A Tale of Highly Unusual Magic by Lisa Papademetriou Page A

and turned a tidy profit hustling other young men with a version of the shell game. But that career had its risks. He reached for the vial that he always kept in his pocket, and was shocked to find that he woreonly a hospital gown. “Where’s—?”
    â€œAll personal effects are stored in the side table.”
    Lunging for the table, Ralph let out a gasp, then fell backward onto his pillow. The nurse took pity on him and pulled open the drawer. “Is it in there?”
    Ralph craned his neck, but was careful not to move his body. The drawer held a wallet. A watch on a silver chain. A set of keys. And a smoky purple vial with a silver top. “Yes,” he breathed.
    â€œGood.” The drawer snapped shut, and the nurse reached for a dark metal crank at the end of the bed. With every turn, Ralph felt himself rise a fraction of an inch. “Your father’s been by. Lovely man. Lucky you, to get this nice bed by the window. You’ll feel better, looking out a bit.”
    Ralph placed a hand on his forehead. “Do you hear that?”
    â€œOh, Billy and his moaning? Don’t mind that,” the nurse said. “It’s all in his mind,” she whispered, pursing her lips and opening her eyes wide.
    â€œNo, I mean . . .” He turned toward the window, and the light fell across his face like a soft breeze. The wall wasmade up of three tall windows, each arched toward the ceiling in a curving hump. His bed was the closest to one of these, but the angle was such that he could only see the sky beyond, not the lawn.
    â€œOh! The violin? That’s Miss Pickle.” The nurse held out a small glass of clear liquid. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.”
    Ralph wrinkled his nose. “What is it?” he asked.
    The nurse cackled. “It’s water! Honestly, did you think I was trying to poison you?” She laughed again, and held the water to his lips.
    Ralph drank. He had never thought of water as having a flavor, but this was sweet and cooling. It seemed filling, too, like a piece of fruit. When he had finished, he leaned his head against the pillow. “Who is Miss Pickle?” he asked.
    â€œAren’t you full of questions!” The nurse winked at him. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to get better and go see for yourself, won’t you?”
    The music curled through the men’s ward, floating over the elderly gentleman in the large wheeled chair, and slipping past the man stretched on the bed beyondhim. “How long will she be here?”
    â€œDon’t know.” The nurse planted her hands on her hips and gave him a twinkly eyed frown. “She’s a patient, too, but she seems quite well to me. I suppose you’ll have to get better soon, or you might miss her.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
Leila
    T HE SHUT AND SEALED windows couldn’t keep out the smoky smell that hovered thick and insistent over the city of Lahore. “It’s because it hasn’t rained,” Samir had explained. “Eventually, a monsoon will come and wash all of this away.”
    After their trip to the market, Leila’s clothes held the city’s smell. Her sheets even seemed to smell. She wondered if the smell had become caught on the inside of her nostrils—if even her nose smelled of smoke, and that was why she couldn’t escape it.
    She changed her clothes, but didn’t feel fresher or smell better. Leila thought about Elizabeth Dear’s signature fragrance—lilac body powder. I need a signature fragrance, Leila decided as she sniffed her smoky shirt. Something tocover up whatever this is.
    Her computer pinged, and she walked (eighteen steps) to the bedside table to read the text. It was from her mother. “Good time to chat?”
    â€œSure,” she typed.
    Those four letters whooshed into space, bounced off a satellite, and then returned to Earth on the East Coast of the United States. A moment later, the