other ships. In clothes yellowed

by the sea air and with scarred faces, they mutter and point fingers

at us.

Arion nods once. “We need supplies. Rope, sails, fresh water. The

hull needs a scrubbing. I can find everything we need. Sea mead goes a

long way in places like this.” Arion motions back to our ship where

Blue and Vi are stacking barrels on deck. “We are the only creatures

who manufacture and supply it.”

“Liquid currency,” Layla says. “Seems fitting.”

I hold my arm out to Arion. He taught me a sweet new handshake,

the way the guys at the Sea Guard do it. Gripping the forearm, like

you’re feeling the other person’s strength. When Arion grips my

forearm, I think he might be the strongest person I’ve ever met. “I

don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Do not worry, Master Tristan,” he says. “We will not leave

without you.”

And with that, my team-consisting of a commander of the Sea Guard

and his sister, a magical mermaid princess, and my best friend and

almost girlfriend-head up the dock until it becomes a cobblestone

market square. The tents form a loose semi-circle around the church.

At the center is a massive cathedral with a bunch of kids kicking a

ball around. The gong of a bell sends fat scarlet birds scattering

into the sky. The clock marks 5 p.m. The sun is sinking, but the sky

is still a gradient of blues.

Layla points at the church. “Doesn’t it remind you of something?”

Tall winding turrets, tiny winged gargoyles and cherubs, high

arched windows-yeah. It looks just like our high school. “Thorne

Hill.”

We pass an Indian woman standing at a booth, her hair braided to

the ground. Her eyes are big as an owl’s with a fringe of white

feathers for eyelashes. She weighs beans in her hand and yells at the

man trying to sell them to her. When they see us, they stop and fire

away with poisonous scowls. The owl woman hoots at me.

“What did I do?” I ask.

“Just keep walking,” Kurt says.

A horse-drawn carriage passes us, stopping in front of the church.

The driver hops off to let out a couple. The man takes her arm, and

she lifts layers and layers of puffy skirts so they don’t trail on the

ground. They walk past us, nodding in our direction but not really

looking at us.

“Uhh-” Layla’s eyes follow the couple as they weave through the

shops. “Is that carriage a time machine? They look like they just

hopped out of 1869. That corset cannot be comfortable.”

Kurt shrugs. “You’ll find many extraordinary people in places like

these.”

“What exactly is this place?” I ask Kurt.

“A world away to you two, I suppose.” Kurt picks up an apple from

the fruit vendor beside us. He reaches into his pocket and hands the

beefy man a shiny copper coin. I’m guessing they don’t take American

down here. Kurt gives the apple to Thalia, who gobbles it in quick

bites.

The kids playing ball kick it to my feet. I raise my leg to kick

it back to them, but one of them runs over in a heartbeat. He has

long, pointy ears and sharp green eyes. He sticks out a tongue that’s

forked like a snake’s, cackling when I jump back from the shock of it.

“A world away,” Kurt repeats. “There are many more, all over the

world. As human numbers grew and pushed anything remotely unnatural

farther and farther into the fringes, villages like this were created.

Others left with the fey court on floating islands, similar to our

Toliss. Then there are those who leave the sanctuary of places like

this for the anonymity of cities, like your Coney Island.”

Layla still watches the couple from 1869. “You mean everyone in

this town is supernatural?”

“Not at all. There are humans who are more-” His eyes fall on

Layla. “…enlightened, that have found themselves here one way or

another.”

The marketplace is starting to feel cramped. I’m picking up

something in the air. It’s hidden beneath the mounds of smoke and

spices. I decide it’s the perfume tent and the throngs of people we

pass. “How do we find the way to the oracle?”

Kurt, who’s rarely at a loss for words, stands with his mouth

open. “Uh-”

“Look at these!” Layla runs over to a stand with pots and tubes

full of colorful smoke called Fazya’s Wish Come True.

Kurt calls out after her-all “Stay together”-but the woman has

Layla hooked. The vendor is tall with a wild mane of curls. Her eyes

are rimmed black against rich coffee skin.

“Come, my darling,” she says. Her voice is as soft as the smoke in

one of those jars. “Come to Fazya.”

I pick one up and give it a shake. The smoke spins in a coil of

blood red.

“Tut, tut.” The vendor pries it from my hands. “Mustn’t touch.”

“What in the seas are these?” Kurt demands, not hiding his

disgust.

“They’re wishes, of course. What your heart desires.” She sweeps

her long, elegant hands over her display-every color of the rainbow

and jars in all shapes and sizes. “True love granted. Hair longer than

Rapunzel herself. Sight in the darkness. Flight to the heavens. Power

in the palm of your hands. Loved ones returned from the dead-”

Thalia’s hand reaches out toward the jar, the vendor’s eyes

becoming dark saucers as she does so. She has a hunger that reminds me

of Nieve-taunting, searching, waiting.

I take Thalia’s hand and jerk it back, breaking whatever trance

was beginning. The jar topples over and cracks with a steam-engine

hiss. Fazya’s eyes become red as embers. When she opens her full mouth

to hiss at me, a black tongue slithers out, while her hips sashay from

side to side. Her sultry voice is replaced by a very flat Brooklyn

accent. “Ya break it. Ya bought it.”

Gwen claps. “Good show, Tristan.”

Kurt throws Fazya a gold coin and leads us farther into the

market. He gives me a look that screams, “You should know better.” The

thing is, I don’t. I’ve never been in a place like this. I might as

well be at my dad’s office being reminded not to touch anything.

“We shouldn’t engage with those people. Our goal is to get

underground,” Kurt says.

Gwen stops walking. The traffic of people weaves around her. Her

head is cocked to the side, waiting for an explanation. “ Those

people?”

Kurt huffs and puffs. “Dark magic. Sorcery. You know very well

what I mean, Lady Gwenivere. It’s dangerous. It consumes the soul, the

magic. That’s what happened to the silver witch. Her power grew bigger

than herself. That woman,” he points a finger at a still fuming Fazya,

“uses false wishes to take advantage of others. Those are the people I

mean.”

“How would you know any of it?” Gwen asks. “Read it in a book?

When you get to be my age, you’ll learn to tell the difference,

Kurtomathetis of the Guard .”

“And just how old are you?” Kurt crosses his arms, puffing out his

chest until he towers over her. “Other than being promised to the

former herald of the East, we knew so very little about you at court.”