The beautiful, wood-framed glass doors leading out to the balcony were unlocked – ‘largely ornamental’ as Ruban had said. The house hadn’t changed much from the way he remembered it. The balcony led into the master bedroom, which was bigger than the whole of Ruban’s flat in Ragah. Running his fingers along the whitewashed walls, he found the switchboard. That too was exactly where it had been all those years ago.

As light flooded the room, Ruban and Ashwin looked around, taking in their opulent surroundings.

“This isn’t a deserted house,” the Aeriel said, taking a cautious step into the room.

“No, it most definitely is not,” Ruban agreed, looking at the unmade bed and the wardrobe left slightly ajar, clothes spilling out onto the ottoman sitting beside it. The furniture was old, but the bedding and the upholstery had obviously been changed over the years. The room displayed the casual untidiness of regular occupancy. “So Uncle Subhas really has sold the place.” Ruban didn’t know why that realisation left him with a vague sense of loss.

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“To a gorgeous ‘witch’, if local rumours are to be believed,” agreed Ashwin, walking over to the open wardrobe. “But a witch who gets around, it would seem. These are not women’s clothes.”

Ruban came up behind him, peeking over the Aeriel’s shoulder. Now that he was paying attention, he realised that Ashwin was right. A plaid shirt with stiff cuffs and a pair of white men’s trousers hung out of the open wardrobe, while a long grey tunic had spilled out onto the ottoman beside the cabinet.

Leaning down, he picked up the tunic, rubbing the creased fabric between his fingers. For some reason, it seemed oddly familiar. Frowning, he turned it over. There, embroidered in green silk over the breast pocket, were two tiny birds preparing to take flight.

“Fuck,” Ruban said, succinct as ever.

“What is it?” Ashwin asked, looking up from the contents of an unlocked drawer he had been rifling through with remorseless efficacy. “Did you find something interesting?”

“This tunic. Simani gave it to Uncle Subhas for his birthday last year.”

“Well, it can’t be the only tunic of its kind in the world, you know. Two people can buy the same shirt.”

Ruban shook his head. “That’s not the point. This embroidery, it’s Sim’s work. She gave me a blue one just like it, and Vik has one in white. It’s literally the only design she can embroider.”

“Huh,” Ashwin said, leaning in for a closer look at the tunic. “So your uncle hasn’t sold the house after all.”