We’re halfway back to the flat before Mani stops trembling. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
“Who was she?”
I sigh. I’ve tried so hard to protect Mani, not to burden him with more of the truth than he can handle, but I have a feeling that won’t work anymore. “She’s the one who made me a visha kanya.”
“Oh,” he says. And then after a long pause, “Then why did you go to her?”
We’re back at the flat now and I don’t answer him right away. I put a finger to my lips, slide the key into the lock and ease the door open. The flat is empty and I breathe a sigh of relief. Smudge jumps from Mani’s bed and paws at his ankles, begging for affection. Mani sits in the middle of the floor and pulls the cat onto his lap. “Why did you go back?” he asks again. I sit in front of him on the floor.
“Gopal asked me to kiss Deven,” I tell him. Mani looks up sharply.
“You didn’t, did you?” His eyes are already shiny with new tears.
“Of course not,” I tell him. Though I don’t say that I thought about it. That I might have. That I almost did. “But Gopal will send someone else, and so I need to protect Deven by trying to make him immune. That’s why I went to visit Kadru. To get venom.”
“What’s ‘immune’?”
“It’s when you give someone just a tiny amount of poison so that he is protected if someone tries to give him a bigger amount. It would make it so none of the vish kanya could kill him.” Mani’s eyebrows pull together.
“Am I immune?” The question knocks something loose inside me and it takes me a moment to answer.
“No, monkey, you’re not immune.”
“Oh.” He continues petting Smudge and she starts purring loudly, a steady little hum that sounds like a small roar.
“She sounds like she’s part lion,” I say. Mani grins.
“Do you remember when we found her?” he asks. Of course I remember. She was just a kitten and she showed up at our flat several nights in a row. I let Mani give her a dish of milk, but I wouldn’t let him keep her. I didn’t need any more responsibility, no matter how tiny or adorable. And then one night she showed up with a dead snake in her mouth. It was just a little garden snake, but still, she’d killed it, and it made me feel connected to her in a way that all her mewing and begging had not. She’d proven she was one of us, and we let her in for good.
I scratch Smudge under her chin. “How could I forget? Our little hunter.”
“Our small tiger,” Mani amends. He’s quiet for a moment and then says, “Marinda?”
“Yeah?”
“I really hate snakes.”
After Mani falls asleep, I check my face in the mirror. I don’t look any older, and I wonder from which part of my life Kadru took five years. The end? The middle? Will I wake up one day and find a handful of years suddenly missing, or will I just die younger than I should? The terms of the price I’ve paid aren’t entirely clear, but I don’t have time to worry about it. My biggest concern right now is figuring out how to get the poison to Deven before Gopal goes after him again.
It’s an ironic problem, my wondering how to poison a boy when that is the sole purpose of my existence. But then again, I’ve never had to poison someone only a little bit. Nothing I’ve ever done has demanded the kind of subtlety that slipping Deven three separate doses of toxin will require. The jobs Gopal gives me are straightforward—they require only one meeting, only a moment of interaction. But this—this will require something so much more delicate, and I’m not sure I can pull it off. Subterfuge is squarely in Iyla’s skill set. So that’s probably where I should go for help.
I run a brush through my hair and then crawl into bed. After the day I’ve had, I’m expecting it to take me hours to drift off, but the last few nights of lousy sleep must have caught up with me, because before I know it, the night is over and sunlight is spilling across my cheeks. For just a moment I feel safe ensconced in a soft blanket with warmth on my face. But then the events of yesterday come rushing back and carve a pit in the middle of my stomach. I wish I could go back and live forever in that peaceful moment between sleep and reality.
Mani is still fast asleep, so there’s time to make breakfast. We don’t have to leave for Iyla’s right away, and I need some time to decide how I can convince her to help me. Iyla is stingy with sharing her tradecraft, but she’s also the closest thing I have to a friend. I prepare a simple porridge of brown rice, almonds and dried figs. It simmers for over an hour, but Mani still isn’t awake. I sit on the side of his bed and push the hair off his forehead. His color is worse than yesterday and his breathing is shallow.
“Mani, time for breakfast.” I shake him gently and get no response, not even a grumble or a sigh. “Mani? Come on, Mani.” I try to wake him for five minutes, and the whole time I’m wondering if this will be the morning when I can’t.
Finally his eyes flutter open and I’m flooded with relief. “Hi, monkey,” I say, and there’s a little hitch in my voice that I can’t quite cover up.
Mani rubs his eyes. “Was I hard to wake up?”
“Nah,” I say, “not too much.” If he knows I’m lying, he doesn’t challenge me. “Do you want some breakfast?” This perks him up a little.
“You made breakfast?”
“Hey,” I say, “don’t sound so surprised. Sometimes I cook.” Mani smirks and I swat him lightly on the bottom as he heads to the table. “Be nice or I won’t share.”
I wait until he is polishing off his second bowl of porridge before I tell him my plan to visit Iyla.
“I don’t think we should ask her for help,” Mani says.
“Why not?”
“She’s…” Mani licks his spoon as he thinks. “Kind of sneaky.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why we need her, to help us sneak the poison to Deven.”
“Why can’t we just tell him the truth?”
I sigh. “I don’t think he would believe us, Mani. Would you voluntarily take poison from someone you just met? Even if they claimed it would help you?”
He scrunches up his forehead. “I guess not.”
“Our best chance to protect him is with Iyla’s help.”
Mani frowns at me. “If you say so. I’ll go get dressed.”
Iyla lives in a more affluent neighborhood than Mani and I do. Butter-yellow row houses with deep-red rooftops march along the street in groups of four. The lawns are expertly manicured and boast shrubs clipped into the shapes of animals. The first time I saw Iyla’s house, I complained to Gopal. It didn’t seem fair that Iyla was living so lavishly while Mani and I were stuck in a tiny bedroom at the girls’ home. Gopal smiled at my complaint. “Oh, Marinda,” he said. “Don’t be jealous. Iyla doesn’t concern me, but you…you I want close to me always.” I didn’t care what Gopal wanted—I wanted a place that Mani and I could call our own. A few months later Gopal agreed to let us move into the flat, and I never said another word about it. But every time I see Iyla’s neighborhood, it still stings that she is treated so differently. Iyla lives at the far end of her street in the last house on her row. Mani and I are almost there when I hear a door close and then the unmistakable sound of Iyla’s laughter. She’s not alone. I hold out my arm to stop Mani and we duck behind a huge topiary elephant.
“When will I see you again?” Iyla says.
“I’m not sure,” says a male voice, “maybe a few days?”
“A few days! But that’s too long to wait.” Her voice is dripping with so much false sweetness that I wonder who would be foolish enough to think she’s sincere. I inch forward and risk a peek around the hedge. My heart jumps into my throat.
She’s talking to Deven.
I’ve thought about it several times since yesterday—Deven and Iyla, how they must have been seeing each other for weeks, for months even—but the thought was so distressing that I banished it whenever it appeared. But seeing them now sends a spasm of pain through me. She probably knows him far better than I do. I bite my lip. I shoul
dn’t feel betrayed—this is how it works. This is how it has always worked. But how could Iyla spend any amount of time with Deven and still want to go forward with this plan? Can’t she see that he is better than all the others? That he is good? A germ of doubt wriggles into my mind. No. I saw the way the last boy treated that child at the market. She was hungry and he shooed her away like she meant nothing.
Mani is looking at me with a question in his eyes. I press a finger to my lips and move so I can watch Iyla without her seeing me. Her hand rests on Deven’s elbow and she is saying something too quietly for me to hear. Then she stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses him softly on the mouth. My heart breaks a little. I will never have the pleasure of kissing someone I love. Iyla’s kisses might be a lie, but mine are a death sentence.
Deven walks away, and he’s headed right toward where Mani and I are hiding. I grab Mani’s arm and pull him even farther behind the elephant-shaped hedge. But Deven passes by without so much as a glance in our direction. His hands are in his pockets and his head is down like he’s lost in thought. I have the absurd impulse to call out to him, which would be foolish. How would I explain my presence here? But then again…I slip my hand into my pocket and finger the vial. Maybe this could be just the luck I need. I wait until I hear Iyla close her door, and then I motion to Mani. We trail Deven from a distance, keeping close to the houses so that we can duck into a side yard if he turns around.
We follow him all the way out of the neighborhood and into a part of Bala City I’ve never seen before. It’s an upscale shopping district without the mysticism of the market or the mundaneness of Gali Street. Small shops line the streets with window displays that feature a breathtaking array of merchandise: dresses, scarves and saris in silky fabrics, jewelry inlaid with gems of every color, wool rugs in colorful patterns. One shop has a live model shifting between poses, her back to the street to show off her intricate hairstyle. I’m so entranced that my gaze keeps wandering from Deven to the shop windows, and I’m startled when I hear my name.
“Marinda?”
I look up sharply. Deven has turned and spotted us.
“Hi,” he says. “What a nice surprise. What are you two doing here?” There’s not a hint of suspicion in his voice. Warmth rushes to my cheeks and I’m too flustered to respond. It’s Mani who answers.
“We’re just exploring,” he says.
“Exploring, huh?” Deven says. “Well, how would you like to explore some lunch with me?”
“Yes!” Mani says. Deven laughs and looks to me for confirmation. This moment is bigger than lunch. It feels like cracking open the door on my tightly locked life and letting Deven in. It’s dangerous. It’s exhilarating. It’s the only way I can think of to save him.
“If you insist,” I say, and I hope it’s not the wrong answer.
Deven leads us down a side street to a little café. The facade of the building is stone, and the windows and doors are trimmed in deep green. A menu is posted near the door, painted in swirling gold script. Inside, the aroma of roasted meats and spices hangs heavy in the air. At the back of the room, behind a tall counter, a thickset man shouts orders at cooks—half a dozen of them—who are chopping meats and vegetables, stirring thick sauces and sliding flatbread into clay ovens. Tall tables and chairs line the edges of the room, while short tables with cushions for seating fill the middle. Deven turns and touches my elbow.
“Do you want to take Mani and find a table? I can order for us.” I glance at Mani. He does look exhausted.
“Thank you,” I say.
Deven grins. “Sure. What would you like to eat?”
“I’m not picky,” I say. My stomach feels so tied in knots that I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat anything at all. Deven turns toward Mani.
“How about you, pal?”
“I want whatever you’re having,” Mani says. Of course he does. Deven is like a small god to Mani.
Mani and I choose a low table, and I sit on one of the cushions with my legs tucked underneath me. Mani sits beside me and lays his head on my shoulder. I’ve pushed him too hard this morning with all the walking. I pat his back while I try to formulate a plan. Once Deven comes with the food, it’s just a matter of distracting him for a moment so that I can slip the poison into his drink. The thought of him catching me makes my pulse spike, but I won’t get a better opportunity. I wish I could just tell him the truth. But if he didn’t believe me, he’d be in more danger than ever.
After a few minutes Deven arrives with steaming platters of meat pies with green dipping sauce, chunks of tender chicken skewered on wooden stakes, and fluffy white rice. He slides the platters onto the table and says, “I’ll be right back with the drinks.” Why couldn’t he have brought the drinks first? There’s no way I can poison anything on the platters. How can I be sure what he’ll eat? My hands grow moist and I dry them on my skirt. Deven returns with three cups full of creamy, dark liquid. Mani examines his cup skeptically.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s called a Hot Sweetie,” Deven says. Mani giggles at the silly name. “It’s good. Try it.” I take a sip—it tastes like extra-creamy hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon and cloves.
“Delicious,” I say. My voice is steady, but my hand is shaking so badly that some of the liquid sloshes out. A dark stain spreads over the white tablecloth, but if Deven notices, he doesn’t say anything. I glance over at Mani, who is happily slurping his drink, a thin film of chocolate coating the area above his upper lip.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Deven tells him. The food looks and smells amazing, but I can barely taste it as I chew. I keep staring at Deven’s drink. It’s over half gone, and if I don’t do something soon, I’ll miss my chance. My mind wanders to Iyla and something she told me once. “It’s easy to get boys to trust you,” she said. “You just have to use their best traits against them.” What is Deven’s best trait? And then I know. I pick up my cup and take a sip and then deliberately set it near the edge of the table. When Deven looks away, I nudge it with my elbow. It tumbles to the floor, splattering dark liquid all over the polished hardwood. Deven is on his feet in an instant.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, dabbing at the spill with my napkin. My cheeks are hot with deception.
“It’s okay,” Deven says. “I’ll go get you another one.” I have only a few seconds. I pull the vial from my pocket, yank out the stopper, and tip the container forward until a single pale drop falls into Deven’s cup. Then I replace the stopper and shove the vial back into my pocket. I glance at Mani, and his face sends a pang of regret through my chest. He’s looking at me like I’m a traitor, like I’ve just poisoned his friend. I put my arm around his shoulders and start to reassure him, but then Deven’s back and holding out a cup to me. I snap my mouth closed. Explaining will have to wait until later.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry for being so clumsy.” I can feel Mani glaring at me.
“No problem,” Deven says. He keeps eating and chatting—asking Mani about what he’s been reading, peppering me with questions about my childhood that I have to answer with half-truths. I feel like I’m going to explode with tension and I want to pick up his drink and force it down his throat.
“Do you want more?” Deven asks.
I look up, startled. “What?”
“You’re staring at my drink. You can have the rest if you’d like.”
“No,” I say too emphatically. Deven raises an eyebrow. “Thanks,” I say, “but I think one is all I need. It’s awfully sweet.”
“You just have to build up a tolerance,” he says, and I wince at the wording. He tilts his head. “You know, for the sugar.” I laugh, but it comes out tight and forced. Of course I knew what he meant, but building up a tolerance is exactly what I’m trying to do for him—except for poison and not sweets. When he finally picks up his Hot Sweetie and drains it in one swallow, I can breathe again.
“So what have you been up to today?” I ask. Deven smiles and I realize
it’s the first question I’ve asked, the first time I’ve engaged in the conversation at all, past distracted comments and brief answers.
“Just work,” he says. An image of Iyla kissing him pops into my mind.
“Work? That’s it?”
He plunks his cup down. “Yup. That’s why I was so happy to see you and Mani. I needed a break.” My stomach feels tight. Why is he lying to me? Why not just tell me that he spent the morning with his beautiful girlfriend? Who, no doubt, seemed astonished to see him, since she thought he’d be dead. But then again, why would he tell me anything? It’s not like he owes me an explanation—we’re just friends, if even that. He probably invited us to lunch only because he doesn’t think I take care of Mani very well. My eyes burn and I’m furious with myself for caring. He’s just a boy. A nice one, the kind who will invite you to lunch and hurry to replace your drink if you spill it. The kind you don’t want to kill. But also the kind who is in love with your only friend and doesn’t trust you enough to tell you about her.
Mani nudges my foot under the table and I realize I’ve been staring at Deven without saying anything for an inappropriate amount of time. I try to wipe my face clean of expression.
“I’m glad we could provide some relief from your busy day,” I say.
Deven reaches for my hand across the table and squeezes my fingers. “We should do it again sometime.” He holds my gaze and I don’t look away.
“We should,” Mani says, and both of us laugh at his enthusiasm. Deven walks us to the door, and my emotions are all tangled up. Part of me is upset that he didn’t tell me about Iyla, and the other part never wants to leave his side. Maybe those are the same thing. And then there’s the worry about the poison. Did I give him too much? Too little? Will it work?
“Thank you for lunch,” I say once we step outside.
Deven bites the inside of his cheek and wrinkles up his forehead. “Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”
“She never eats,” Mani supplies.
Deven glances sidelong at me and I can tell he’s suppressing a smile. “Is that right?” he asks Mani, who nods solemnly. “Well, I’ll have to see what I can do to change that.” Despite myself, my face melts into a smile. No one—except for Japa—has ever been so kind to us or treated us with so much respect. Mani is flush with pride. I look up to see Deven watching me with a curious expression.
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