by T. G. Ayer
But Devi shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”
“About how to get the blood to free my powers? I hope so. I saw what a small fraction of my ability is capable of. You should have seen it. A forcefield that protected us from attack.”
Devi looked intrigued. “Tell me more about it. I suspect it was something in your emotions that triggered it. Panic, fear, anger?”
Vee nodded then laughed. “Probably fear. I looked at the wall of daggers and all I wanted was to protect Syama. Honestly, I didn’t even think of myself.”
Devi nodded. “So extreme emotion is a catalyst. We can work with that.” She got to her feet and began to pace. “Perhaps if we can find a way around the ward we can expand on your use of that power. You’ll need to practice, work at using it over and over again.”
Vee raised her eyebrows. “Good luck trying to replicate that environment.”
Devi smiled but Vee was dead serious. She wasn’t in the frame of mind to be put in the crosshairs of any weapon. Surely there was a different way. Then she sighed. Her grandmother’s life was more important than her own need for self-preservation.
“Fine. Shoot me.”
“What?” Devi’s eyes widened.
“Shoot me,” Vee repeated. “It’s probably the best test to see if the fight-or-flight thing works. If you shoot me and I don’t erect the forcefield—”
“Then you die?” Devi’s eyebrows hit her hairline and she looked somewhere between furious and amused. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Vee.”
Vee lifted a shoulder in a light shrug, trying not to smile at her mother’s pained expression.
“I’m not going to exchange one doomed family member for another dead one.” Devi’s eyes flashed a combination of anger and fear, and Vee bit back the comment about her dead father that had been on the tip of her tongue.
Focus. Think about what you can and can’t do.
“Fine. If you don’t want to shoot me then let me study the DNA. What have you identified in the strands? Maybe we can isolate some of Dad’s DNA and replicate his blood cells?”
Devi nodded. “I’m working on something. But without access to a fresh batch of your blood it’s a little hard.”
Vee lifted her eyebrows. “You could have just asked.”
Devi shrugged. Maybe her mother could have asked, but more than likely Vee would have responded with an instruction to stick that request somewhere unmentionable.
“So . . . how were you experimenting in the first place? I don’t remember contributing blood since Dad died. Unless you were sucking me dry once I fell asleep.” The words were said in jest, but a small part of Vee wondered all the same.
Devi shook her head, exasperated. “We were using stem cells from your placenta. But the samples weren’t enough and in the end, we deduced that your stem cells didn’t contain sufficient viable DNA contributions from your father. At least not enough to allow us to isolate enough markers to complete a successful replication.”
Vee nodded. Her mother had done everything that Vee herself would have done. So, now it was left to her to help the research along.
“Okay. I’ll come into the lab as soon as I’ve had a shower and checked my messages.”
Devi nodded, her expression relieved. “Yes. It’s best to get moving. We have two days.”
“If all else fails, what’s the plan?”
As expected, Devi said, “I’ll just hand myself over.” But as she spoke her eyes flicked away, avoiding Vee’s inquiring gaze.
Vee was about to call her on it when a dark head poked inside the room.
“Everyone okay in here?” Syama’s eyes flicked from Vee to her mother and back again.
With a sigh, Vee nodded and pushed to her feet.
Saved by the hellhound.
Chapter 32
After being instructed to take it easy because of the weakness from using her powers, Vee decided a little bit of research would help her regenerate. She headed to the basement.
She passed the artifact storage room and the gun-room, and headed to the third room that occupied the basement of their home—temperature controlled, fireproof, and containing countless numbers of books dating back centuries.
Somewhere in one of these books would be the answer to Vee’s dilemma. Something, even the tiniest kernel of information that would give her some leverage, some kind of advantage over the mysterious kidnapper and—if he is really this demon Kasipu—his bid for revenge.
Now, Vee turned the pages of an ancient book, the paper of which was beginning to crumble to dust. The book, written on paper made from pulped leaves of a type of plant similar to papyrus, dated back more than eight thousand years.
She stretched her neck and tilted it left and right, enjoying the sharp release as it cracked in each direction. Then she refocused. The professor’s words, his monologue on the nature of the lion goddess, his slip-up, all converged into a confusing puzzle that Vee had to figure out herself. She couldn’t bring Rossi in just yet.
After what her mother had revealed regarding Vee’s true ancestry, she’d opened a volume of the ancient Apsara Scrolls, reading it with new eyes for the first time.
Ancient documents which, over the centuries had been flattened and gathered into leather-bound books, each sheet encased in a protective envelope of plastic in an attempt to preserve it that much longer.
Despite its validation of archaeological dating to earlier than the second century BC, despite the proof that the Scrolls originated before the time of the Indus civilization, Vee’s family had kept them under lock and key, had kept the truth from the world.
Now she knew why.
There had been more than a few times in Vee’s lifetime when she’d challenged her parents on keeping knowledge away from the people, but her father had always maintained that knowledge is power, and that in the wrong hands that knowledge could prove more destructive than ignorance.
Now, as she turned the plastic-encased pages over, scanning the indigo-ink Sanskrit script, she learned more about the Hiranya brothers than she’d ever wanted to know.
The book, a tome that recorded stories of the brothers encompassing many of their lifetimes, told a tale of destruction and death, a cycle doomed to repeat itself over and over again.
Each lifetime, a god or a concerned being helped end their reign of terror. But in this world, where technology had turned people blind and indifferent to the power of the gods, humanity was a frail opponent to either of the brothers.
Besides, even in the past, gods had intervened by bestowing boons upon the opponents of the brothers. In one lifetime, Kasipu’s own son had grown into what he’d seen as a competitor and he’d gone to great lengths to kill the boy. The god Narasimha, in his vicious leonine form, had come to the child’s aid repeatedly and in the end Kasipu had died at the god’s hands, his innards ripped out while he watched.
A cold wave rippled down Vee’s spine.
Lion-shifter gods, and ripped-out innards? A little too close for comfort to Vee’s current case. Could they be connected? And if so, how, and why?
Vee refocused on the contents of the book. To this day, paintings existed depicting the horrific death, with Narasimha’s claws dripping blood while the son watched the father being mauled to death.
Many of the paintings were so stylized that it was hard to believe these were actual events, but according to the text that Vee perused, that particular rendition of the story was fact.
Vee sat back and considered the tale while rubbing a finger over the little plaster on her inner elbow. She’d offered up her blood for research in the hopes that her mother’s team would be able to replicate her father’s blood.
Devi had been satisfied, but Vee had gotten the feeling that her mother was still omitting something crucial. Must have been her reluctance to look Vee in the eye that had given her away.
What had she refrained from telling her now?
But despite her curiosity an
d her irritation, Vee had to give her mother the benefit of the doubt. Devi had revealed so much information to her in the kitchen earlier that Vee couldn’t remain in total judgment of her mother.
Maybe she’d try to take it easy on her mother, especially since Ma was still in captivity somewhere.
Vee glanced back down at the discolored pages. The tale was epic and gory, written down by a warrior woman whose only popularly-known accomplishment over thousands of years of tales was that of being a seductress. Even her marriage to the sage Narada had been hidden from the recordings of history.
Why had it been hidden? Vee wanted to know why the Apsara’s true purpose had been glossed over, why women of power and intelligence had been reduced to consorts and seductresses, mere nymphs, dancing girls and prostitutes.
Had the sages given their own sexist version? Or had there been a reason the Apsaras had hidden behind a veil of lies?
Vee sighed and continued to browse through, reading each recounting of the lives lived by the brothers. Until she came to one which made her heart grow cold.
In one lifetime, Yaksha, an asura sorcerer, had fallen in love with a descendant of Tilottama. They’d planned on running off together. But Kasipu discovered their plans and decided that because of her strong power he’d marry her himself, his aim being to control her.
The brothers became estranged, with Kasipu cursing both his brother and the woman who had succeeded in coming between them. Over the years Kasipu waged war against the pair and finally captured the Apsara, keeping her in chains, raping both her body and her mind, using his demonic sorcery to drain her power and lift him up to a deific level.
Vee paused and sat back, swallowing back the horror of it. What had the poor woman experienced at the hands of the evil Hiranyakasipu? Then her blood stilled within her veins.
The power of an Apsara descendant of Tilottama was enough to make a demonic entity into a god.
Vee forced herself to continue reading. Not only did Kasipu use the Apsara’s power, but he also kept her captive, raping her repeatedly. Years later, Yaksha attempted to break her out of captivity but the pair perished in the process, torn asunder by the power his brother had drained from his lover.
No wonder Kasipu was so intent on finding the one who had caused the destruction of his brother. He wasn’t after revenge for the death of a brother who—judging by his past actions—he had little care for.
He wanted the power.
Vee’s power.
A power she had no idea how to wield.
Chapter 33
With time left before her next visit to the demon Kasipu, Vee sent a message to Karan. For her insider on the goings-on within the supernatural underworld, the man—or whatever he was—had been unnaturally quiet. Minutes later, he’d responded with a location for their meet.
The New York Museum of Natural History.
Vee shook her head. She’d need Syama to get her out if she stayed past closing time. After having the hellhound transport her to a janitor’s closet inside the building, Vee had instructed the hellhound to return home and to stay by the phone. Oddly enough, the girl disobeyed without a question.
Vee rolled her eyes and headed out of the closet with the hellhound in four-legged form, in tow. She made a mental note to investigate that oddity of Syama’s use of her demonic form without a fuss.
Peeking outside, she checked the hall, then hurried out of the closet with Syama in tow, providing her glamor cover. Vee headed toward the main exhibition hall.
The Mumbai Museum of National Art had an exhibit on a world tour, its current stop in New York lasting a mere three months. Two years ago, an archaeological dig had been halted by an earthquake so powerful it had resettled much of the currently excavated sites, destroying decades of hard work
But, few researchers had shed any tears as the gains had far outweighed that loss. This destructive natural geographical disaster had revealed what archaeologists had searched forever since the first site of Mohenjo Daro had been discovered.
Not only had they unearthed proof of the people, the riches of the cities and the land, and the political structures, the shifting of the lands had revealed that the River Saraswati hadn’t dried up. It had simply been redirected after an explosive disturbance—whether manmade or geographical, it was still to be determined.
The great river had been sent underground.
Divers had tracked the path of the now-subterranean river all the way back to the Indian Ocean in the south, and the Himalayas in the north. Oddly, a tributary had been formed that had led across the plate formation to Mount Kailas in Western China.
As for the artifacts discovered, they’d detailed the rich religious and cultural beliefs of the city, confirming the civilization had thrived for over two thousand years, making it the oldest known city of that size and construction in the history of human civilization.
As Vee and Syama entered the exhibit, she approached a young boy on her right, who stood staring at a hand-carved statue of a woman with the head of an owl. As Vee passed, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye—the head of the statue rotating, its eyes following Vee’s trajectory.
Vee blinked, pausing to look over her shoulder.
On second perusal, the statue was just a statue, albeit with an extremely interested audience of one.
The young boy faced the owl, his skin almost glowing in the white light aimed at the artifact. He was slim, tall, and words like lanky and lithe popped into Vee’s head. Dressed in a pair of white jeans, a white shirt threaded with silver, and gray leather shoes, he looked elegant and out of place beside Vee’s more casual style. Syama remained uninterested, keeping close at Vee’s heel.
The boy didn’t appear to notice Vee’s observation and she sighed and made her way to Karan who she found seated on a bench, in front of a painting of a scorpion.
Vee’s stomach tightened. Did he know something?
She waved Symaa away and the hellhound took up position beside a carving of a dancing girl a few safe feet away. Vee sat beside her informant and waited.
He didn’t look at her, not even to acknowledge her arrival. “Did you know that this particular scorpion, painted on a cave wall over six-and-half thousand years ago, was cataloged in 2014 as having been ‘discovered’?” He sniffed as if mortally offended by the word. “Discovered by whom? I know for a fact that the people of the Himalayas and Nepal have known of the existence of these scorpions for centuries and yet the media proclaim it as ‘recently discovered’ as if these creatures did not exist until suddenly someone happened upon them for the first time in ever.”
Dude. Relax.
Vee sighed. “When you see discovered, read ‘recorded and given a formal scientific name.’ University departments get government grants all the time and the discovery of a species boosts their standing, and their likelihood of receiving those grants.”
He turned dark eyes to her, eyes so black she could almost see universes swirl within them. Vee blinked the images away as he spoke, “So you think it’s acceptable that they are claiming to have found creatures who had already existed, and who hadn’t needed finding in the first place?”
Vee shook her head. “Scorpions are nothing. If you want to argue the point let’s start with America. Discovered by Columbus? But the Norsemen were here before that, and indigenous Native American tribes were already here, having settled the land centuries before. Yet people that were here when Columbus set foot on the soil of the continent were referred to as indigenous, as if the word meant the same thing as ‘before the point of discovery.’”
“So the Native Americans are like these scorpions.”
Vee nodded. “Like Vasco da Gama and Southern Africa, and Marco Polo and China. I could go on.”
“So I’m supposed to accept it?” He seemed offended by the thought.
Vee glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “If you can find a way to fix it, then go right ahead. Otherwise, all it is is words and regret and wishes that it
had never happened that way.”
Karan fell into an uncharacteristic silence.
“Why is this such an alien concept to you?” Vee asked, suspecting his answer would be something that would blow her mind.
He didn’t answer.
Vee sighed. “Why are we looking at a scorpion?” Her fatigue tinged her voice but she didn’t care.
Karan gave her the side-eye, then focused on the painting behind them by swinging around on the seat at his end. Vee followed suit and faced a triplicate of golden statues, each with colored gems for eyes.
“You wanted to talk, not me,” he murmured.
“Right,” she said, staring at the carved forms of three chimeras. That there’d been chimera in Indian mythology was a surprise to Vee, especially when she’d been reading the Apsara Scrolls all her life.
“So . . . I need to speak to Lord Narasimha. How do I make that happen?”
“You do?” His eyebrows rose, only a fraction but enough to indicate more than just mild curiosity.
Vee nodded.
“That—if I had to hazard a guess—will probably be impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because he has lost his belief in the human race. And he’s in seclusion.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if with his words, Vee would listen and leave. Not a freaking chance.
Then she frowned.
How did he know this stuff? She shook away her thoughts. “Well, he needs to take a shorter break.”
“Oh?” Karan responded, his eyebrows curving again. “Well, I suppose if you say so . . . I’m sure he will respond to your . . . invitation.”
Frustrated, Vee groaned. “This is serious. People are dying in his name. I’m assuming he’d care about that. Or at least I’d hope he’d care.”
Karan shook his head. “Narasimha was disillusioned a long time ago. He’s reached a stage where he no longer holds himself responsible for the actions of his worshippers.”
