The Hand of Kali Box Set Vol 2

by T. G. Ayer

  "What is it, Maya?" asked her dad, concern deepening his voice. She was certainly worrying him today.

  The dream began with her walking into the temple, then the music had started, but Maya hadn’t seen the dancer use any device to play her music.

  It's why she'd assumed the dancer had an iPod armband. But now Maya wasn’t so sure.

  Dev made a second circuit of the crime scene, studying the grass along the edges of the stone paving. "I can't see anything here. We should come back in the daylight, because right now we're definitely going to be missing details."

  Maya nodded, then glanced over at their demon driver who was currently leaning against the car, arms folded, watching her and her dad inspect the scene. He’d refused to come any closer saying the area close to the well was warded against demons.

  Odd that Sabala hadn’t been able to take them to Mexico for the same reason. Was there a connection to the deaths and the wards against demons?

  Maya stuck a thumb in his direction. "Maybe you could ask him to look. Demons apparently have good night-vision."

  Maya was only half joking, but Dev headed to the demon and made his request, and Maya watched the Rakshasa begin traversing the grass, keeping a good distance from the well.

  While he searched, Maya paid attention to the scene again, trying to build up a picture of what had happened. Everything had fallen into place besides the music. Maya could almost track how long it took for the girl to die.

  It was a strange feeling, the ability to slip into a vision, but Maya found she could see it, almost the way you'd watch a movie.

  "She walked in from over there," said Maya, pointing the way they’d come. She saw her father's head bob up from inspecting something on the stones. He frowned at her, his expression odd.

  Worried maybe?

  But she didn't pay too close attention. The man was always worried about her. Refocusing on the scene, she turned and pointed at the pathway from the tiny car lot.

  "She walked straight here and took her position. It doesn't look like she stopped at all to put on music, so I'm betting it was some music player strapped to her arm with an elastic band or something. Either that, or the music came down from the heavens."

  Though she was being snarky, Maya had the strangest feeling she may just be onto something. But she refused to dwell on it. Should the music have not been real, then all these deaths meant more than Maya could handle.

  She inhaled sharply and took a few steps closer, her finger trailing air, following the next few movements the girl had made. "There, she began to dance. Her movements were light and smooth. This part of the dance was filled with calm and serenity. She was . . . at peace."

  Maya stopped speaking. What was she saying? Could she really sense the emotions of the girl, read her feelings as well as her movements?

  "Maya?" asked her dad, coming closer. "How do you know all this?"

  Maya shifted her gaze slowly to his. "I can feel her emotions. It's as if she left a trace of her energy behind, and that energy is filled with everything she felt."

  "Are you saying her emotion was bound to the energy?"

  Maya nodded, understanding where he was going. "You think he wasn't just after the energy. That he was siphoning off the passion and the joy, all the good emotions?"

  Dev shook his head. "I suspect he either wants all the emotions as long as they are amplified by the passion of the dance, or-"

  "Or he wants the fear and terror that is amplified by what he makes her experience. All that fear filling up the energy in the air around her . . . It makes more sense that he was after the fear and sorrow, rather than the joy."

  "Never underestimate the power of positive emotion," said a voice as a man appeared out of the shadows.

  Had Maya been any other girl she would have shrieked with fear.

  She didn't, which seemed to pique the man's curiosity. His salt and pepper eyebrows, generously bushy as they were, lifted a fraction of an inch.

  The lazy smile on his lips, almost hidden by an equally bushy, greying moustache, appeared strained, and Maya wondered if he was disappointed that he hadn't succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of her.

  Now, she watched him warily, as her father walked around her and headed for the man.

  A glance over her shoulder confirmed the demon guard had pulled his glamor over him and was standing very still beneath one of the giant banana trees that circled the plot of land.

  Curious.

  What had given the demon the impression that he needed to hide from this man?

  The intruder drew closer and Maya heaved a sigh of relief as she recognized pale priestly robes; a dhoti that hung to the floor and seemed to strain to contain his large stomach, a flabby bare chest sprinkled with graying hairs, and a necklace of rough brown beads.

  White ash stained his forehead, along with a spot of red powder.

  His thick arms were bare too, although he wore a thin shawl of cotton thrown over one shoulder. In Maya's opinion he should have put the shawl to good use and hidden those giant sized arms.

  She calmed herself and followed her father to the priest. The old man greeted them with palms together and a brief bow, although he didn't lose the strained smile. Maya and her father returned the physical greeting, accompanying it with the verbal.

  "Namaste to you," the priest smiled and bowed before them again, this time lower. Oddly, Maya got the impression this man didn't do much bowing and scraping. He came across as wise and ancient, almost humble. But his eyes implied something else entirely.

  She shifted her gaze to the floor.

  "May I ask your interest in the well?" he said, his voice low and gentle, as if coaxing a frightened child. Despite his low tone, his voice echoed around the field and within the well.

  "We were sent to investigate the death of the girl." Dev reached for his pocket on automatic, probably going for his wallet and his identification as a KALIMA investigator. He found them empty.

  He made a show of patting his pockets, and glancing over his shoulder at Maya. Maya smiled and retrieved the wallets - which Nik had given them - from her jacket pocket.

  Nik's identification claimed they worked for Interpol, for an arm tasked with investigating the stranger crimes.

  The old man glanced briefly at the ID's; both Maya's and her dad's, pretending it was unnecessary to see them, yet Maya made a note of the man's keen eyes as they scanned each of the cards.

  "I am Mohanraj Mohandas, but you can call me Babaji, everyone does. I oversee the temples in the nearby town. If I can be of any help?" he asked, tilting his head.

  Dev smiled, appearing grateful. "Thank you so much. We were hoping to find out if anyone heard music being played here at the time of the girl’s death?"

  Babaji Mohandas's face crumpled as he squinted at the moon, thinking back. Maya couldn't be sure if it was an act, or if he was really trying to retrieve information for them.

  At any rate, he came up empty, succeeding in making Maya more suspicious than she was before he'd squinted at the sky. Why couldn't he have just said no? Why the whole act of trying to be helpful?

  In fact, he could totally be the one to help them solve the case. Although Maya wasn't convinced.

  Not yet.

  Chapter 33

  THE PRIEST SMILED benevolently, and beckoned Maya and her dad to follow him back to his car. He’d parked a distance away which explained why neither Maya nor Dev had heard him arrive.

  Seemed the old man was uncomfortable near the scene of the girl's death. Odd considering most priests officiate at funerals too, so death shouldn’t be an issue. Maybe it was a personal thing.

  “I will help you find the information you need. I know many, many people in the surrounding towns. And if I ask they will be only too happy to help." He sounded proud of himself.

  Maya couldn’t get over how much the priest reminded her of the quintessential Bollywood bad guy. If she didn’t know he was just a priest she’d be wondering if he
was behind it all.

  Maya's father thanked him, stressing that even the smallest piece of information could help.

  "Please. Don't worry about it. Why don't you come to the temple tomorrow morning? We are having a celebration. And perhaps you will be interested in the entertainment?" His smile set the hairs on the back of Maya's neck on end.

  She almost expected him to twirl his gray moustache and sneer evilly.

  Maya swallowed her amusement as her dad turned to her, and asked, "Think you'd be interested?"

  "What's the entertainment?" asked Maya, glancing over his shoulder and meeting the old man's eyes.

  The priest smiled. "We have a dancing competition. Something like your X Factor. Sort of a talent show."

  Maya pasted on a smile, trying to be polite. "Sure. I’m interested. We can go along and have a look." She paused and addressed Babaji. "Is the program very long?"

  She tried to keep a neutral expression. He'd thrown her with the mention of dancing.

  Now, she was beginning to wonder if the talent show had anything to do with the deaths of the girls in the area.

  "Not too long. Maybe two hours?"

  Maya wanted to roll her eyes. In Indian time, two hours usually meant five.

  She smiled politely. "Of course, we'd be interested. Is the competition something that happens often around here?"

  The priest nodded. "We have a few. Our young people are very much influenced by popular Western TV shows. The participants have very . . . rabid fans here.”

  He seemed proud of the rabid nature of the dancer’s fans.

  Maya nodded. This was the land that had been the source of stories like Slumdog Millionaire, and The House of Pi. She knew very well how deep the Western influence had penetrated into Indian culture. Not that she was complaining.

  "Any recent competitions?" Maya asked.

  She recalled the mention in Nik's files of the recent deaths of competition entrants. Seemed a few winners hadn't expected their placement to put them on the radar of a killer.

  Babaji squinted as he considered the question. "Yes, yes, there have been at least half a dozen. Here in India we are very culturally inclined." His smile was placid and yet Maya was tempted to wonder if he was implying she was not culturally inclined. And for some reason the thought made her bristle.

  Get a grip, Maya. He doesn’t mean anything by it.

  She ignored him. "Any of those competitions connected to tomorrow's event?"

  Babaji gave a nod that was almost a circular movement of his head. Maya assumed he meant 'yes'. "This is the second round. Second and final. There was a talent show two weeks ago, and the top four artists were sent to participate in this competition. It's a very big thing around here."

  Maya glanced at her dad, and she could tell he knew where she was going with her questions. He gave a tiny shake of his head, telling her she should keep the line of suspicion to herself.

  She found no reason to disagree.

  Maya smile politely. "Thank you, Babaji. Thank you for your help."

  The old man smiled benevolently, then faced her dad, effectively dismissing her. Maya tried not to let her irritation show as she walked back to wait in the car.

  Once inside, she was surprised to see the demon was absent. A discreet scan of the surrounding confirmed the poor guy was still waiting quietly in the tree-line. She caught his eye and sent him a questioning glance. The demon shook his head and raised his finger to his lips.

  Maya shifted her gaze from him and found herself staring directly at Babaji Mohandas. As he spoke with her dad, his gaze strayed off into the distance, in the direction of the demon.

  Had he been watching her while she'd signaled the demon? The old man had been watching her for some reason and that gave her more than just the creeps.

  Babaji Mohandas stared into the trees for a while, but didn't react. Maya's father continued to speak, but from his expression she could tell he was well aware of what was going on around him.

  He knew, just as Maya did, that sometimes it paid to play things down.

  After thanking the old man for his help, Dev rounded off their discussion. The old man’s eyes never left Dev's back, trailing him as he joined Maya and stood beside her open door.

  He lowered his head and pretended to rummage around on the seat beside him.

  "He still watching?" Dev lifted one of the folders and, all business-like, lifted it to Maya and pointed at one of the pages. "Let's wait until he leaves."

  Through her lashes, Maya watched the old man stare at them through narrowed eyes. Then he seemed to have had enough. He straightened, his features tightening as if suddenly angry as he stalked back to his car and drove off without a glance.

  Of course, Maya didn't miss the fact that his eyes were on the rearview mirror the entire time, watching them even as he disappeared down the dirt road.

  Once he'd headed into the street and disappeared, their demon driver hurried back to the car.

  "Why did you hide from him?" asked Maya meeting the demon's burnt orange gaze.

  "Because men like him have a tendency to be able to see through our glamour, even if it's just enough to see something isn't quite right. I wasn't in the mood to be exterminated today."

  Maya choked back her laughter as she met her dad's amused eyes.

  “And of course the fact the well and the areas closest to it are warded against demons. Someone wants to keep us out.”

  "Sorry about that," Maya apologized, feeling slightly responsible. "Do you think he saw you?"

  The demon pursed his lips. "I'm not sure. But I wouldn't place any bets on it. He saw you. So you'd better be aware of him."

  Maya studied him for a moment, his profile highlighted by shadows, his high cheekbones appearing even harsher. Still, he was one of the better looking demons she'd seen so far. In full Demon form, she might disagree.

  "What's your name?"

  The demon put the car in drive and looked back at her using the rearview mirror again. Unlike Babaji Mohandas, the demon's expression was far more human. He smiled hesitantly, off balance by Maya's question. Then, he said, "I'm Suran."

  "Hello, Suran."

  He smiled and nodded at her, then drove them back to the safe house. He used a roundabout route just to be safe. Any other time Maya would have thought it completely unnecessary. But not today. Not after the strange encounter with Babaji Mohandas.

  Back at the safe house, Maya pondered the strange meeting, and the possibility of a missing music player. Now, the thought of the dancing competition piqued Maya’s curiosity. Maybe she could learn something from the event. Something that would help them in their investigation.

  "We're not here for the entertainment people." She mumbled to herself.

  It was extremely odd that as soon as we investigate the death scene, we are invited to a dance competition of all things?

  "Yeah," said Maya to herself. "Something's fishy in the state of Mumbai."

  Chapter 34

  THE DAY WAS hot and sticky, and Maya sat beside her dad on a rickety bandstand, shading her eyes with her hands. Even the sunglasses they wore did little to protect the glare.

  The performance auditorium of sorts had been erected to the left of the main temple area. They’d been directed past the worshipping area. Maya made a mental note to ask to see the inside, more out of curiosity because the temple, with its high pyramid ceilings looked particularly ancient, and she loved visiting historical sites.

  Beside her, Dev was struggling to see the screen of his phone in the bright sunlight and had to dial up the power just to make out the words. Maya shifted as perspiration dripped down her back and dotted her upper lip.

  She’d worn a simple shift and baggy pants called a Punjabi, and was thankful for the choice of the cotton. The fabric was unexpectedly cool against her skin, and the long sleeves protected her arms from the burning sun. Maya had resorted to wrapping the long scarf around her head and across her cheeks, protecting it from sunburn.r />
  They'd watched performance after performance, some mediocre, some good and a few amazing. They were now in the third hour of the show. A show that was only supposed to be two hours long.

  As uncomfortable as she was, Maya wasn't sure she enjoyed being right about Indian time.

  She glanced over at her dad, who gave her a worried look. He passed his phone to her and as she read the email her stomach tightened.

  Babaji Mohandas had confirmed - in correspondence with Dev via email no less - that nobody had heard anything. Although Maya had to wonder whether she could believe the old man, he was well aware that nothing was stopping them from questioning the neighborhood themselves.

  Now, they had to assume nobody had heard the music. Maya swiped to the second email and her dad made a circling motion with his finger. This email made her feel even worse. It was from the local police superintendent confirming no musical recording or playing device had been found on the deceased, or in the area around the body. The tone of the email made Maya wonder if the local cops didn't appreciate her dad nosing around in their case.

  Either way, they were here to stay until they had enough information. The police confirmation meant there was no music player. As Maya sat there in the sunshine, she groped back into her memory of the dream.

  She immersed herself in it, concentrating on building a better picture of the body of the dancer. The area surrounding the girl. She listened, tilting her head, trying to feel, as much as recall, where the music had come from.

  The sounds had been haunting, echoing around her and she could've sworn it had echoed around the walls within the temple.

  Could Maya have imagined the music?

  She could only guess. Her memory was beginning to play tricks on her and she was starting to doubt herself.

  What was the point of picking the experience apart when there was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening again?

  Pulling herself from her self-pity, Maya concentrated on the stage, and the people surrounding the performance area. The crowd applauded politely as the next entrant took the stage. A cute young girl, with a button nose, darkly kohled eyes and an artfully made up face stepped forward. She wore silk dancing garments, and her head gleamed with the color of hundreds of small, closely woven flowers.