by T. G. Ayer
Bells jingled around her ankles and bangles of every color adorned her wrists. Fingertips painted the rusty orange of henna, with a large red dot in the middle of her palm.
The contestant placed her hands together, bowed and moved fluidly into position, settling the outer part of her hands on each of her hips, waiting, head tilted to the side, her knees bent in a soft stance. To the left of the stage, a small group of children were ready to play their instruments, from drums to violin to cymbals.
Although the children were young - ranging in age from six to twelve - they were extremely talented. The quality of music they created would equal anything produced in any of the great studios in the world.
Drums sang their staccato beat, and a flute sang its sad song.
The girl began to move, her feet hitting the wood of the stage in time with the music.
And Maya felt the pull of the energy.
She leaned forward, almost falling over when she felt her dad’s arm curl around her waist. Maya held onto his arm, gripping back tightly, praying she didn't pass out.
"Maya, what's the matter?" her dad’s voice was rough in her ear.
Maya shook her head. "Not sure," she whispered.
"Heatstroke?" he asked, looking around for Maya's bottle of water. He grabbed it from the floor between their feet and handed it over but Maya shook her head.
"No, I don't think this is heatstroke. Seems to happen every time I either listen to music or watch a dance. It feels like I'm connected with it after that first dream."
Although she knew it sounded insane, Maya described the experience she'd had in the Apollo Theatre, and again in Mexico. And she understood the concerned and angry looks he was giving her.
"Why didn't you tell us about this?" he asked. His grip tightened on Maya's arm. Fear of losing his daughter gave him a strength he was unaware of. Maya patted her dad’s fingers.
“I’m fine. I promise. I have it under control.”
“Maya, you have no idea what you’re dealing with. None of us do. How can you have something under control when you don't know what game you're playing?" Her dad glared at her, his eyes flashing. He looked back at Maya and smiled sadly. "Everything that's happened already, and everything that is happening, is merely an amalgamation of a number of events that began way before you were even born."
He sighed and squeezed Maya's waist a little tighter.
"You are caught in a battle not of your own making. It's a war between anger, hatred, love and disappointment, and fear. Not to mention politics. We knew when you came into your power, your ability would represent something other more ambitious people would want to possess., something many would envy, and most importantly something so many would fear. It's one of the reasons we tried to protect you as long as possible. The reason we bound your ability for as long as we could."
"But you can't protect me forever, Dad.”
He snorted. "As if I don't know that by now."
Around them applause rose, bringing them back to awareness. The competition had come to an end, and the last dancer had won. Maya surveyed the group of finalists and made a note of names and faces. Standing on the stage were four possible future victims.
Maya was more than relieved as they got to their feet and descended the bandstand. She wasn't sure if her relief was because she could finally get out of the heat, or if it was at her escape from her dad’s dead-serious talk.
As she stepped off the last riser, Maya watched as the organizers went over to the girl, congratulating and presenting her with a bouquet of flowers and a piece of paper which was probably a cheque.
Babaji Mohandas was on the stage with them, beaming over his rotund stomach as he congratulated the girl.
As Maya headed to the exit, the priest looked up and met her gaze head-on.
Weird.
Chapter 35
MAYA WAS RESTLESS.
She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. Her mind was filled with convoluted thoughts. Claudia’s face in the memories of a dead girl, Maya furious at Nik for not being there when she needed him, the staring eyes of a man being eaten by Maya’s fire, the glistening of blood on the feet of too many dead girls.
And the sound of drums, echoing around her head.
She longed for her mom and Joss and for Sabala’s company, hoping whatever they were doing they were safe. Chances were that island life would be way more calming than the city of Mumbai.
She hoped wherever Ria was, she’d be safe until she decided what she wanted to do. And she prayed Claudia would lay off for a bit, just until the Raos and their friends could figure out what their next step was. She knew her dad had spoken to McCullough, and the man had sounded strained, as if he too had little choice in the way events were playing out. Maya was beginning to think the persecution of her family went beyond just her inability to follow the rules. Something else was going on and Maya had to wonder if it had anything to do with Claude and the fear she’d seen in her aunts eyes.
Add to the mix one strange priest whose sage benevolence should have been a comfort but was instead a source of suspicion. Either that or Maya was becoming far too paranoid for her own mental stability.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, she also had school to think about but with the sudden relocation Maya’s brain was taking a vacation. Not that she was surprised considering all the craziness around her. She would be forgiven for needing time out from the mundane.
At last she sighed, annoyed and frustrated as she got to her feet. In the dark, she couldn't make out where she was going until her toe stubbed on a stone tile in the floor.
Maya froze.
There were no stone tiles in her room.
Maya stared around her, sensing the space, the length and breadth of it. She was no longer in her room. The shadows around her coalesced as her eyes grew accustomed to the light.
She stood in the central hall at the temple where the competition had been held.
Maya's heart began to race as she hurried forward, picking up speed as she went. But something seemed to hold her back, forcing her to walk sedately.
Heel to toe, heel to toe.
Bells jingled at her ankles.
No. Not again.
Maya struggled to pull herself out of the dream. She knew what was going to happen. There was no other reason for her to be here. But she needed to wake up, to alert her parents, so they could send someone to help this girl.
But Maya had no control of where she was or of what she was doing. And when she heard the first notes of music drift toward her, she knew it was inevitable.
There was something she was meant to make a note of, but she had trouble concentrating. The strength, the pull of the music was so strong, so intoxicating.
Maya stiffened.
The music.
Where was it coming from?
She scanned the temple hall, but it remained stubbornly empty and annoyingly filled with shadows. A music player could be anywhere, hidden behind a column, or stuck in an alcove.
All Maya knew was the young girl hadn't brought the music with her.
Maya felt her foot move, hit the ground, felt the girl begin to dance, begin to spin, using her feet to produce music that matched the sound of the drums filling the air.
Maya struggled for breath as she remained bound to the girl as she danced, faster and faster. Perspiration coated her skin, gathered and trickled down Maya's back. She sensed she'd probably left her bedroom by now, and was spinning around the house. The conscious part of her brain hoped she wouldn't take a swan-dive down the stairs. The rest of her remained immersed in the beauty of the music.
And suddenly she was whirling around the hall, her feet on fire, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Blinking away the perspiration that dripped into her eyes, Maya took a ragged breath. Awareness came in waves, and in that precious moment she remembered her fire. She had the ability to heal herself. If she was possessing the body of the girl, maybe her fir
e would help keep her alive.
Maya pulled fire from her solar plexus and fed it to her feet, to the muscles in her body that were beginning to strain and tire from the constant dancing.
The power pulsed through her, filling her muscles with heat, healing her pain, and yet she also felt the energy fade away, siphoned off by some unseen power.
Again she tried, sending rapid bursts of fire into her limbs and arms, willing it to feed through to the dancer.
Still she felt the energy glance off the girl, as if she was protected by a barrier of power.
Tears burned at Maya's eyes. Her connection with the girls wasn't a physical one.
She had to wonder if her connection to the girls were in real time, or a premonition of the dancer's horror.
At last, spent, exhausted, and breathing her last, Maya fell to the floor, her cheek slamming into the ground. She lay on the cold stone, staring at her fingers, at the hennaed fingertips, and the painted circle in her palm.
When Maya woke she was stiff and sore, her body aching from the effort of the dream. And from sleeping on the cold stone of the ground floor living room.
The grey light seeping in through the cracks in the drapes told her it was around seven in the morning. Maya blinked, understanding what had awakened her. Footsteps in the upstairs hall. Now, she wasn't surprised when her dad's unshod feet appeared a few inches from her and he fell to his knees, phone in hand, his face gray.
"What happened?" asked Maya, croaking on a strained and painfully dry throat. She groaned, trying to sit upright despite the pain in her limbs. Her question was merely an automatic response, something people said to fill in painful silence.
She already knew what he was going to say.
Dev helped her sit up, rubbing her arms and back to bring some warmth into her flesh. "There's been another death. But I think you already know that."
He bent to study her face, his eyes filled with worry as he palmed her cheek.
"What did you see?" he asked softly.
Maya swallowed, her lips dry and cracked. "The winner is dead. At the temple." Tears fell from Maya's eyes and she didn't even care that her dad was watching her cry like a baby.
He gathered her close and held her tight as she mourned for the girl, as she cursed her inability to save the poor wretches she watched die.
At last she ceased sobbing and sniffed, pulling back and trying to regain some composure. Dev helped her to her feet. "Come. Neither of us have the time to sit around crying about things we can't change. Right now, we need to get to the scene. Nik’s contact here got the call from one of the guests at the competition. Good thing too since the police wouldn’t immediately volunteer the information to us.”
"Any guesses as to why Babaji didn't call you straight away?"
"Probably embarrassed it happened in his own house?" suggested her dad as they hurried up the stairs.
"We'll find out soon enough," said Maya rushing inside her room. She grabbed clothing and towels and scurried to the bathroom down the hall. Her shower lasted four minutes and twenty seconds and she dressed as fast as her ruined feet would allow.
A small part of her registered that her dad hadn't even checked her feet and she wondered if he too was becoming immune to the craziness that was Maya's life.
Suran dropped Maya and her dad a few blocks from the temple, preferring not to get too close himself. He'd made a face when Maya asked him why, and she'd left it at that. Demon or not he deserved to talk when he was ready. Already he'd relaxed a little more, as he'd found Maya and her family a little more accepting of Rakshasas than most people he encountered.
Not wanting to terminate him on the spot certainly helped matters.
Father and daughter walked in silence, weaving past spice merchants and shoemakers, fresh meat vendors and cow pat stalls. The air was a pungent mix of fragrance and stench. And Maya wrinkled her nose, a headache already taking over her senses.
The market was filled with people, shoulder-to-shoulder with barely an inch between them, and yet they moved along with such speed Maya was certain if one unfortunate soul should trip he'd end up trampled before anyone realized what was happening.
Suppressing a shudder, Maya turned the corner towards the temple and immediately slowed her stride. The street was clogged with people, many milling around, faces filled with fear and grief.
"Gosh. They all look like they're in mourning."
"They probably are," murmured her dad, shouldering his way through the throng.
“Fans in mourning,” said Maya.
“Not much different from talent shows back home.”
Maya raised her eyebrows, conceding the point even though her dad had already turned his back and was hurrying across the drive leading inside the temple.
A pair of policemen guarded the gate, allowing only officials inside, which was likely what was increasing the commotion. A mix of devotees and mourners waiting for access to be granted.
Dev flashed their ID's and the policemen waved them through, staring at Maya with much curiosity and even more judgement. It wasn't often, if ever, that they'd see a teenaged girl with Interpol credentials.
When that would backfire on them, Maya didn't know.
Maya's heart began to thud harder as they passed the open area where the stage had been erected yesterday. She knew what she was going to see, and every atom within her refused to keep walking.
But Maya had done this once before. Although the scene at the Apollo hadn't been one she'd seen in her dreams, Maya tried to convince herself it wouldn't be so bad. That she was working herself up over nothing.
Maybe when they got there the scene would be nothing like her dream and she'd have to accept her nightmare was just a figment of her over-active imagination.
But when they stepped into the cool interior of the main temple hall, Maya's throat constricted.
She swallowed a gasp, but her dad sensed her shock. "What's wrong Maya? Is this what you dreamed of?"
She nodded. "Definitely not my over-active imagination at work here." Her words were soft but Dev frowned. So she nodded, saying, "It is . . . the place I saw in the dream. I recognize every detail of the architecture." Maya scanned the hall. The dark height of the ceilings that disappeared into the giant pyramid ceiling. The columns and alcoves bearing hundreds of images of the gods.
She'd seen them all in her dream.
Chapter 36
MAYA SWALLOWED HARD and blinked back tears. "I don't get it though. I've never set foot in the inner temple before. Yesterday we only entered the auditorium area out front. We didn’t hang around, remember.”
"Maybe you saw it online?" her dad suggested.
Maya waggled a finger at the signs beside the door.
Strictly No Photographs.
"Not much chance of seeing images of the interior of this temple online considering all those signs. Didn't you see the two tourists arguing with the temple security yesterday when their cameras were confiscated."
Dev nodded, although he didn't look pleased. "So definitely not available for view in the public domain."
"Nope. Had I seen it somewhere and retained the details, then maybe I could explain why this place is so familiar. But I can't."
And it scared her.
Sensing her fear, Dev threw an arm around her shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. He released her quickly and she was glad for both the hug and its brevity.
Heads turned as they stepped deeper inside the temple, and one of the cops got to his feet, his face reddening with anger at the sight of the interlopers.
"You cannot be here. Please leave."
Dev waved the ID's again and the cop seemed to calm down. Then he glanced at Maya. "What is she doing here?” he asked suspiciously, giving her a head-to-toe examination. He was glaring at her as if she didn't belong and Maya knew why.
She'd scanned the gathered police contingent and found not one female among them. So this was definitely a male-dominated police force. Her dad
would be in for a struggle to get her access.
The policeman began to shake his head. "No women allowed here." He waved a hand to indicate the crime scene.
Maya suppressed her irritation. Good thing her mom wasn’t here. She’d have given the man a piece of her mind.
Maya let her dad deal with the policeman while her eyes traveled over the scene. The familiar streaks of blood, the body lying prone, hastily covered by an old white sari - probably something the priests used to dress the statues of the female goddesses.
An arm lay uncovered, palm facing the light that snaked in from a window behind Maya. Maya's heart plunged.
The center of the girl’s palm blazed with a bright red dot. The winner of yesterday's competition lay dead, not twenty-four hours from her last performance.
Her last public performance.
Not much more than an hour ago the girl had danced herself to death right here. And as Maya walked slowly along the wall, as if drawn closer by a magnetic force, she sensed that the energy still emanated from the girl's corpse.
Whoever the sorcerer was, he was certainly onto something with harvesting energy from dancers. It writhed within Maya, pulling at her senses.
With a soft sigh she fell to the stone floor, her limbs suddenly numb. A shout rose not far off and footsteps echoed within the temple as two sets of feet made their way to Maya.
"You see. This is the reason we don't allow ladies at crime scenes. All they do is collapse and make more work for us." The man sounded irritated and vindicated by Maya's faint and she wished with all her might she hadn't managed to prove him right in his thinking so quickly.
Instead, she rose to her elbows and glanced at her dad who'd knelt down beside her.
"Did you see something?" he asked softly.
The question halted the policeman in mid-rant and he paused, waiting for Maya to respond.
