The Apsara Chronicles Boxed Set

by T. G. Ayer

  Vee took another slice and shoved a bite into her mouth, her aim to avoid the topic for as long as possible. But in the end, the pizza was gone, and she stared at the cola, unsure if she could use the drink as a delaying tactic. That was more like torture.

  Syama let out a sigh, and Vee looked up to catch her roll her eyes. “For Yama’s sake, I know you don’t like the stuff. Here,” she grabbed a small bottle of flavored water from the grocery bag at her side and held it out.

  Vee’s eyes narrowed. “You had this all along?” She opened it and took a long sip, relieved to have been saved from having to drink the cola.

  “Yes. I do believe we have reached a point in our relationship where we can be honest with each other.” As Syama spoke, Vee found Akil looking over at her, his expression contemplative and concerned. Vee knew there was a conversation in their future. One that didn’t include Syama.

  “I do believe we are at that point.” Vee grinned and said, “So yes, I hate the stuff. Tastes like cough medicine.” Vee gave a delicate shudder, sending her two friends into bursts of laughter.

  “Good. More for me.” Syama smirked, then lifted her chin at Vee. “So, spill. Or someone else will soon enough.”

  Vee sighed and gave the pair a rundown of bhayakara and pey demons, unknown cigar-smoking voyeurs, deadly cabdrivers, and asshole detectives, not to mention the murder-abduction case. What she didn’t talk about was her mother’s revelation of what Radhima had been through. That was not her story to tell.

  Syama’s mouth was agape. “We leave you alone for a few days, and everything goes to crap?”

  Vee swallowed the temptation to remind the hellhound that her absence had been way more than a couple of days. Instead, she shrugged. “Never let it be said that a day in the life of Vee Shankar was ever boring.”

  “You can say that again,” the hellhound mumbled before reaching for a donut. “One thing is for certain, though…”

  “Which is?” asked Vee.

  “You’re not going anywhere without us from here on out,” Syama said, her eyes glinting.

  Vee didn’t respond. The pair had been tasked with her protection. She didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, but she didn’t feel the need to decline their protection either. So she didn’t respond and ate marshmallows instead.

  A heavy silence fell over the gym, pregnant with so many questions that Vee decided she couldn’t wait any longer. “So. You guys going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just that we’ve been through a very strange experience and we’re just in recovery mode. But that does not mean we won’t be keeping an eye on you. No shirking of duties here.”

  “Says the person that was out like a light for three hours solid.” Akil’s tone was dry.

  Vee gave a mock gasp, holding her hand in front of her mouth, eyes wide in horror. “You slept for three whole hours?” She was a little surprised as Syama didn’t require much sleep. She tended to pass the time—which Vee spent sleeping—doing other things like reading books to occupy her time. “Are you okay?”

  Akil cleared his throat. “Only the fact that she was captured and interrogated, and almost starved to death over a period of two weeks.”

  Vee lifted her gaze to the owl shifter’s face. He seemed to be taking Syama’s ordeal very hard, but Vee wasn’t surprised. Though the two hadn’t hit it off at their first meeting, they’d formed a fast friendship and had vowed to remain at Vee’s side no matter what. Syama had disappeared without a word, which had worried Vee enough to have to ask Akil to go and look for her.

  Vee opened her mouth to ask what had happened, but Akil got to his feet. “You need to get some rest,” he said. Only when Vee looked up did she realize that he was talking to Syama.

  The hellhound’s eyes widened, flashing with annoyance, but then her irritation faded and she sighed. “Can’t argue with that.” She got to her feet and dusted her butt off. When she bent to gather the detritus of their late-night picnic, Akil brushed her away.

  “Bed,” he said, the syllable ringing through the gym.

  Vee’s eyebrows lifted a little, but she remained silent as Syama wiggled her fingers in a goodnight wave and then shimmered away into nothing.

  Akil was busy filling his bag with empty drink cans, and donut and chocolate bar wrappings.

  “Are you two okay?” Vee asked softly.

  His spine stiffened, and he grabbed the pizza boxes and straightened. Taking a long breath, he turned to Vee. “I’m fine. She’ll be fine.”

  “What is it you are not telling me?” Vee spoke softly, hoping the hurt she felt hadn’t filtered through to her question.

  Akil’s head snapped up, his eyes widened just enough for Vee to know that he had heard. He shook his head. “It’s not that we don’t want to tell you.” He sighed, his eyes casting about as if he was searching out a reason, something that would appease Vee. Then he sighed. “It is a long tale. She has been through a lot. She will tell you. I know it. It is just not my truth to tell.”

  Vee bit her lip, considering Akil’s position. “I understand. I guess I’ll just have to wait until she is ready to talk to me about it.”

  Akil gave a rueful smile. He seemed guarded, as if he wanted to tell Vee, but something held him back.

  Vee walked over to him and patted his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Akil. Syama should be happy to call you a friend. I know I am.” She squeezed his shoulder, then walked over to the stairs. Perhaps it was Syama who had to tell Vee her story herself.

  And Vee would just have to wait.

  No matter how worried Vee was about her hellhound sidekick, no matter how impatient she was to know the details, she had no choice. Syama would come to Vee when she was ready.

  “I wanted to tell you.” Akil’s voice rang out behind Vee. She paused, one foot on the first riser, and looked over her shoulder. “I want to tell you,” he said softly, his face contorted with so many emotions that Vee was unable to put a finger on one that stood out. Frustration, grief, confusion, hurt. The amalgamation of emotional turmoil the kid was experiencing struck Vee deep within her gut.

  Vee forced a smile onto her face and shook her head. “It’s not for you to tell,” Vee said keeping her tone neutral. “She’ll come around in her own time.”

  Akil let out a sigh, the strain on his face and body visibly departing.

  Vee shook her head then. “Just make sure you take good care of her,” Vee said, then hurried up the stairs.

  She heard Akil’s voice as she reached the landing.

  “I am trying, but she’s a pain in the ass.”

  Chapter 72

  Vee felt like she had just fallen asleep when her phone buzzed. She groaned as she forced her head off the softness of her pillow—her skull felt too heavy, as if even the muscles in her neck were resisting her efforts to move.

  She reached out at the nightstand—narrowly missed knocking her lamp over—and grabbed the phone, muttering curses at the device. Squinting at the brightly-lit screen, Vee swiped the notification to find a text message from Detective Monroe.

  Would you be happy to meet?

  What an odd text? Happy to meet? A frown spread across Vee’s forehead as she sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. She sent a reply asking for a location, and within seconds Monroe named The Lucky Clover, a dingy bar over in Hunts Point. It struck Vee as extremely odd that Monroe would hang out at a bar which Vee knew was frequented by a lot of supernaturals. Mostly of the demon persuasion.

  It occurred to Vee—only momentarily—that Andrea Monroe could possibly be a supernatural herself and Vee would not have known it. It made Vee a little uncomfortable to know that she didn’t qualify as supernatural on a stupid technicality. Although, being a deific being should be better than just being supernatural.

  Vee texted ‘On my way’ and then rolled over and groaned into her pillow. Going out at two in the morning wasn’t something she wanted to do, but she knew a thing or two about fostering good rel
ationships with other law enforcement officers.

  Monroe had always given Vee a hard time—ever since day one—but even now Vee knew it was in her own best interest to meet the detective, if only to find out if everything was okay.

  More especially, in case Monroe had news.

  What news it could be that would require a dead-of-night meeting, Vee could only speculate.

  Rolling out of bed, Vee dragged on her clothing from last night, then tugged her hair into a knot at the base of her skull. She was half-way down the hall when she stopped in her tracks. She couldn’t go without Syama. She needed her sidekick back online. Vee also had to admit that she needed to ensure she remained as safe as possible. Which meant she had to avoid lurking on the city streets in the middle of the night without some sort of protection.

  Vee knocked on Syama’s door, tapping her feet as she waited. A minute passed, and Vee let out a frustrated grunt. She knocked again and glared at the door.

  “One knock will do. Did someone lose their patience today?”

  Vee flinched at the voice that came from next to her left shoulder, sighed deeply, then turned to glare at the hellhound. “Do you have to shock the living daylights out of me?”

  Syama frowned, her nose crinkling. “I never could understand that phrase. What happens if you shock a person in the middle of the night…like now? Is it called living nightlights?”

  Vee heaved a second heavy sigh and grabbed Syama’s arm. “I’m tired, I’m grumpy, and I’m supposed to be dead like two times over already. Please just take me to the Lucky Clover before I knock the living nightlights out of you.”

  Syama chuckled, and her form began to shimmer. Vee held tightly to her arm as the hellhound shifted through the planes and reappeared inside the alley across the road from the Lucky Clover.

  Light flickered from within the bar, and Vee could make out a few darkened shapes hunched over their tables.

  Vee noted, almost absentmindedly, that since the last time she’d been to the bar the owner had seen fit to fix the sign. The C in the fluorescent marquee above the bar had been broken for so long that most people now affectionately referred to the bar as The Lucky Lover.

  Glancing at Syama, Vee did a double-take at the sight of Akil, who looked particularly fresh for that time of the morning, bringing new meaning to the phrase ‘night owl’.

  She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing there, then thought the better of it. Instead, she threw him a look filled with warning—against what Vee wasn’t exactly sure. He had surprised her after all.

  The trio watched the street for traffic, or anyone who would notice Vee appearing out of thin air. The coast seemed to be clear, and Vee gave Syama the go ahead with a single nod. The hellhound dropped the glamor from over Vee and tugged on her leather jacket. In the time that Syama had become part of Vee’s life, she’d transformed herself, loving the goth/biker look.

  Today she wore black fishnet gloves, black pinstriped skintight pants, chunky black knee-high boots, a purple shirt—most of it covered by the jacket, though Vee knew it would be emblazoned with the name of some rock band that had been famous decades ago. Vee had to hand it to the hellhound; she looked awesome.

  Now, Vee shook a warning finger at Syama, and then glanced at Akil beyond the hellhound’s shoulder. “I need to speak to Monroe. She sounded a little too antsy, so something is bugging her, but I need you two to keep watch. I’ve had two attempts on my person in the last day, so I can’t predict what will happen next.”

  “Define ‘attempts on my person’,” Syama asked, folding her arms.

  Vee sighed. “One attempted murder, weapon long jagged claws and uber-sharp teeth, perps: two pey demons currently dead. One attempted murder, weapon New York City cab, perp: one demon, evaporated into thin air.” Vee eyed the hellhound. “Satisfied?”

  Syama groaned. “Man, I really wish profanity didn’t taste like marigolds, or I’d be swearing right now.”

  “Marigolds?” Vee laughed as she stared at Syama.

  “Yeah. When I was little, my mother used to shove marigold-leaf paste into my mouth. Burns like hell and the taste is disgusting.”

  Vee snorted. “I thought that was supposed to be done with soap? Or, worst case scenario with a chili.”

  Syama smirked. “Nope. Not where I come from. Things are hard down below.”

  Vee shook her head as she gave the street one last check. “Marigolds are hard?” she asked in disbelief, sharing an amused look with Akil, whose face had appeared impassive until Syama’s complaint.

  “Marigolds are the most disgusting flower on the planet. Worse than jasmine.”

  As the trio crossed the street, Vee sent Syama a questioning glance. “I think you may be coming down with something.”

  Syama snorted, reaching for the red-glazed glass door to the entrance to the Lucky Clover. She and Akil had remained glamored the entire time, and any witnesses to Vee’s approach to the bar would have seen only one person. “You can’t make me change my mind. No matter how hard you try,” said the hellhound as she held the door open for Vee, who winced at the sound of the doorbell as it jangled above their heads.

  “Be careful,” growled Vee, keeping her voice low, “You’re invisible so this door just magically opened for me before I even reached it.”

  “Shit. Sorry.”

  Vee didn’t answer, more so because they stepped into a churning mess of noise and heat and alcohol fumes. It all hit Vee like a punch to the head, and she wobbled on her feet. Just the tiniest bit, but enough for Akil to place a helping hand to Vee’s back in support.

  Vee straightened and took a breath, then marched toward the bar—an enormous thing that stuck out in the middle of the floor and ran in a full U-shape, serving customers on both sides of a bar that divided the room in half.

  At the far end sat Monroe, nursing a glass that still contained a finger of a golden liquid. Beyond the bar, Vee noticed the establishment was light on supernaturals. “Wonder where all the demons are,” whispered Syama from Vee’s side.

  “Just one more thing to worry about; fewer demons being something only we would worry about,” Vee muttered as they closed in on Monroe.

  The detective barely glanced up as Vee arrived and took the empty seat beside her. “You okay?” Vee asked, having to raise her voice to be heard. The bartender sauntered over, his plaid shirt and orange beard making him look like a lumberjack just home from a day’s work. Vee pointed at Monroe’s drink, and hoped it was something she’d be able to stomach.

  Monroe looked over at her, the detective’s eyes unusually clear for someone who looked inebriated. She’d called Vee here, sounding weird. And now she looked neither of those things. Vee’s gut tightened as she wondered if this was possibly a setup, and the woman she was talking to was not Monroe.

  Then the detective cleared her throat, waved at the bartender for another drink and glanced back at Vee. “Heard about the cab incident.” She sounded like she was saying she was sorry, but the words and the tone of her voice didn’t jell.

  “Gianni told you?”

  “Yeah. The shithead came upstairs just as we were rounding things up. Stood in the doorway giving us a rundown of how he saved your pretty ass.”

  Vee snorted. “As much as I’d have liked to say that he hadn’t saved me, he did. Although I’m not ruling out the possibility that he set the whole thing up to put me off balance.”

  Monroe grunted as she lifted her glass and swirled the amber liquid in the glass. “Yeah. Come swooping in and save the nice FBI agent and then win the jurisdiction battle.”

  The detective downed the remainder of her drink and slammed the glass onto the bare wood surface of the bar counter.

  “I hate to say it, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Or his sleazy pretty-boy partner.”

  Vee sighed as she scanned the area around them again. Syama had remained at Monroe’s back, calmly scanning the thin crowd. Akil had drifted to Vee’s right-hand side, protecting her from
an approach from that direction. If people noticed that they were unconsciously giving the area behind Monroe and Vee a wide berth, they didn’t say anything.

  “What’s up?” Monroe eyed Vee, only half-turning to her. The bartender brought two drinks and deposited one in front of each of the women, then walked off.

  “Didn’t know you drank.” When Vee lifted her glass and threw Monroe a curious glance, the detective replied, “Thought you guys weren’t allowed to drink.”

  Vee chuckled. “Think you got your brown people mixed up.” Then she took a sip and enjoyed the warmth of the liquid as it slipped down her throat.

  “Must have. Sorry.”

  Vee glanced over at Monroe—surprised the detective had apologized—and what she saw was confusion and contrition. Interesting how Vee had worked with the woman for so many months, and the pair had never progressed past their encounters at their crime-scenes and the odd phone-call that amounted to little more than a report or an update of some sort.

  Vee had to admit that she herself had been prejudiced, assuming after a couple of meetings that Monroe was one of those women who felt threatened by other women in power and that she’d be more of an opponent than an ally. So, could she really judge Monroe now?

  Monroe let out a soft bark of laughter, but the sound was anything but amused. “Those DNA results. That’s just bullshit.”

  “What do you mean?” Vee asked taking another sip before sharing a worried glance with Syama over the detective’s shoulder. Did Monroe suspect something was jinky with the results? Vee had told Brent more than once that one day someone was going to figure out something was wrong with those results. She’d suggested they do their own testing in all of the cases, even obtain warrants to force the cops to part with samples for testing at an independent lab. But Rossi had believed they were fine. As long as we are careful, he’d said.

  Now Vee had to wonder if careful hadn’t been enough.

  “Monroe?” Vee nudged the detective’s arm.

  Monroe looked up at Vee, widening her eyes as if she were forcing herself to remain awake. “There wasn’t enough tissue under her fingernails to get a conclusive match. And that’s bullshit. I saw it myself when they scraped her hands. There was enough. I saw it—I’m not imagining things.” She paused and took another sip before slamming her glass onto the bar. “There was enough. So what’s this crap?”