“I do not think so,” said the palace. “This was once the seat of the Pandava brothers and their wife, Draupadi. You mere pinches of mortality are nothing compared to them. You cannot possess me!”

All the torches in the palace guttered at once. It was hard to remember that this was the Palace of Illusions and not of, say, nightmares.

Aru took Mini’s hand and tried to reassure her. “Whatever happens, it’s not real.”

“I think you should leave, little pinches,” said the palace.

The ceiling quaked. Wind blew in their faces. The ground beneath them glowed strangely, as if they were standing over an aquarium. An illusion flickered to life on the ground, showing a rocky cliff that dropped off into the sea.

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” whispered Aru under her breath.

A gigantic shark swam up right under her feet. It grinned and looked like it was saying, Come on in, the water’s great! Aru squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Mini’s hand even harder.

“We’re—we’re not going anywhere!” called out Mini. She had to draw in great big gulps of air to get the words out.

“Don’t you recognize us?” shouted Aru. It was easier to be brave (or fake bravery) with her eyes closed. At least that way she didn’t have to see the shark. She was pretty sure it was tying a napkin around its neck, clapping its fins, and saying, Dinner, dinner, dinner!

“We are the Pandavas!” said Mini. “We’ve got the souls of Yudhistira and Arjuna!”

“What?! Don’t say that! It sounds like we’ve kidnapped them!”

“I mean…” shouted Mini. “We’re the daughters of the Dharma Raja and Lord Indra!”

The wind stopped roaring. The fires sputtered to smoldering embers. When Aru opened her eyes, the floor was just that: a floor.

“You lie,” hissed the palace.

The actual words came from every direction. She even saw letters bubbling up like blisters on her skin: L-I-A-R. She winced, but the red marks vanished. Just another illusion.

“When the Pandavas left,” said the palace, “they bade farewell to all except the one thing that had given them shelter and watched over them as they slept. Was my beauty not enough to tempt them to stay? My illusions were forged of the same stuff that made up their dreams. I was their dream home. Literally. But still they left. So why should I believe they would come back?”

The palace smelled sour. As if it was sulking.

Aru didn’t think it was possible to sympathize with a palace, and yet she did. Before now she had never thought about how a house must feel when its family stuck a FOR SALE sign on the lawn and then packed up and left. If the palace could be sad, did that mean her apartment missed her? Now she really wanted to run to the museum and hug a pillar.

“I’m…I’m so sorry you felt left behind,” said Mini carefully. “Maybe they—I mean, we left you a note? But I promise we’re not lying about who we are. You see, we’ve got urgent business and need to get through the other side of the palace.”

“Why?” it asked.

The ceiling caved inward. When Aru squinted, it looked a bit like a frowny face. And then it blazed red.

Maybe not a frowny face. Maybe more of a fury face.

“Because we need to save the world,” said Aru. “If there’s no world, what’s going to happen to you?”

A wall of fire sprang up in front of Aru.

“You’re horrifyingly rude!” said the palace. “Is this what I have missed out on during all these millennia in the depths of Death’s kingdom? Well, then, I’m not sorry. Not a whit.”

“Please,” said Mini. “Just let us through. This was the only way in from the forest.”

“Ah, I miss my true forest,” said the palace fondly. “I am hewn from its trees. Sand from those puddles sealed my cracks. My woods once wriggled with deplorable things. When the Pandavas decided to build their home, the creatures were banished. The great architect king Mayasura’s life was spared in exchange for building them a palace the likes of which no one had ever seen: me.”

The wall of fire disappeared, revealing a most magnificent hall. Tall living statues studded with jewels paced back and forth. One of them had a glass belly that housed a miniature library.

“The eldest Pandava liked to read,” the palace recalled wistfully. “But he had trouble choosing a room to read in. So I made sure his bed could float anywhere and books could be brought to him.”

The walls were covered with thinly beaten gold, and the floor was a marvel of mirrors and sapphire pools.

“The youngest liked to admire himself, so I made sure there were plenty of places where he might catch glimpses of his beauty.”

A lush garden dripped from the ceiling, eclipsing the previous illusion. Glass vials and sheaves of parchment dotted a worktable.

“The second youngest liked the sciences, so I made sure there was always an abundance of living things to study.”

A stadium unfurled in front of them. It contained spinning wheels, moving targets, and racetracks that curved from the floor to the ceiling.

“The second eldest liked to test his strength, so I made sure he had challenging arenas.”

The next image showed a mishmash of all the items from the previous illusions.