sins. When my legs burn and Nova and Rishi are shouting for me to wait

for them, I stop. I grab my knees and catch my breath.

“There’s my Olympic runner,” Rishi says, patting me on the back.

“I don’t know about you guys, but all this talk about destruction has

me hungry. I had a dream the other night that I was eating a tray of

empanadas by myself.”

“You’d have to get in line,” Nova says.

My mouth waters at the thought of the food we had at my party-the

trays of lasagna, hayacas, towers and towers of pastelitos and ham and

cheese croquettes, fried sweet plantain with melted cheese, crackling

pork belly over salty beans and yellow rice.

“We’re here,” Nova says.

Up ahead, the trail gives way to the Meadow del Sol. The trees

form a perfect ring around the clearing. The sun and moon shine an

ethereal light, so everything looks overexposed. There’s a long,

wooden table at the center of the meadow.

“You know what I find weird?” Rishi asks.

“You, the girl with fake wings and purple combat boots, think

something is weird?” Nova asks.

Rishi turns her long nose up at him and continues her thought.

“Madra kept talking about the other tribes, but we’ve been walking for

hours.”

I look at my watch. “Two and a half to be exact.”

“But we haven’t seen anyone. It’s not like when you walk around

Brooklyn and you see people coming and going.”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Nova says. “Some creatures prefer

to see, not be seen.”

“Oh great, I love getting creeped on by supernatural creatures,”

Rishi says.

“Maybe your voice scared them away,” Nova tells her.

“If anything’s scary around here it’s your face.” Rishi skips

around Nova, ripping flowers from the ground and throwing them at him.

He grumbles and slaps them away.

I shield the light from my eyes with my hand. Something shiny

glints on the wooden table in the meadow. The sweet smell of freshly

baked bread envelops me, and my belly growls so loudly, I’m sure a

galaxy far, far away can hear. “What’s that?”

As we get closer, I see the table is carved out of a fallen tree

that’s been cut in half. Toadstools and long grass rise up from the

ground to create natural chairs. I can smell bread, but I don’t see

it.

Rishi squeals and claps her hands together. “It’s a tea party.”

“I don’t see any tea,” Nova says.

I turn my face up to the sun and moon and welcome the sweet

breeze. My nose tickles with my magic. There’s a strong power all over

this meadow.

Nova pokes the toadstool with his foot, and when he determines

it’ll hold his weight, he sits on it. “This reminds me of the stories

of the Kingdom of Adas.”

“What are adas?” Rishi asks. Ah-dahs .

“They’re fairies,” Nova says. “But they live in a different realm.

They’re pretty as hell, but I wouldn’t want to meet one. They have

giant banquets and party all night. I got invited to one in Central

Park, but it’s just not the same.”

“How come we don’t go to magical parties in Central Park?” Rishi

asks me.

“Because if you eat fairy food, you’re stuck there,” I say. “Also,

because no .”

“What, in Central Park?” Nova scoffs. “You only get stuck if

you’re in the Kingdom of Adas. Only an ada can take you there.”

“Shut up,” I grumble, but then so does my stomach. “I’m so

hungry.”

“Well, if you hadn’t given all our supply to the avianas, we’d be

feasting on beef jerky and stale bread right now, wouldn’t we?”

Rishi mimics him as he speaks.

Then, their faces draw a blank. They jolt from their seats, slowly

retreating from the table.

“Alex,” Nova says, locking his eyes-blue and green and slightly

terrified-with mine.

I see them too late, but maybe they were always there. What was it

that Madra said? Look twice.

I blink rapidly, and it’s like clearing a hazy film from my sight.

From the trees, the shadows, the tall grass, creatures emerge all

around us.

My mother told me it’s rude to stare, but they are wonderful and

fearsome to look at. Real fairies from the Kingdom of Adas. Tall,

slender green pixies with shimmering wings and black, almond-shaped

eyes. Their fingers are long, like flower stems, ending in leaves

where nails should be. Snow-white women with skin like leather and

smooth, hairless heads wear crowns of thorns and pale roses. Dresses

made of thousands and thousands of dry flower petals that rustle in

the breeze like unearthly ghouls.

I want to keep looking at them when a voice startles me.

“What do we have here?” a smooth, silky voice, like the drizzle of

honey, asks.

I turn around, but there is no one there.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says.

When I turn back around, everyone is sitting down, like I missed

their movement in the blink of an eye.

Look twice , I remind myself.

At the head of the table, where the roots of the fallen tree

create a high, twisted chair, is a man. His chest is bare. His skin is

tan. There’s a tattoo of the sun over his heart. His face is stunning

in that symmetrical way, like his maker carved him from stone and

wouldn’t stop until it was perfect. But the truly startling part is

the curved horns that sprout from his temples and sweep into twisting

points around his head.

Gold, silver, and leather bracelets decorate his wrists, and

dozens of bauble rings adorn his fingers like knuckle-dusters. My dad

had a knuckle-duster from when he was younger. It’s in the bottom

drawer of my mom’s dresser wrapped in a yellowing handkerchief.

“You like my rings?” the horned man asks.

“I’m not much of a jewelry person,” I say, and instantly hate how

nervous I sound.

“Just the one,” he says, pointing at the moon around my neck.

“Are you hungry?” a girl asks. She’s got wild curls and

light-brown skin that is run through with green lines, like a birch

tree. She wears the same set of bracelets as the horned man. She

points to three empty seats. “Join us.”

“Thank you,” I say, “but we were just resting. We didn’t mean to

intrude.”

“Then keep on walking,” a girl mutters. Her skin is red as lava

with splotches of black. Her eyes are dark and too far apart, giving

her the look of a human salamander. When she huffs, smoke comes out of

her nostrils.

“Rodriga,” the horned man says. His voice is hard and cutting.

Everyone at the table jumps. “Is that the way we treat our guests?”

Everyone at the table looks down at their laps.

“Hey, now,” Nova says in his easy way. “No worries. We’ve still

got a lot of terrain to cover. We’re heading to Las Peñas to mine for

minerals. We’d best get a move on.”

“Do you know what happens to travelers who come here in search of

treasure?” Rodriga asks.

On the other side of the table, one of the pixies is letting Rishi

touch her iridescent wings.

“Enough,” the horned man says. “I am Agosto, Faun King of the

Meadow del Sol, and these are my kin. We live here safely away from

the wicked birds near the river and far away from the Bone Valle.”

I don’t like that he called the avianas wicked, but I stay quiet.

“I insist you join us,” Agosto says. “Regain your strength. You

look parched and ready to fall over.”

Nova and I look at each other. I don’t want to insult this horned

man. Behind the pleasantry, there’s steel in his voice. His knuckles

are thick with calluses that come from repeatedly beating on things.

Like my dad’s from his boxing days.

Nova holds my hand. He applies the tiniest pressure, but I know