Skyscrapers stood cheek by jowl with dilapidated shacks that in turn pushed up against huge, strange houses with cupolas built on top of porticos built on top of steeply gabled roofs. A strip of dusty, abandoned shops advertised strange things like baby teeth by the pound and a two-for-one deal on lost marbles. Everything was crowded so close together that it looked like the whole town was about to collapse in on itself. And the twisty, narrow cobblestone street snarled its way through it all.

The sun was setting again, and was just beginning to dip behind the skyline, and, other than me, Nox, Ozma, and Bright, there wasn’t a person in sight.

Nox looked at me, and saw me taking it all in. “I told you it was incredible,” he said. “The whole time I was lost, I was hoping I’d get to show it to you.”

It was the corniest thing I could ever imagine him saying. It was sweet, but it was unexpected.

He noticed my surprise, and looked a little embarrassed, but before he could say anything else, Bright interrupted our moment.

“Everyone loves the Beach of Misplaced Objects, obviously,” Bright said. “But the beach is for tourists. The city here—this is the real deal. This is where the really lost shit ends up.”

“Like us,” I mumbled. After everything, the fact that we had made our way here felt fitting. Even though we were looking for the door out, there was something about the place that felt like a final destination.

“You said it, not me,” Bright said. He leaned against a burned-out streetlamp, lit another cigarette, and regarded the streets, multicolored smoke wafting out into the dusk. “Let’s try”—he let his index finger drift lazily through the air until it landed on a random point—“this way.”

“Why that way?” Nox asked. “What’s that way?”

“Dunno,” Bright said. “Why not?”

He was already moving, headed toward the strip of storefronts facing the beach. He peered into a store that appeared, from the window display, to only stock old, broken doll parts, then shook his head.

“Nope,” he said. “Not in there.”

“How long does it usually take you?” I asked. “To find the door?”

“Depends. One thing about always being lost is you get a lot of practice when it comes to finding your way home. But you never know. Sometimes it takes five minutes. Sometimes a week. Look, my track record is way better than most people’s. You guys could look for the door for the rest of your lives and never quite get there. You’re lucky you found me.”

I was still stuck on the numbers. “A week?” I asked. “I don’t know if we really have that long.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t take a week, then. I’m telling you, it’s unpredictable. One time it took me something like a year to get back to the citadel. Polly was righteously pissed. I was like, dude, maybe try not making your damn glass castle so hard to find.”

“A year?” I asked incredulously.

Ozma, who had been silent since her earlier outburst, looked around and waved her newfound scepter. Suddenly I noticed an alleyway where there hadn’t been one before, wedged between the doll shop and the place that sold the baby teeth. Maybe the suggestion spell Mombi had put in her ear was still at work.

Bright noticed the alley at the same time I did. “Well, what do you know?” he said. He cocked an eyebrow at Ozma. “I guess having a queen along for the ride has its uses.”

He turned sideways and squeezed himself through the gap between the buildings, which was so narrow I wasn’t even sure he would fit. But he did, and when I squeezed in after him, it turned out that it wasn’t even as tight as it had appeared. When I looked over my shoulder, Nox was right behind me, with Ozma trailing behind us, her scepter slung over her shoulder.

“Do you really think we can trust this guy?” Nox whispered.

“What choice do we really have?” I responded.

We wove our way through the back alleys of the Lost City. Now and again, Bright would look inside a trash can or rap his fist a few times against a wall, checking for something I couldn’t figure out.

I thought it was a little strange that Bright hadn’t really asked us who we were, or why we were looking for Polychrome. Was it possible that he knew more about us than he was letting on? After all, he had recognized Ozma right off the bat.

Before I could worry about this any more, he stopped at the entrance to a nondescript office building. He looked up, examining the windows, and jiggled the knob.

“This one, I think,” he said. The door swung open.

The inside of the building was the complete opposite of the city outside. It was the kind of place you’d find in any crappy office park in Kansas, complete with an unmanned reception desk and a sad little ficus in the corner. It was clean, lit by flickering fluorescent lights, and smelled like air freshener.

“How did a place like this wind up on the Island of Lost Things?” I asked, wondering.

“Hell if I know,” Bright replied. “Someone must have lost it, I guess. Foreclosure?” He pressed the button for the elevator. It dinged, opened, and we all crowded inside.

Bright searched the buttons for the floors until his finger landed on one that, instead of bearing a number, was pulsing with color, cycling through the spectrum. “Here we go,” he said. “Told you I was feeling lucky.”

Bright punched the button, then turned to me and winked. “Next stop, Rainbow Falls.”