Aru Shah and the Tree of Wishes (Pandava Quartet #3) - Roshani Chokshi Page 0,22

able to prove that you’re working on behalf of the devas. And you’ll have to be done in time for the Holi celebrations in five days so you don’t raise any suspicion!”

Aru nodded so fast she thought her head would fall off.

“Now, what is your mission?” Boo quizzed them.

“Get a key to unlock the vault in the Crypt of Eclipses,” said Brynne.

“Get inside the crypt and hopefully find a clue about the real tree’s location,” said Aiden.

“Stay undercover,” said Mini.

Boo turned to Aru, who said, “Um…don’t end up a dragon snack?”

Boo sighed. “I’m still worried.”

“We’ve got celestial weapons!” said Aru. “Don’t worry so much.”

Boo looked at them, warmth shining in his round eyes. “Pandavas, you are far more than the things you fight with.”

“Sure, but also celestial weapons,” emphasized Aru.

Just when it looked as though Boo was going to yell at her, the twins piped up.

“What about us?” demanded Nikita, crossing her arms.

“Until the age of twelve, you’re considered underage,” said Boo. “And if you leave the heavens, the devas will know, thanks to those gifts from your soul fathers.” He pointed his beak at the glowing shapes embedded in their skin. “These symbols not only indicate that your powers haven’t fully manifested, but they also work as tracking devices.”

“So we can’t go?” asked Sheela quietly.

Aru’s heart twisted sharply. The twins had been separated from their parents…and who knows what else they’d gone through. No wonder they wanted that wish.

She wanted to tell the twins they’d have their chance. They just needed to give them some time. But the moment she opened her mouth to explain, Nikita stepped in front of her twin and glowered at them.

“Just because we can’t go with you in person doesn’t mean you’re getting rid of us. We can dream-travel. We’ll find you.”

“And help!” said Sheela. “I like helping.”

“You’ll need it,” said Nikita haughtily. “We’re not going to let you screw this one up.”

“Remember this, Aru,” said Sheela, her eyes clouding over and her voice deepening. “There’s lots more to find.”

Knock-Knock, Who’s There?

When Aru arrived back home to get ready, Atlanta’s Museum of Ancient Indian Art and Culture was already closed for the evening. She glanced at the giant clock positioned over the entrance to the Hall of the Gods. How was it already nine o’clock? She stifled a yawn, patted the stone trunk of Greg the elephant statue, and trudged into the main atrium, pausing only to launch herself over the turnstile.

“Aru?”

She looked up to see her mom walking down the staircase from their apartment.

“It’s late. I was getting worried,” her mom said.

“I have a note for you from Boo,” Aru said, digging it out of her pants pocket and handing it over. “I have to go on another mission, but you can’t tell anyone.”

Her mom read the message, frowned, and sighed in resignation. Then she opened her arms for a hug, and Aru fell into them, inhaling deeply. No matter how many miraculous fragrances filled the Night Bazaar, this was her favorite scent: her mother’s jasmine shampoo combined with the trace smells of paper and straw from her work as an archaeologist and historian.

“This ‘vital sacred object’ you’re trying to find,” said her mom quietly. “I think I may know what it is.”

“Don’t say it out loud!” said Aru, eyeing the shadows.

“Someone else went looking for it long ago…” her mom continued.

Aru drew back and saw that there were tears in her mom’s eyes.

“Your f—” Her mom stopped herself and took a deep breath.

So I guessed right, thought Aru. Her dad had been the “wrong person” who tried wishing on the tree.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you,” her mom said. “I’ve been carrying it around with me for a while, not knowing when would be the right time, but now seems as good as any.”

She stepped back, and from her jacket pocket she pulled out a delicately folded paper bird no bigger than Aru’s thumb. It woke in her mom’s hand, shook its parchment feathers, cocked its head to one side, and warbled a charming tune. The edges of its beak and tail were worn, as if it had been held many times.

“Your father made this for me,” she said, not looking at Aru. “He was of partial gandharva descent, and he loved music. I was so nervous when I found out I was going to have you, Aru. He told me to write each fear on a piece of paper. Then he turned them into songbirds, to remind me that