Eureka felt a sting of heat, like the girl was injecting her fingertips with hot glue. A shimmery blue substance coated her fingers. Eureka touched the pad of her thumb to her forefinger and a jolt zipped through her, like the time she’d stuck her finger in an outlet when she was six.

“Don’t.” The dark-haired girl pried Eureka’s fingers apart, smoothing more blue over Eureka’s thumb. “It’s going to hurt, but by sunrise, we’ll have everything we ever wanted. He promised. Didn’t he promise, Aida?”

“We’re not to talk to her, Gem,” Aida said.

“Sunrise.” Eureka repeated the four-syllable Atlantean word. She tried to turn her head toward the window to gauge the time, but a crimson dress blocked her view.

“If he learns you were talking to his—”

“He won’t.” Gem glared at her companion.

“Then stop talking to her.” Aida turned toward a desk on the left side of the room, which stood precisely where Eureka’s identical desk stood back home.

“I want to see Atlas.” Eureka squirmed against her bonds.

What was happening at sunrise? How could she destroy these girls and free herself before then? She closed her eyes and channeled the Incredible Hulk, master of transforming rage into strength. She willed the mirrored chest of drawers to become a thousand whirling glass daggers, slicing flesh, splashing crimson onto crimson. But then what? How would she find Atlas?

In Lafayette, escape had been her bedroom window, then the arms of the oak tree just beyond it. But when Gem shifted and Eureka could see out the window, no oak tree reached for her. Sun shone in. The light felt tired, evening’s last rays.

They were very high up, a thousand stories above the ground. Gold and silver rooftops shimmered distantly below, and beyond them rings of water and land led to the ocean, which flowed into a horizon at the edge of whatever was left of the world.

“Tell me what happens at sunrise,” Eureka said.

Gem was next to Aida at the desk. “Let me do the heartplate.”

As Gem reached across the surface of the desk something strange happened to her hand. It blurred, like it had passed behind a pane of frosted glass. The blurring lasted only a moment. Gem’s hand sharpened again and she was holding a silky piece of material, the same shimmery blue as whatever was on Eureka’s fingers. Eureka thought she saw a lightning bolt flash across its center.

“Unbutton her shirt,” Gem said.

Cold air braced Eureka’s skin as Aida’s fingers worked their way down her shirt. Then a feeling like nostalgia settled over her as the blue square was laid across her chest. Warm and heavy, it reminded Eureka of how she felt watching videos of Diana on her laptop.

Her breath came shallowly as Gem smoothed the heartplate over her chest. Aida ran a finger from Eureka’s right temple,across her forehead, to her left temple, and Eureka understood that while she had been unconscious, the girls had affixed a band of the blue substance to her head.

“The ghostsmith counsels subjects before charging the cloak,” Gem said.

“You’ve never met the ghostsmith,” Aida said. “Besides, this is for Atlas. No wasting time. He wants the lachrymatories filled.” She applied pressure to the inside corners of Eureka’s eyes. Two blurry silver outlines fixed just below Eureka’s vision. The lachrymatories. She was supposed to cry into them.

“It won’t work,” Eureka said.

“It always works,” Gem said. She moved to the wall, where Eureka’s painting of the weeping Saint Catherine of Siena hung in a cobwebbed corner. She flipped a switch Eureka couldn’t see.

Pain crashed into Eureka. She was engulfed by absolute darkness. She arched her back. She tasted blood. The pain doubled, then redoubled.

When the pain was total and familiar, bright points of light entered her vision, meteors showering the sky of her eyelids. One point of light drew closer. Burning heat filled her pores. Then Eureka was inside the light.

She saw a faded floral-print suitcase by a door. Lamplight flickered somewhere. Her nostrils flared at the odor of broken pickle jars—that scent always brought her back to the night her parents split up. She saw Diana’s feet in their gray and pink galoshes, her hair wet with rain, her eyes dry with determination. The front door opened. Thunder outside was so real it rattled Eureka’s bones. The suitcase was in Diana’s hand.

“Mom! Wait!” Eureka felt the back of her eyes burning. “Don’t you love me enough to stay?” Never before had she voiced the question that plagued her all the time. She tried to pull away. It was just a memory. A memory of tears building before she’d known better.

It was so real. Diana leaving. Eureka left behind …

“No!”

The white light was whipped away. The searing pain cooled to a third-degree burn. Eureka shook like an earthquake, rattling the metal cuffs binding her to the bed. The afterimage of Diana was still abandoning her eyes.

A tall figure stood in the doorway of Eureka’s replica bedroom. He wore a long silver smock and a grease-smeared orichalcum welding mask.

“The ghostsmith,” Gem whispered.

Footsteps approached the bed. Silver-gloved hands plucked the lachrymatories from Eureka’s eyes. At least she had not cried. The ghostsmith slipped them inside a silver pocket in his smock.

He removed the heartplate from Eureka’s chest without a word. He pulled the blue material from Eureka’s fingers and forehead. She bore the pain silently and studied the gleaming surface of the ghostsmith’s mask. She wanted to see the face behind the orichalcum.