Poison's Kiss

by Breeana Shields

  It shouldn’t bother me, the thought of him giving her a gift. But somehow this is even worse than seeing them kiss. My fingers find the cricket in my pocket and trace small circles over its tiny wings.

  Iyla insists on checking that the street is empty before she lets us leave. “Get out of here quickly,” she tells us, and I wonder if it’s Gopal she’s worried will spot us or if it’s Deven. Maybe he’s unavailable because they have plans. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but he’s alive and that’s all that matters.

  Mani slides his hand into mine as we walk away. He’s quiet for several minutes, but then he stops walking and looks up at me with big, worried eyes. “Is Iyla going to kill Deven?”

  “Of course not,” I say.

  “How do you know?”

  I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him close to me. “Because Gopal didn’t make her for killing, monkey.”

  “What did he make her for?”

  There’s no comfort in the answer, but I tell him the truth anyway. “He made her for lying.”

  The next few days pass with excruciating slowness. Mani is growing sicker by the moment, and it’s as if everyone in our lives has vanished. We don’t see or hear from Deven, Iyla or Gita. There’s no sign of Gopal either and no hint that he’s ever coming back. He will—of course he will—but if Mani dies before he gets here, he won’t find me waiting.

  The need to find Deven fades into the background as Mani loses strength. He’s too weak to leave the flat and has spent the morning curled on his bed staring vacantly into space, his pupils dilated, his eyes watering and his breath so shallow I have to strain to see his chest moving up and down. I’ve made three trips to the healers in the marketplace, and none of the potions I’ve purchased have done Mani any good—not the ones from the real healers and not the ones from the frauds either. I’ve seen Mani’s face this pale only once before, and I almost lost him then.

  A few days after the incident at the river, Gopal showed up on my doorstep with a ceramic pot and a bottle of medication. “This should help your brother breathe easier,” he said. This was Gopal’s way—to create the problem and then insist on being treated like a savior for providing half a solution.

  The breathing treatments helped Mani at first—enough that I was willing to tolerate the foul-smelling vapors that clung to our flat for days after each treatment. But after a few months, he stopped improving and I grew suspicious of Gopal’s motives. The next time he showed up with a treatment, I told him I wanted him to breathe in the vapors along with Mani.

  “Excuse me?” he said. “What are you implying, Marinda?”

  “How do I know you’re not making it worse? If the medication is harmless, then what will it hurt if you inhale it too?”

  Gopal’s laugh was brittle. “How quickly you forget the lessons I teach, little one.” He stalked over to the bubbling water and dumped nearly half the vial of medication into it. A bitter mist rolled through the flat, and Gopal stood with his face pressed to the pot for a full minute, inhaling deeply and grinning like a madman. Then he stood up and tipped the remaining contents of the bottle into his mouth and grimaced as he swallowed.

  “Satisfied, rajakumari?”

  My stomach curled around the terrible mistake I’d just made.

  Gopal tossed the bottle on the floor and it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. “But if you are convinced that I’m trying to hurt the boy, then I’d best keep my distance.”

  The coldness in his voice was final and he was true to his word. He didn’t return for ten days. Mani grew weaker and weaker, until his face was as pale as rice and he shivered uncontrollably. I held off as long as I could, hoping against all reason that he would improve on his own, but soon he was so ill I couldn’t wait anymore. I ran to the girls’ home and found Gopal. “He’s dying,” I said. “Please come.”

  Gopal looked at me with ice in his eyes. “Beg me, rajakumari. Tell me I was right.”

  Shakily, I fell to my knees. “I was wrong to doubt you,” I said. “I’m begging you to give Mani the breathing treatment. Please.”

  Gopal reached down and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “See now? Was that so hard?”

  Mani’s health looks just as dire as it did that day, but I know Gopal won’t give him the treatment until there’s blood on my hands.

  Several times I’m tempted to go to the bookshop to talk to Japa, but something holds me back. My emotions are taut, stretched to their very limit, and I worry if I see Japa’s kind face, I will break down and tell him everything. If I thought he could save Mani, it would be worth the risk, but if there were a medication to heal his tiny broken lungs, I would have found it already.

  Instead I curl myself around Mani and try to calm the shivers that have taken over his small body.

  Finally, after days of silence, there’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find Gita. Relief floods through me and I have to resist the urge to throw myself into her arms and beg her never to leave me again. But I remind myself that she’s not here to offer mercy—she’s here to exact Gopal’s revenge. And I won’t let her.

  She offers me a weak smile. “I forgot my key,” she says. She looks tired—blue smudges underline her eyes, and the wrinkles around her mouth have deepened.

  “That’s just as well,” I tell her. “Because unless you have Mani’s breathing treatment, you aren’t coming in.”

  “After I deliver my message,” she says. “After you follow Gopal’s instructions.”

  “No,” I say. “Now.”

  “Marinda,” she says, a warning in her voice. “Don’t start. Not today.”

  Rage shoots through me at her offhand tone, as if I’m four years old and we’re discussing whether or not I need a bath. I take a step toward her and she stumbles backward. “Let me explain how this works. I’m not doing anything until Mani is better. Gopal can come here and kill me himself, but I’m not moving until Mani gets that medication.”

  Gita bites her lip. “I’m not supposed to give it to him until you’ve completed the assignment.”

  I put my hand on her chest and give her a little shove. “Then run back and tell Gopal you couldn’t convince me. I’m sure he’ll thank you for following his instructions so dutifully.”

  A hint of fear skitters through her eyes. “Very well,” she says. “But then you must promise to listen to me.”

  I step away from the door so she can come inside. Right now I will say anything to get relief for Mani. “I promise.”

  I pace as we wait for the water to boil. When it begins to bubble, Gita drops the medication into the pot and then retreats to the far side of the flat. I scoop Mani into my arms and hold him over the burbling water, a blanket tented over both of our heads. The bitter steam fills the small space and Mani stirs to life, his head turning toward the pot like a flower reaching for the sunlight. My heart tumbles forward. He’s going to live. I hold him in my arms until the pot boils dry, and by the time I finally lay him down on the bed, my muscles are screaming. Gita stands in the doorway with her hand over her nose and mouth to block the smell.

  “Time to talk,” she says. “Let’s go outside.”

  I step out and close the door behind me. The air smells so clean out here that I pull in the deepest breath I can, let it expand my lungs until they feel ready to burst. Gita watches me with a pained expression. She reaches for my hand, but I pull away.

  “Marinda.” She says my name with such affection that it actually hurts a little. “Gopal asked me to come. Iyla has set up the next meeting.”

  I knew this was coming, but I still feel a pressure against my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I haven’t given Deven the last dose of venom, and I’m not sure how I will protect him now.

  “Where?” I ask. “When?”

  Gita sighs and lays a hand on my arm. “Please listen to me,” she says. “It is important that you do this thing for Gopal.”

  “This thing?” I ask. “You mean this
murder.”

  Gita closes her eyes, as if I’m trying her patience. “I think we’ve had enough insolence for today.” It’s pointless to argue with her. She has a message and she’s going to do her duty and deliver it.

  “Just give me the details,” I tell her.

  She digs her fingers into my arm and shakes me. “Not until you pay attention.” Her voice is colored with urgency and her eyes have gone wild. “Gopal is as angry as I’ve ever seen him. You must not defy him again.”

  I swallow hard. “Again?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Gopal is not a stupid man, Marinda. He knows you haven’t been truthful. This boy is not worth it, no matter what you think of him.” She lets go of my arm and presses her palm to her forehead. “There are things you don’t know,” she says. “Decisions you’re in no position to make.”

  My stomach is churning. Gita’s words confirm my worst fears—that Gopal never believed me, that he whipped Iyla only to send a message. He intended for her to show me the welts on her back. That he would hurt her only to force me into compliance isn’t surprising, but it still makes me feel sick.

  Gita studies my face. “Don’t put your safety at risk,” she says. And then after a long pause, “Or your brother’s safety.” Her words send gooseflesh racing up my arms.

  “Are you threatening to hurt Mani?” My voice comes out like a growl.

  “Of course not,” Gita says, though we both know she can hurt him simply by staying away. “But you would do well not to anger Gopal.” She hands me a folded slip of paper. “The boy’s address is written here,” she says, tapping the paper. “You must go immediately.”

  “To his home?” This is unprecedented. The kills always happen in a public place, surrounded by people and noise. It’s part of tradecraft, something that has been drilled into me since I was small. Never be alone with the target. Missions are completed in full daylight. My mouth goes dry. I have spent nearly the last week wishing I knew where Deven lived, and now I’m holding the answer in my palm. I unfold the paper and my mouth falls open.

  “This is Iyla’s neighborhood,” I say.

  Gita chews her lip and nods. It must mean something that they live near each other, but I can’t think what. “Memorize the address,” she says, holding out her hand. “Then I will destroy the paper.”

  It won’t be hard to remember. I’ve passed this house twice in the last week. I give the slip back to Gita and she tucks it away. “You go now,” she says. “I will stay with your brother.”

  “No,” I say. “Mani comes with me.”

  “Marinda, you can’t—”

  I hold up a hand to stop her, and fix her with a hard stare. “He comes with me or I don’t go.” After Gita’s thinly veiled threat, I know I can never leave Mani alone with her again.

  “Very well,” Gita says. “I will allow you to be stubborn on this point.” She grabs my jaw and forces me to look into her eyes. “But make no mistake: Gopal expects the boy to be dead by sundown.”

  The only way to save Deven now is to tell him the truth.

  I’m across the street from his house, leaning against a tree trunk. The knobby stump of a missing branch digs into my back, but I don’t move. Mani sits at my feet, twisting blades of grass into a rope. His recovery was almost instant—a few hours after the breathing treatment and he walked here on his own strength. From the outside, Deven’s house looks exactly like Iyla’s—the same pale-yellow stucco, an identical red roof. But I have a feeling the inside will be completely different. I’m just searching for the courage to find out. I rehearse in my mind what I need to say, but I’m not sure I can make my mouth form the words: Today I’m supposed to kill you, but I think you should run instead. There’s a good chance someone else will try to kill you soon, so don’t trust anyone. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone kiss you.

  I have the vial of poison in my pocket on the off chance I can convince him to take a final dose. It seems unlikely.

  “You should just get it over with,” Mani says. His gaze stays glued to the grass in his fingers.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him. He’s been unusually quiet since Gita left, and I’m not sure if he’s just recovering or if something else is bothering him.

  “Come on, monkey. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear him. “He’s going to hate us.” I close my eyes. Mani’s right, but it hurts to admit it, even to myself. I crouch down and touch his shoulder.

  “If he hates anyone, it will be me,” I say. “He has no reason to hate you.”

  Mani looks up at me, his chin quivering. “Even if he hates only you, I’ll never see him again.” This makes my throat burn. Mani asks for so little, and I wish I could give him this—Deven as his friend.

  “Maybe he won’t hate either one of us,” I say. “Maybe he’ll be grateful I warned him.” But we both know it won’t matter. Whether Deven is angry with me or not, he will need to leave Sundari to stay safe. It’s likely that neither one of us will ever see him again. I press a kiss on the top of Mani’s head, take a deep breath and cross the street.

  My hand trembles as I knock on the door. Three seconds pass and then ten. I’m torn between hoping he’s home and praying he’s not—it’s not clear which is safer for him. A full minute passes and I’m just about to walk away when the door swings open. My heart trips forward at the sight of Deven. He is dressed casually, with damp hair and bare feet as if he’s just emerged from the shower. His face is open and friendly, and I feel the corners of my mouth lifting without my permission. But then he focuses on my face and his expression goes dark. It startles me so much that I take a small step back.

  “What are you doing here?” He practically throws the words at me, slaps me with them. This isn’t the same boy who held me to his chest, who kissed my forehead. He’s not looking at me like I’m the perfect girl from his imagination anymore. This is an expression I recognize, one I know as well as I know my own face. It’s the one I wear when I look in the mirror.

  My throat feels strangled, but I force myself to speak. “I need to talk to you,” I say. “It’s important.”

  Deven shakes his head. “I have nothing to say to you.” His tone has a finality that leaves no room for argument. He tries to close the door, and I have to press myself in front of it to stop him.

  “Are you angry with me?” Even as the question leaves my mouth, I realize it sounds foolish.

  Deven’s laugh comes out like a bark. “Angry? You could say that.”

  My mind is racing, but I’m coming up with more questions than answers. Deven has a hundred reasons to hate me, but I haven’t explained any of them yet.

  “May I ask why you’re angry?”

  His eyes narrow. “Marinda.” He says my name softly, almost tenderly. “Have you been pouring poison into my drinks?”

  All the air leaves my lungs and I have to hold on to the doorframe for support. “How did you—”

  “So it’s true?” For just a moment his hard expression softens to a wounded one.

  “It’s not like that,” I tell him. “I can explain.”

  Deven rakes both hands through his hair. “I really doubt that,” he says. His fingers curl into fists. “Did the people you work for hit Iyla? Did they whip her until she could barely walk?”

  I can hear the rush of my heartbeat in my ears, and something inside me unspools. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. I refuse to let him see me cry. Not when he’s looking at me like that.

  “Did they?” Deven asks through a clenched jaw.

  “Yes,” I say in a whisper.

  “And did that have anything to do with me?” I open my mouth to explain, but before I can say anything, he asks another question. “Are you a killer, Marinda?”

  I am completely undone. I wrap my arms around my middle as if I can hold myself together. I want to explain, to tell him my version of events, but it’s too late. Iyla has fed Deven a tale that is c
ompletely true, and when I hear it spill from his mouth, I sound like a monster. He will never forgive me. I was right that Iyla’s power for destruction is in her words, and her bruised face tells a better story than I can. But at least she kept her promise. I won’t have to kill Deven—there is no chance he will ever let me get close enough again. My ribs ache with the loss of him, even though he was never really mine.

  “I didn’t want to believe it,” he says. “Even when I realized what you’d done to Mani, I wanted it to be a mistake.”

  My head snaps up. “What I’d done to Mani?”

  “Drop the pretense,” he says. “Anyone with eyes can see that he’s in the late stages of vish bimari. To work for the people you do—to kill for them—it’s awful. But to harm a child? It’s disgusting.”

  I feel as if I’ve been plunged into a black hole. Bile rises at the back of my throat. Vish bimari. Poison disease. It’s what kills most of the babies exposed to the toxin. It’s what failed to kill me. But that’s not what Mani has—it’s impossible. He got sick right after Gopal nearly drowned him. The timing of the symptoms would be too much of a coincidence. Unless…I think back to when Gopal pulled Mani from the river, when I nearly put my lips to his. Did I get too close then? My stomach curls into a ball of fear. Maybe that’s why the breathing treatments only half work. Or maybe I’m more toxic than I think, and being with me is too much for his little body. I’ve tried to be so careful. I never kiss him on his face. We never share food or drinks. But maybe it’s not enough. Am I slowly killing him?

  “That can’t be right,” I say more to myself than to Deven. It seems so unlikely. A flicker of doubt passes over his face, but then his eyes are hard as flint.

  “No more lies, Marinda.” He starts to close the door.

  “Wait!” I call out. He raises his eyebrows. “You really are in danger,” I tell him. “Leave Sundari. Please.”

  He gives me a scowl. “Trust me,” he says. “I can take care of myself.”

  And then he slams the door in my face.

  I stumble back to Mani in stunned silence. He takes one look at me and throws his arms around my waist. “Don’t worry,” he says, like he’s the older sibling. “It will be okay.” But it won’t. How can I tell him that I could be to blame for his illness? My chin is resting on the top of his head and I have to resist the urge to push him away from me. How much contact is too much? Am I leaking poison from my palms? My breath? Will I have to be separated from Mani for him ever to get well? Gopal once told me that my mouth was poisonous because of the many doses of toxin slipped past my lips. It made them the deadliest part of me—but he never said they were the only deadly part. Kadru’s snakes feasted from my wrists and ankles. Maybe even holding Mani’s hand leaches poison into him. A sob rips from my throat and Mani pulls away, alarmed. I’m scaring him. I pull in a lungful of air and try to calm my breathing. I scrub at my eyes and force a smile.