It took a moment for Aru to realize that Urvashi wasn’t talking to her or Mini. She was talking to Boo.

To the left of the celestial dancer, a deep voice let out a powerful laugh.

“You really hold on to a grudge, don’t you? Hasn’t it been a millennium since he ruined your outfit?”

The monkey demigod Hanuman materialized in his throne. He was wearing a silk blazer and a shirt patterned with forest leaves. His tail flopped over the back of the chair, and from one of his ears dangled a jewel that looked like a small crown.

“It wasn’t just any outfit, you big ape,” snapped Urvashi. “It was made from the skipped heartbeats of every person who had ever laid eyes on me. It took centuries to sew! Subala knew that!”

“He’s a bird—what did you expect?” said Hanuman.

“Not a bird!” shouted Boo. “And you know that!”

Aru was so distracted by their arguing that it took a while before she felt Mini tugging on her sleeve. She pointed at the tarnished throne bearing the letters U-A-L-A.

Now Aru could see where the other letters might have fit: S and B. Subala. Boo was one of the Guardians! But he didn’t seem like the others. He wasn’t glowing and powerful. And his throne had been pushed out of the circle. What had happened?

“You know why I’m here,” Boo said to the Guardians. “These are the chosen heroes of the age.”

Urvashi wrinkled her nose. “We’ve gone from training and assisting the saviors of humankind to playing nursemaid? No thank you.”

Aru blushed. “We’re not kids.”

“Um, Aru…” said Mini, “we kinda are.”

“We’re preadolescents.”

“That’s the same thing, just a different word.”

“Yeah, but it sounds better,” muttered Aru.

“Whatever you may be, there is only one thing you are to me,” said Urvashi. “You. Are. Not. Worth. My. Time.” She flicked the armrest of her throne and then fixed her dark gaze on Boo. “Honestly, how did you bring two mortal children up here, anyway?”

“The usual routes,” huffed Boo. “And they’re not mortal children. They have the souls of Pandavas. I know it to be true.”

“If they really are Pandavas, then the irony that you are the one who has been chosen to help them delights me.” Urvashi’s laugh sounded like gunghroo bells. “But I don’t believe you. The Pandava souls have lain dormant since the end of the Mahabharata War. Why would they appear now?”

Aru’s skin prickled with fury. “Because the Sleeper is awake,” she cut in. “And we need help if we’re going to save our families.”

Beside her, Mini gave a grim nod.

“So you need to give us a weapon and tell us what to do,” said Aru.

Hanuman regarded them solemnly. “The Sleeper?” His tail stood straight behind him. “It is as we feared, then, Urvashi. Everything we saw…It is him.”

Under Aru’s feet, the sky disappeared. Static rippled in the air, and it was like she and Mini were now standing on a giant television screen. Hanuman swept his hand over the screen, and images twisted beneath them.

The first vision was of the street outside the Museum of Ancient Indian Art and Culture. A leaf caught up in the wind hadn’t fallen. The only things that moved were the clouds. It was silent, but the silence wasn’t pleasant. It was like a graveyard—lonely, eerie, and undisturbed.

The second vision was on the suburban street where they had first found Mini. Two boys had been frozen while arguing over a comic book. A girl playing basketball had jumped for the hoop and stayed caught in the air, fingers still gripping the ball.

Beside Aru, Mini let out a cry.

“My neighbors! Are they okay? Did you know that if you don’t have water for twelve hours, you could die? What—”

“The frozen do not suffer now,” said Hanuman. “But they will if the Sleeper is not stopped by the new moon.”

Aru’s throat tightened. All those people…people she had never met. They would be hurt because of this, because of her.

“The Sleeper is right on our heels,” said Boo somberly. “Looking where we last were.”

“Looking is too quiet a word for what he’s doing. He’s hunting,” said Urvashi.

Shivers ran down Aru’s spine. But something didn’t make sense. If the Sleeper was looking for them, then why hadn’t he just stayed in the museum when Aru had lit the lamp?

He was definitely looking for them (she refused to think hunting—she was a girl, not a rabbit), but he was planning, too. At least, that’s what she’d do if she were a demon. If your enemies were out to get you, you had to keep them guessing. It was like playing chess. You had to make the least predictable move. And to get to your goal—the king—you had to remove the defenses first.

“Has anything else happened?” Aru asked.

Urvashi’s lip curled in disgust. “Anything other than the world gradually freezing, you mean?” she mocked.

But Hanuman understood. His tail snapped upright. “The vehicles…” he said slowly. “The vehicles of the gods and goddesses have gone missing.”

Aru knew from her mother’s stories that when Hanuman said vehicles, he wasn’t talking about cars or bicycles. He was referring to the special mounts that the deities used. Ganesh, the elephant-headed god of new beginnings, rode a mouse. (Must be a really muscular mouse, Aru always thought.) The goddess of luck, Lakshmi, rode an owl. Indra, the king of the gods, rode a majestic seven-headed horse.