Ishtar flips her blade from one hand to the other and sees Nergal’s eyes widen. He cringes, and his demons snarl. “You wouldn’t dare.…”
She might dare, one god killing another. Kasusu hums with eagerness.…
But not this time. “Instead of making humans in your mold, Nergal,” says Ishtar, lowering her sword, “you could raise them up. They could be great again if we inspired them to be so.”
“Sounds like too much trouble.” The plague god sneers. “And just how would you achieve that miracle?”
“Watch and learn.”
Ishtar runs. Her divine powers surge as she leaps up to the roof of the old café. The structure crumbles, but she launches herself higher, flying through the smoke and fire.
“Ishtar!” screams Nergal.
The first bomber is in her path.
Steel screams against steel as she slices a wing with her blade, and the plane goes into a spin. Ishtar sprints along its fuselage and launches herself at the second bomber.
The cockpit window shatters as she plunges through it. The pilot only has time to blink before she flicks Kasusu across his neck. The copilot fumbles for his sidearm, and Ishtar rips him from his seat and tosses him into the sky. The plane nose-dives, but she is already out, back among the smoke and the gunfire blazing from the squadron around her. Bullets that would obliterate mortals shatter against her skin as she tears open the hull of the third bomber. Men tumble out, and their cries and prayers fade away swiftly.
The old warrior hymns swell in her heart. Ishtar shines with the joy of battle, and she remembers what it is to be a goddess, to hold mortal fates in her hands. The wind howls as Ishtar lands on the next plane. She slides along the fuselage, rips off the hatch, and enters.
The pilot stares. The copilot screams.
“Hello, boys,” says Ishtar.
Kasusu begins to sing.
I COLLAPSED, GASPING. I WANTED TO CURL UP AND HIDE from the world, from everything, most of all the visions I’d just witnessed.
Belet looked anxious. “Are you all right?”
It had been a mistake to close my eyes. The bloodshed poured through my mind again, and the screams of battle echoed in my ears. But thanks to Ishtar, I’d felt, briefly, what it was like to have that inhuman power. To fly. To be able to tear metal with my bare hands. To have senses so sharp I could hear thoughts. Now I was back in weak, helpless flesh.
“See, Mother?” said Belet. “You’ve broken him.”
I drew in a few slow, deep breaths, forcing myself to stop shaking. My heart rate calmed down, and I opened my eyes slowly.
There she stood. Ishtar was so beautiful, and so terrible. How many people had sacrificed themselves for her? How many cities had burned to the ground? How many cries had risen up to her ears in the fire and smoke? What bitter, cruel prayers had she heard?
“What did you do?” I muttered, still struggling to think straight. “What just happened?”
Then Ishtar took my hand. Those eyes that had witnessed so much horror softened with sincere worry. “You’ve just experienced a god surge. It will pass.”
Belet crouched down beside me, curious. “You’re lucky he’s not been reduced to a gibbering imbecile.”
“Tsk. Sikander is made of firmer stuff than you give him credit for.” Ishtar patted my arm. “You’re going to help us defeat Nergal, aren’t you?”
Help? After what I’d just seen? “No way.” I pushed myself to my feet, away from them. “You’ve got the wrong guy—all of you. I’m going home, and I never want to see any of you ever again.”
“Oh,” said Ishtar, surprised. “It’s not often anyone refuses me.”
Belet pushed her mom aside. “What did you expect? You’ve scared him witless.”
I really wanted to prove her wrong on that point, but my flight instinct was stronger. “Outta my way, Belet. I mean it.”
Belet didn’t move. “Not till you tell us what Nergal was looking for. You have something he wants.”
I could hear an accusation hanging between her lips, and it made me angry. “How’m I supposed to know? He just busted in and…” Then it dawned on me, what she was suggesting. “Oh, I get it. You think we’ve got some great treasure, stolen from Iraq.”
When American tanks had rolled in, there had been a lot of chaos and looting. I’m not talking about people stealing designer sneakers or seventy-inch high-def TVs, but priceless artifacts, thousands of years old. Smugglers earned millions overnight, at the cost of everyone else.
Ishtar joined the interrogation. “Your brother worked all over the country. What was he doing?”
How had she heard about Mo? “Helping to repair villages and grow crops,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “He even had a certificate from the Department of Agriculture for importing and exporting plants and seeds.”
“You can use a shovel in many ways.” Belet’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe he wasn’t just planting vegetables. Maybe he was digging up treasures from ancient Mesopotamia to sell on the black market. Maybe he—”
I gritted my teeth and glared. “You know nothing about Mo. The guy was the best person you, or anyone, would ever meet. The only thing he was interested in was rebuilding his homeland, one farm at a time. All he sent me were flowers, and your uncle destroyed them all last night.”
Belet wasn’t finished. “Relatives can keep big secrets from one another.”
“Yours, maybe. Not mine.” I raised my palm. “Look, this is not my problem. You all can sort out your family squabbles and leave my family way out of it.”
“It’s not that simple, Sik,” Belet insisted. “If Nergal is here, this affects everyone.”
“Then you’d better grab your mouthy sword and take care of it.”
Ishtar reached into her pocket. “It is tragic what happened to your delightful home. And as Nergal is family, it is our responsibility to repair the damage he caused. How much do you want? Is a million enough?”
I stared at her as she drew out a checkbook. “You’re joking, right?”
“Ah. Two, then.” Ishtar took out a silver pen. “In dollars?”
I don’t know why I said the next thing, but I did. I couldn’t help myself. “In exchange for what?”
Ishtar held the pen poised over the checkbook. “That would be entirely up to you.”
I know, I know! Who in their right mind would pass up two million dollars? The money didn’t mean anything to Ishtar—I doubted it would make a dent in her account—but make a deal with a god? I’d seen what Ishtar could do, how she’d led humans to their destruction over all those centuries. “La, shukran. We’ll manage on our own.”
“I’ll show him out, Mother,” said Belet, heading toward the door. “Come on, Sik.”
I admit I looked back at Ishtar. With just a few scratches of her pen, our deli would be saved. But then I found myself at the front door.
“Do you want an Uber to take you home?” asked Belet. “I’ll order one.”
“I’ll take the subway.” I didn’t want anything from either of them.
The train couldn’t move quickly enough. The moment the doors opened at Fourteenth, I burst out of the car, sprinted along the platform, and took the steps up to the street three at a time. I ran all the way home. I wasn’t sure whether I was running away from Ishtar and Belet and their world or toward Mo’s. I was needed at home. That was where I belonged, not on some ridiculous adventure with a crazy rich woman and her high-kicking daughter.
I stopped dead when I saw the ambulances parked in front of the deli, lights flashing. People had gathered in the street to watch. I pushed them aside, trying to get to the front. “What’s going on?”
A man glanced down at me. “It’s the family that runs the deli.”
My heart froze. Had Nergal come back? I felt sick. I’d wasted time with Belet and Ishtar when I should have been home.
Just then two paramedics came out our front door wheeling a gurney. They were wearing N95 masks and rubber gloves.
“Mama! Let me through!” I yelled, and ran up to her. “Mama!”
She was in an oxygen mask, unconscious, and I’d never seen her so pale. Only then did I notice that Baba was already loaded in the second ambulance. He looked like he was in just as bad shape.
No, no, no! What was happening? They’d been fine this morning.…
“You related?” asked one of the paramedics.
“They’re my parents.” I stared as they slid Mama into the ambulance. “What’s wrong with them?”
He peered at me curiously. “How are you feeling, son?”
“Me?” Why was he asking? “I’m fine. Where are you taking them?”
“Manhattan General,” he said. He grabbed my wrist and took my pulse. “Your folks been abroad recently?”
“The last vacation we took was in Florida. That was ages ago.”
“You’d better come along so we can run a few tests.”
“Tests? What kind of tests?”
The expression in his eyes was awful. My blood ran cold. He led me to the waiting ambulance. “I want you up front. Let’s get you a mask and gloves, too.”
“Why can’t I sit with my mom?”
“We need to keep her isolated from germs as much as we can. Until we know what’s wrong with her. With them both.”
“Are they going to be okay?” I was almost too scared to ask.
He paused before answering. “We’re going to do our best, son.”
That wasn’t a yes. That wasn’t anywhere near a yes.
I WAS WRONG.
I used to think Mo’s death was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Part of me figured that, having survived the loss of my brother, my hero, I couldn’t be hurt anymore, would never feel that level of pain again.
I was so, so wrong.
Petrified, that’s how I felt now. Scared stiff. I couldn’t think about anything except What’ll I do if my parents die tonight?
By the time we’d heard about Mo, it was over already. Bang! and he was gone. Past tense. No promises, no wishes, and no prayers were going to make any difference. This wasn’t like that. My parents were still alive, and no one knew what was wrong with them.
I prayed hard. I lost count of the suras I recited all through the night. I’d be a good Muslim—the best—if Allah just let me keep my parents.
Each was put in an airtight isolation room; the staff had to wear hazmat suits to go in. I could only look at them through the anteroom windows. I watched as Mama and Baba lay there in medically induced comas with ventilators breathing for them because their lungs were full of fluid.
As for me, I was whirled from one test to another. This doctor and that doctor took blood samples, put me through X-ray machines and even an MRI scan. They poked and prodded me all through the afternoon and evening until finally the doctors shook their heads in amazement and told me I was totally okay.
I didn’t feel totally okay. Not even close.
I had my own room. The doctors wanted me under “observation” for at least twenty-four hours, just in case. I paced around in my hospital gown and socks, too tired and too wired to do anything but worry. It was eerie, silent except for the beeps and pings of the equipment, the walls and ceiling lit by the cold blue glow of the monitors. Finally I lay down on the bed, scared and despairing, staring blankly out the window as the sky began to turn purple, then pink, with a new day.
At dawn, I had visitors. How they got in, or how they knew where to find me, I had no idea.
Belet and Ishtar burst in, followed by an angry-looking nurse. He jumped in front of them. “You can’t come in here. The boy’s under quarantine. He could be infectious.”
Ishtar dismissed his worries with a flick of her hand. “Ridiculous. Just look at him—the very picture of rosy-cheeked health.”
The nurse cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but you—”
Then Ishtar did her thing. I don’t know if it was a “god surge,” but I felt the atmosphere change. She put her hand delicately on the nurse’s arm. “No need to be sorry, Duncan, unless it has to do with your feelings for Jessica.”
He stepped back, stunned. “What? How do you know about that?”
Ishtar leaned in close, as though confiding with him. “Jessica’s not the right match for you. Now Alice, on the other hand…she’s perfect.”
“Really? Alice? The one who works in the morgue?”
Before he knew what had hit him, Ishtar had guided him into the elevator out in the hallway. She handed him her business card just before the doors closed.
Belet picked up the plastic bag holding my street clothes and emptied it onto the bed. “Get dressed. You’re leaving.”
“I can’t leave my parents! And the docs may want to run more tests tomorrow. I’ve gotta stay until they know for sure what’s going on.”
“Tsk. You know exactly what’s going on, Sikander,” said Ishtar, stepping back into the room. “Nergal is behind all this, and you can’t help your parents if you’re stuck in here.”
“Nergal…” I almost choked on his name. He’d given them a disease—probably an ancient one the doctors didn’t know about. “Is he…Is he going to kill them?”
“If he did,” Ishtar said coolly, “he’d have no bargaining chip with you, now, would he?”
“But why does he need one? I haven’t—”
“We told you,” said Belet, holding out my jeans. “He wants something he thinks you have.”
I felt so frustrated, so helpless. “Can’t you cure my parents?” I asked Ishtar, hating how pitiful I sounded. “If you are what you say you are.”
She smiled sympathetically. “Healing’s not my forte, but I’ll slow the illness as much as I can.”
I thought back to the isolation rooms and the two pitiful husks that were my parents. They’d done no wrong in their lives. They’d lost their homeland, their son, and their business, and now they were fighting for their very survival.
Ishtar put her hand on my shoulder. “Sikander, Defender of the World, I am calling upon you.”
“We need you to help us fight Nergal,” Belet translated.
“Fight? But how…?”
“This is war,” said Ishtar, “and I need you on my side.”
“No, not war. My parents have had enough of war.” I pictured them trapped in their comas. “They would call this a righteous struggle, and there’s a better word for that.” For when you had to struggle for something you believed in. When you had to face terrible odds, whatever form they came in. When you had to fight with all your heart to save those you loved. “A jihad.”
SOMETHING WASN’T RIGHT. NO THICK SCENT OF TURKISH coffee brewing. No smell of pitas on the grill. No clitter-clatter from the kitchen and no Mama singing Arabic love songs by her favorite artist, Fairuz.
This wasn’t home.
I’m at Belet’s.
I’d been so exhausted, I barely remembered the journey from the hospital, being greeted by the cats, and Belet showing me to this bedroom, which looked like it had come straight out of Vogue. Gold-embroidered cushions were scattered over the crimson-and-navy Persian rug that covered a spotless white-marble floor. The furniture was straight out of a sultan’s palace: ornate and inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl.
And it was the first time I’d ever slept on silk sheets. But instead of lying on a bed suited for a king, I’d have preferred to be at home on my rickety pallet with bedding from the discount aisle at Target.
I was surrounded by comfort while Mama and Baba were comatose in the hospital. Maybe they’d gotten better overnight? Yes, that was it. They were waiting for me to show up and take them home so we could put this nightmare behind us.
No. I knew that wasn’t possible. It was up to us to save them. I just hoped Ishtar had a plan.
The cats ignored me as I padded barefoot along the marble corridors. They slumbered on plush chairs or lurked among the vases and pedestals. I went down two flights of stairs, and the scent of pancakes dr
ifted from a door on the right.
Ishtar must have finally found the kitchen. Good, I was starving. And more important, I needed to talk with her about how to get my parents saved. I went straight through and found…
“Daoud?”
“You’re up at last, mashallah.” Wearing only his pajama bottoms, he gently flexed his abdominal muscles as he filled the espresso machine with water.
“How did you get here?”
“I met Ishtar and Belet at the hospital last night,” he said. “After I’d been waiting there for hours. Ishtar told me she’s putting you up and I could crash here, too.” He pointed to his portfolio resting against the wall. “Ishtar says she has a lot of connections in Hollywood, so I brought that along. Who am I to refuse an offer like that?”
I sighed and said in a low voice, “Be careful who you trust, Daoud.”
He looked confused. “C’mon, Ishtar just wants to help.”
“Yes, but…” Worried that Ishtar might somehow be listening, I changed the subject. “Did you get to see Mama and Baba?”
“The receptionist wouldn’t let me up, because I’m not family,” he said. “But I called the hospital an hour ago. My friend says they’re stable, but the docs haven’t figured out what’s wrong with them yet.”
“Who’s your friend?” What right did he have, knowing before me? They were my parents.
“Rita, the hospital charge nurse. She’s in my improv group.”
Typical Daoud, always working the system. But this time I was grateful for it.
He flipped the pancakes, then looked at the metal spatula to check his eyebrows in the reflection. “By the way, she says the doctors want you back ASAP. You’re supposed to be in quarantine.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Yeah. Those bug bites cleared up pretty fast, didn’t they? What’d you use? Vitamin E cream?”
I hadn’t even thought about them, but he was right. I didn’t itch anymore, and the swelling had all but disappeared. Maybe Nergal wasn’t as dangerous as he seemed.
City of the Plague God Page 6
