Poison's Kiss

by Breeana Shields

  “You’re right,” I say. “Everything will be fine.”

  Mani bites his lip like he’s not sure he can believe me. “Can we go home now?” he asks.

  “Soon,” I say. “We have one more stop to make.”

  I pound on Iyla’s door until my fists ache, until they’re as red and raw as fresh meat, but she doesn’t open her door. I hate myself for trusting her, for believing that she was my friend. And even more I hate that she didn’t have to lie to betray me. She only had to arrange the truth in a clever way. The words of the boy selling wisdom are pulsing through my mind like a headache: Suspicion is the only defense against betrayal.

  I was too trusting of Iyla.

  Deven was too trusting of me.

  I press my forehead against the door and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m desperate to talk to her, desperate for answers. Gopal will be furious when he finds out not only that Deven is still alive, but that Iyla has compromised our entire operation. She didn’t help me, but she didn’t help Gopal either. She could have refused to be part of my plan, or she could have told Gopal that I had lied and that Deven would need to be dealt with by someone else. It would have made it harder for me to save him, but it would have made it clear where her loyalties were.

  But she knew I cared about Deven and she made him hate me. Does she despise me that much?

  I slam my shoulder against the door so hard that the windows rattle, but still nothing. My shoulder is throbbing, but I don’t care. I crash against the door again. Sweat trickles down my forehead and stings my eyes. I press the full weight of my body against the door, but it’s clear that brute force—no matter how anger-fueled—isn’t going to get the job done. I pull the pins from my hair to pick the lock, but my fingers are trembling, and it takes me three tries before the knob finally turns freely. I step into Iyla’s foyer and Mani reaches for my hand, but I pretend not to notice and move away from him.

  “Help me look for her?” I ask.

  “Sure.” Mani scampers off, and his small feet press footprints into the plush white carpet like tracks in freshly fallen snow. I turn in the opposite direction and call out Iyla’s name. I move through her sitting room, her kitchen, her dining room. Everything is pristine, from the gleaming countertops to the polished tables. Nothing is out of place—no blanket thrown casually across a chair, no bowl left in the sink or sandals by the door. I wonder if Gopal provides Iyla with a maid.

  “There’s nothing here,” Mani says, poking his head into the dining room, where I’m running my fingers across the table, marveling at the lack of dust.

  I sigh. “She must be out somewhere. We’ll just have to wait for her to get home.”

  Mani shakes his head. “No. I mean none of her stuff is here.”

  “What?” I race up the stairs to Iyla’s bedroom and fling open her closet. It’s empty. I pull open the drawers, search in the bathroom. Nothing.

  Now I know why Iyla wasn’t worried about incurring Gopal’s wrath. She never intended to see him again.

  An hour ago I didn’t think it was possible to feel more betrayed, but I was wrong. This hits me like a punch in the stomach. I sink to the floor and pull my knees to my chest.

  Iyla escaped. It’s something we’ve dreamed about for years, something we planned to do together. But she left without me. Worse than that, she made Deven despise me, made sure Gopal would punish me, and then she left.

  Mani sits on the floor next to me and lays his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I rest my head on top of his. “Not your fault.”

  “At least she can stop hating me now,” he says, his voice wobbling.

  “What are you talking about? No one could ever hate you.”

  “No. She did. I kept you from leaving—both of you—and she hated me for that.”

  I turn my body toward him and hold his face in my hands. “That’s not true.”

  Two fat tears slip from the corners of his eyes and I brush them away with my thumbs. Then I remember that I probably shouldn’t be touching his face at all, and I let my hands fall into my lap.

  “It is true,” Mani says. “She told me once.”

  A little shock of panic goes through me. “What? What did she say?”

  Mani’s face crumples, and it takes him a few seconds to compose himself enough to speak. “She said that I wasn’t really your brother. That I was just some random kid Gopal picked up off the street to ruin your life and that because of me you’d both have to work for him forever.” He scrubs at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to ruin your life.”

  My mouth falls open. “Oh, Mani.” I pull him to me and cradle his head against my shoulder. “Iyla’s a fool. You didn’t ruin my life. You saved it.”

  And as I hold him, I realize it’s true. Taking care of Mani—loving him—is the only thing that has held the darkness at bay. Iyla thinks he makes me weak, but he doesn’t. He makes me human.

  Mani gulps in breaths between sobs. I rock him back and forth. “And, Mani?”

  “Yeah?”

  “In a choice between you and Iyla, you win every time. Got it?”

  He pulls away and looks me in the eye. “I know that. We’re still together, aren’t we?”

  I give him a smile instead of an answer. Because if I’m the one making him sick, it’s going to be harder and harder to keep it that way.

  Suddenly I have a realization that knocks the breath from me: Gopal knows what’s wrong with Mani. He must. If Deven knows what vish bimari looks like, Gopal knows too. How the venom works on the body is something he’s studied his whole life. It has fascinated him, consumed him.

  So why wouldn’t he tell me that I’m hurting Mani by being with him? Why would he let me believe that Mani’s lungs are damaged? But the answer is obvious—if he told me, I would find another home for Mani, and then Gopal wouldn’t be able to use him to control me. He’s letting Mani die so I don’t run.

  But what if it’s even worse?

  I race downstairs to Iyla’s kitchen and fling open her cabinets until I find a clay pot. I fill it with water, and my fingers shake as I set it over the heat. Mani stands on the stairs watching me.

  “Marinda, what’s wrong?” he says, and I realize I’ve stuffed my knuckles in my mouth.

  “Just give me a moment,” I tell him. I keep my gaze fastened on the pot, and when it begins to steam, I pull the vial of venom from my pocket and let a single drop fall into the water. The smell that fills Iyla’s flat is as familiar as it is repulsive. I throw my hand over my mouth. Gopal hasn’t been giving Mani breathing treatments.

  He’s been poisoning him.

  And he doesn’t give him a drop at a time like I’ve given Deven. Gopal puts venom into the water by the spoonful. I squeeze my eyes shut. I should have known better. I should have trusted my gut when the treatments didn’t work right away, but Mani nearly died when Gopal refused to give him the medication. It was the only thing that ever made him feel better.

  Mani hops off the stairs and launches himself at me. “You got my medicine,” he says, and the joy in his voice is unmistakable. “How did you do it?” He steps up to the pot, closes his eyes and breathes in the vapors like he’s savoring the smell of chocolate.

  It reminds me of a man we used to see in the marketplace when I was young. He was always either smoking poppy straws or shaking violently and begging for coins. Gita told me that he was addicted to the opium plant and that he’d smoked it so often that his body betrayed him by demanding the very thing that was killing him.

  Mani has that same look on his face—like he’s inhaling salvation.

  Rage wells in my chest and I snatch the pot from the heat and fling it across the room. It slams into the wall in a spray of water and shattered clay.

  We had an unspoken agreement when Gopal pulled Mani from the river—my compliance for my brother’s safety. It was the only thing that kept me inside the nightmare Gopal had created. And this entire time Gopal has been killing Mani slowly right in f
ront of me. My stomach turns. He made me beg him to poison Mani, made me fall on my knees and plead.

  I yank open Iyla’s drawers and find a sharp knife to slip in my waistband under my sari.

  “Marinda?” Mani says, his voice full of fear.

  “We have to go,” I tell him. Late-afternoon sun streams through the window. Gita is supposed to meet us back at the flat at sundown, just a handful of hours from now. We have only a small window of opportunity to escape. I won’t be Gopal’s puppet anymore. Saving Deven is no longer enough. There will always be a next boy and then a next. But I won’t be the one to kill them. I don’t care how necessary the Raja thinks the deaths are.

  “Are you strong enough for another walk?” I ask.

  “I think so,” Mani says. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the flat for supplies,” I tell him. “And then we’re going to leave.”

  “Forever?”

  The hope in his voice sends a spasm of pain through me, and I’m determined not to fail him this time. “Forever,” I say.

  We take a different way back to the flat than usual, and I stop frequently to duck into doorways and wait before continuing on. I’m nearly certain we haven’t been followed, but Gopal has surprised me before. I touch the knife at my waist—this time if he’s one step ahead of us, I’m prepared.

  When we get to our street, Mani tries to run ahead, but I catch his hand in mine and pull him behind me.

  “Me first,” I say. Even though we’re not yet at the deadline, there’s always a chance someone could be here waiting, and I want my body solidly between Mani and Gopal’s rage.

  I slide the key into the lock and ease the door open.

  My heart plummets.

  The flat has been ransacked. Our drawers are gaping open like a mouth with missing teeth, and what few clothes we have are strewn about the floor. The mattresses are askew and the floorboards are ripped up. I know before I look that I won’t find the coins, but I check anyway—nothing. The money I’ve saved for years, the money that was going to save us, is gone.

  Mani makes a strangled noise behind me. I follow his gaze and stop cold.

  On the other side of the flat, Smudge is stretched out in a sticky puddle of blood. Her belly is sliced open from her chest to her tail, and her entrails spill onto the floor. Her paw rests on the corner of a blood-smeared note written in script large enough that I don’t even have to bend down to read it: Mani is next. We look forward to your compliance.

  I grab Mani’s hand and pull him out of the flat so I can retch in the alley. I can’t stop gagging, even when there’s nothing left in my stomach. I press my back against the wall, gasping for air. I think of Smudge suffering—of her tiny mews of pain or fear—and I start to heave again. It takes me several minutes to catch my breath, and then the full weight of the note hits me. I need to get Mani out of here. Gopal must already know I defied him, and that means we’re out of time. I race back into the flat, grab a bag and fill it with as many clothes as it will hold. I wish that I could take the time to give Smudge a proper burial, but I don’t dare stay longer. I crouch down and rub my fingers between her ears just how she liked.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly as I stroke her fur. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mani is sobbing silently behind me. “Bye, kitty,” he says, but he’s not looking at her. His face is pressed against my back, his tears soaking through my sari.

  I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. “Come on, Mani,” I say. “Time to run.”

  We sprint all the way to Gali Street. Now that we have no money and no supplies, it’s the only place I can think to go. Last week Japa told me I could come to him if things were ever bad. I hope he’s willing to keep his promise.

  By the time we’re standing in front of the bookshop, Mani’s lips are blue. The shops have all closed, but I’m hoping Japa is still here. I haven’t been back since the day I was searching for Deven and found the CLOSED sign dangling in the window. For a sickening moment I worry that Japa never came back, that he’s gone forever. I hold my breath as I rap on the door, and when it finally opens, I sigh in relief. But as soon as I see Japa, I know that Deven has already been here. Japa is eyeing me warily and his whole face is turned down. It’s an expression I’ve never seen him wear before and it makes him seem years older. I swallow hard. “I’m in trouble.”

  His whole body is rigid and he doesn’t answer right away. Then his gaze slides to Mani and his expression softens a little.

  “Please,” I say.

  He sighs deeply and rakes his fingers through his silver hair. Finally he opens the door wider. “Come in,” he says. “Hurry.”

  The bookshop looks different in the dim light. Long shadows climb the walls, and the same silence that is restful in daylight feels ominous now. Mani shivers beside me and I squeeze his fingers. Japa locks the door before he turns to us.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  I ignore his question and ask my own. “Have you talked to Deven?” It isn’t my only question, just my least desperate one. There are so many things I want to ask: Is he alive? Has he left Sundari? Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?

  Japa scowls. “I’ll ask the questions,” he says tersely. “What kind of trouble?”

  My head is pounding and I press my fingers to my temples. “Mani and I can’t go home,” I say finally.

  “And why is that?”

  “I can’t tell you,” I say. “But we’re in danger. You said that I could come to you if things…if things were bad.”

  He shakes his head. “That was before I knew who you were.”

  I wince. I’m not surprised he said it, only surprised at how much it hurts. Until this moment I didn’t realize how much Japa’s approval meant to me. It takes me a moment to find my voice. “I know you must hate me, but Mani didn’t do anything. Will you help him? I’ll leave if you’ll just promise to keep him safe.”

  “No,” Mani says sharply. “You can’t leave me.” He grabs my wrist with both of his hands, but I ignore him and keep my gaze fixed on Japa.

  “He’s only a child,” I say. “Please, Japa. He could stay in the room behind the bookcase. Just until I can gather supplies so we can leave Sundari.”

  At the mention of the secret room, his eyes narrow. “How do you know about our safe room? Is this something you learned from your contacts—something to help you kill Deven?”

  “What? No,” I say. “I know because you leave it dusty and there are fingerprints where it slides open. And the door clicks softly. And sometimes there’s cool air that slides beneath the shelving.”

  His gaze is still razor sharp and so I keep talking. “You and Deven sometimes disappear—I knew you had to go somewhere. You’re not as careful as you think. But I would never hurt you or him—no matter what you may have heard. Japa”—my voice breaks—“they’ll kill us if we go back.”

  Mani begins sobbing and buries his face in my arm. Japa’s eyes flick between the two of us, a tangle of emotions playing out on his face. Finally he presses his lips together and gives me a small nod.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  He leads us to the bookcase at the back of the shop and then pauses to examine the shiny fingerprints on the side of the wood. He grumbles as he wipes them away. Then he pushes the bookcase aside to reveal a set of narrow stairs, which we follow down into a spacious underground room.

  Shelves line one wall, and a desk piled with messy stacks of papers sits in the corner. Boxes of books fill half the room, and a map of Sundari is tacked to the wall.

  “Mani can sleep here for a few days,” Japa says. “But then we’ll have to figure out something else.” Mani’s sobs have turned to wails now and my sleeve is damp with his tears.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he sobs. “Please.”

  Japa pats Mani on the back. “Marinda isn’t going anywhere,” he says. My head snaps up, but Japa is focused only on Mani.

  Mani sniffles. “She can stay?”

/>   Japa meets my gaze. “For tonight,” he says, then turns back to Mani. “But first I need you to rest while I talk to your sister. Okay?”

  Mani nods. “Okay.”

  Japa rifles through a cabinet and produces several blankets and a pillow. He busies himself making a bed on a wooden pallet in the corner of the room. Mani has stopped crying, but he is still struggling to pull in enough air. I rub circles on his back and remind him to breathe. Japa stands up and watches the two of us without speaking. Gradually Mani’s breath comes with less work. “You get some rest,” I tell him, turning his shoulders toward the pallet. “I’ll be right upstairs if you need me.”

  He crawls onto the makeshift bed and wraps himself in a blanket. Japa and I climb the stairs, and before I can even pull the door closed, Mani’s breathing is beginning to deepen. Japa motions for me to follow him to the back of the bookshop. He leads me to a small table with two chairs. I sit down and put my head in my hands.

  “Thank you,” I say without looking up.

  Japa slides a chair out and sits heavily. “Start talking,” he says.

  I’m exhausted. I can feel it deep in my bones—a weariness so complete it feels like resignation. I’m tired of worrying and sneaking and keeping secrets.