Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness
Page 27
Ash pushed the gate open and walked up to the door, his footsteps crunching on the fresh snow.
He fished out his keys and entered the hall. This was it. Was he home?
There were Lucky’s wellies, but no riding boots. Her school hat hung on the radiator, but he couldn’t spot any riding helmet.
So far, so good. That didn’t slow his heart down any.
The kettle rattled and he heard the toaster pop. Lucks shook cereal into a bowl and he heard his dad ask what had happened to his watch.
Ash opened the kitchen door.
Mum looked at him, and sighed. “You’re dripping snow everywhere, Ash.”
“Why are you calling me Ash?”
She glanced at Dad, then back at Ash. “Because that’s your name?”
Ash. Not Ashoka. Ash grinned. “That’s totally right.”
“There it is,” said Dad as he collected his watch, his scratched and familiar Seiko, off the top of the fridge and clipped it on. “Late already.”
A portrait hung on the wall. It showed an Indian couple. The man stared most seriously at the camera, his hair thick and slick and combed with a razor-sharp side parting, his tie knotted tightly and his shirt spotless white. Next to him was a woman in a sari, a puja mark on her forehead and a large gold nose ring, the traditional wedding jewellery.
A fresh marigold garland hung over the picture.
Dad stood beside Ash and put an arm over his shoulder so they looked at the picture together. “I still miss them.”
“Me too,” said Ash.
They were here. His mum, his dad and his sister. Ash hugged his dad, squeezing him. He’d thought he’d lost them for ever. He felt reborn.
“What’s up, son?” said Dad.
Ash grinned. “There really is no place like home.”
“Get ready, Ash,” said Mum. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
Ash jumped three stairs at a time. He pulled off his running top and chucked it down. He would clean up afterwards. Honest. Out came one of his T-shirts.
He stopped. There was the faint outline of a skull upon his heart and a long, thin scar ran down his chest, from just above the solar plexus almost to his belly button. Then he put the T-shirt on. It fitted like a second skin.
He was home! He wanted to shout out and tell the world. Instead Ash did a little dance on the spot.
“You look exceedingly pleased with yourself,” said Parvati.
Now his grin almost split his face in two. “I wondered when you’d turn up.”
She wore a heavy coat and scarf and big boots. A pile of melting snow lay beneath the window where she’d crept in. She unbuttoned the coat and tossed it over the bed, adjusting the cuffs of her dark green shirt and smoothing out her long hair. Then she looked around his room. “It’s even messier than last time.”
“Well, I have been busy. With other stuff.”
“So it’s all back to normal?” she said.
“Sure is.”
“And what about Ashoka? What’ll happen to him?”
Ash paused. “Oh, he’ll settle down and live a long and happy life. With Gemma. They call their first daughter Parvati.”
“You’re joking.” She looked at Ash oddly. “Aren’t you?”
“I am a master of Time now. Past, present and future and all that.” He smirked. It wasn’t often he could surprise Parvati. But she recovered her composure almost instantly, with a huff.
“Hmm, there were moments I preferred the other version,” Parvati said. “At least he had some humility.”
“Sorry, but I did just repair Time. This qualifies as a Pretty Big Deal in anyone’s book.”
Parvati shook her head. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
“Nope. Not for any of my future incarnations. No matter how many Eternal Warriors come after me, I seriously doubt any will top this.”
“Glad to see you’ll remain your usual modest self.”
“But you’ll love me anyway, won’t you?”
She gasped. And Ash discovered demons could blush. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m pretty sure you do.”
“Honestly, you’re so utterly full of yourself, Ash Mistry.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘Ash Mistry, saviour of the universe’?”
Parvati smoothed her hair and brushed her coat again, composing herself. “I have better things to hear than you blowing your own trumpet. Goodbye.”
“Wait. When will I see you again?”
“Hopefully never. At least not in this lifetime.”
Ash grabbed her and kissed her. Well, he planted his lips firmly on hers and held her for a second or two while she squirmed. Then Parvati pushed herself off. “Honestly. You and your hormones.”
“I’d do anything for you, Parvati. You know that. We’ve been side by side for thousands of years, but never together. Let’s fix that.”
“Ash!” shouted his mum. “You’ll be late!”
Ash gestured to the door. “Come downstairs and meet my parents.”
“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” said Parvati.
“We could hold hands, if you want.” He held his out.
“Shut up, Ash. Just shut up.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
I started Ash almost twenty years ago. That was when I first visited an old maharajah’s palace in Varanasi. Even then I knew I’d come back to it.
So there are a lot of people I’d like to thank for keeping the faith on this long, long journey.
Sarah Davies, my agent at the Greenhouse Literary Agency, has been an epic supporter of all things Ash from the moment I pitched it to her. Her wisdom has taken Ash to heights I’d never have managed on my own. Needless to say, Sarah rocks.
Nick Lake at HarperCollins is way too talented for his own good and I was very lucky to land him as my editor. He and Lily Morgan have flooded me with the most excellent advice, and if there is any real depth or meaning to this trilogy, it’s down to them. I’m actually very shallow.
And a mighty HUZZAH to the rest of the HarperCollins team. I’ll mention Ann-Janine, Rachel, Mary and Hannah, but there are plenty more and you are all on my Christmas-card list.
Huge thanks to the team at Foyles Bookshop: Jen, Sam, Neil and Jo. They’ve patiently listened to Ash exploits and guided him (and me) all the way from first drafts to the shelf.
Jane, my office manager. To John, my harshest and best critic. To Kristian and to all the friends I’ve made along the way at schools, libraries and bookshops. Ash couldn’t have done it without you.
My parents opened my eyes to what was out there, and my sisters have been companions along the way. And finally, my thanks to my wife and children. You are my greatest inspiration.
Also in the ASH MISTRY series:
Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress
Ash Mistry and the City of Death
Other titles by Sarwat Chadda:
Devil’s Kiss
Dark Goddess
Copyright
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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Visit us on the web at
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Visit Sarwat Chadda at
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Copyright © Sarwat Chadda 2013
Sarwat Chadda asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Source ISBN: 9780007447350
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007447343
Version 1
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