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Priya had not moved from looking at the figurines. “I don’t think these are Ordinary good luck charms,” she said. “I think these are calling cards.” She turned. “Those were not your garden variety witches, Tempest. I think you may have been tagged by the⁠—”

Tempest cut her off. “Come on. You don’t believe all that superstition, do you? I think they’re probably just trading on the mystique of⁠—”

Fortune whistled once. Short and sharp.

They both looked at her. Priya patted her back gently. The pomegranate seeds were still untouched.

“The atlas,” Priya said, after a moment. She gestured to the book on its stand, the water in the cover barely a ripple. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Priya sat in the passenger seat holding the atlas in her lap with the sort of reverence usually reserved for fragile newborns. She turned it over gingerly, watching the way the blue surface swirled like water under her hands.

“How long have you had this? And where did you get it?”

“It was in the back alley outside Owl’s that night, with all the other books. I recognized it from when I was little. It was my mother’s.”

“And before your mother?”

“Her mother’s. And before that.” Tempest paused. “I don’t know how far back. I think this is our family’s version of a grimoire.”

Priya opened the book to the first page, blank and smooth. She flipped through, but every page looked the same. She closed it, ran her hand across the cover one more time, and set it back on its stand. The water continued to slosh as she stared at it.

“I read about this sort of book once,” she said. “When I was studying to be an Ordinary librarian. I never thought it could be real.” She paused. “The book is a vessel. Filled with ancient wisdom and bits and pieces it’s picked up along the way. A Glass atlas doesn’t just reveal destinations. It delivers destiny. The route it gives you isn’t about where to go. It’s about where you need to be.” She looked up at the figurines, then back at Tempest. “Having it in the same bus as those three is not a coincidence.”

Fortune whistled again, lower and longer.

Priya looked at the bird for a moment. Then, more quietly, “We should get Fortune to my uncle as soon as possible. And I think he should probably take a look at you too, while we’re there.”

“Me?” Tempest frowned. “Why?”

“You’re turning thirty-three. A checkup couldn’t hurt,” Priya said. “Humor me.”

After Priya returned the atlas to its shelf, they went back to the table for a second cup of tea.

“So?” Priya nudged. She’d been patient long enough. She folded her legs under her and changed position. “The trivia circuit. You said it’s not all about the competition.”

Tempest sipped her tea and found herself avoiding Priya’s eyes.

“Ohhh. You’re not making eye contact.” Priya smiled smugly. “I knew it.”

“You’re faking it again.”

“Nope. This time I actually knew it. You’re pink as a beetroot.” She laughed. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just sit here.”

“There’s a certain well-known man,” Tempest said. “You might even say he’s a bit of a celebrity in certain circles. It’s awkward because I’ve beaten him. Twice. And I should be avoiding him, but we just keep ending up at the same places.”

She stopped.

“Oh, my stars…” Priya exclaimed. “It’s not Dandelion Wilder, is it?”

Tempest said nothing.

“It is!” Priya’s eyes widened. “You’re talking about Dan?”

“He showed up in Bloomington,” Tempest admitted. “And said he hadn’t really come for the tournament so much as to see me again.” She turned her teacup in her hands. “We talked for a long time. Orpheus came up somehow. And then he kissed me.”

“And then?” Priya was sitting on the edge of her seat.

“And then I left.” Tempest exhaled.