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“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Mr. Hayes asked, studying my face.

“I thought perhaps to buy myself something to replace the ring I lost. It was the last thing Papá gave me.”

The hard line of his jaw softened. “It’s unlikely you’ll find another like it.” He pulled at his lower lip, brow furrowed. It cleared when a thought struck him. “Follow me, there might be something else.”

We took several turns, revealing a network of alleys opening to more shops, more people, more donkeys laden with tourists. A line of camels walked past, ill-mannered and lodging the occasional spitball at their owners. It soon became clear to me that Khan el-Khalili was divided intoquarters, and each place sold similar items. If you wanted hardware, there was a specific section for that. A rug? Try the next street over.

Mr. Hayes led me to an area offering lavish jewelry, half-lit and smelling sweetly of incense. The avenue had narrowed, and it soon became impossible to walk side by side. Mr. Hayes took up the front, and I trailed behind him. At one point, he reached behind me and took hold of my hand. I looked down, stunned at the gesture. His calloused palm engulfed mine. It struck me that in the midst of such delightful pandemonium, he was a steady and calming presence.

I walked past a storefront not unlike its neighbors, but a whisper of something reached me. A burst of energy enhanced by a supernatural element. It sizzled down my spine, made my fingers tingle. My body recognized the distinct flavor of the magic, filling my mouth with a taste of flowers.

Mr. Hayes felt the vibration in my palm and immediately stopped. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “What’s over there?”

Mr. Hayes half turned, following my line of sight. “The usual trinkets.”

“I’d like to purchase something in there.”

He released my hand. “After you, then.”

The little shop was no more than a cupboard flung open with dozens of tiny drawers. The vendor sat on a stool within the small space, his head just visible over the counter. He regarded us with an enormous smile that made me want to buy every little thing he had off him.

I walked forward to greet the merchant. “Salaam aleikum.”

“What are you looking for?” Mr. Hayes asked.

I closed my eyes, the inner pulse ticking like a clock. “I don’t know exactly.”

Mr. Hayes said something to the seller who immediately stood and began opening drawers, laying out his items for sale onto the counter. Bangles, earrings, anklets of filigree—absolutely gorgeous, there was no question I was buying it—tusk-shaped pendants and amulets of varying degrees of execution. There were no golden rings available, but I peered at everything, trying to identify where I’d felt that faint whisper. It seemed like I was chasing the last scrap of daylight.

The merchant held up piece after piece, and to each one, I shook my head.

And then I felt it again. The softest beckoning.

Beneath the piles of jewelry laid a small wooden trinket box, absolutely filthy. I pointed to it and the seller raised his brows and muttered something under his breath. He placed it into my cupped palm.

A sizzle of magic zipped up my arm.

An unidentifiable pulse locked into place, a profound sense of recognition. My mouth tasted as if I’d eaten a bouquet of flowers. A shadowy presence loomed in my mind, one woman who stood under a divided sky, half covered with a million glimmering stars and a milky orb casting her skin in a silver glow, the other half inflamed with a blistering heat from the sun. She wore pearls and smelled like roses; on her feet were gilded sandals adorned with jewels.

Dimly, I was aware of Mr. Hayes, who stood close, yet I could not see his face. He might have been speaking to me, but I wouldn’t know it. My whole existence narrowed to one focal point, sharp as the tip of a blade. Somehow, I’d been filled with a current that pulsed with a magical force made up entirely of one thing.

Love.

The vendor gazed at me in bafflement when I pulled out my purse. Mr. Hayes looked over my shoulder at the dirty and rusty trinket box.

The shop owner addressed Mr. Hayes, speaking rapidly.

“What did he say?”

“He wants to know if you’re sure you want to buy the trinket. It’s already been returned once.”

“I’m sure.”

The shop owner said something else, and Mr. Hayes furrowed his brow in response.

I barely paid any attention. The magic vibrated out from the box in widening circles. Every inch of my hand tingled, as if the blood were stirred in a feverish pitch. The sensation overwhelmed me.