Em looked closely at me.
"You haven't had one of those for years." She took my arm and led me towards the door. "Come on, let's get you some air." We sat on the steps outside, the cool breeze like balm on my hot forehead. "What happened?"
I looked at my hands and started rubbing my fingers where they'd touched Miss Smith's skin.
"Nothing really. It's silly. It was only for a second." I gave a hollow laugh. "I think I was stressed out by the maths."
When I was young, I had gone through a phase when I imagined some people weren't who they said they were. I'd see shadows behind their eyes, looking out at me. I'd been convinced my mother was one of them. The doctors said it was stress, brought on by being the only child of a single parent. I wanted to be normal, so I started pretending nothing was wrong and eventually, the visions had gone away. I had made them go away.
Now Em was looking at me, her eyes filled with concern.
"Do you need to tell someone? Do you want to go see the nurse?"
"God, no." If I never saw another stethoscope again it would be too soon. I took a breath, feeling my heartbeat slowing down. "Honestly, I'm fine. It was a one off."
"Did you have any breakfast? Here." She dug the coke can out of her bag. "Drink this."
I took a swig gratefully, and closed my eyes as I felt the glucose doing its job.
"God, I love sugar," I muttered. I opened my eyes and looked at Em. "Don't say anything. Mum'll drag me to the doctor. She'll think I'm mad again." Em shook her head, making a zipping motion.
"Lips sealed. Although…" she hesitated.
"What?"
"Well, you have been watching a lot of horror movies lately. That one you made me watch about the zombies..." she shuddered. I loved horrors, but Em was more a rom-com kind of girl. "They're really gruesome. Maybe they're messing with your brain?"
I gave her a look.
"You sound like Mum."
"Hey, I'm not the one going schizo."
"Okay, okay," I admitted grudgingly. "You may have a point."
"Do you feel better now?"
Strangely, I did. My headache had disappeared, the pulse behind my right eyeball almost gone.
"Yeah. Thanks. Although just so you know, 'schizo' is a very non-PC term."
"Bonkers, then."
"Better." I remembered something. "Hey, what was it you wanted to tell me? Outside your class?"
Em beamed.
"Oh yeah! Guess what? We've got a new boy in our maths class. His family just moved back here from abroad. He grew up in Saudi Arabia! He's really cute and he's like, I don't know, a maths genius."
"What, someone as good at maths as you? Impossible!"
"No, it's true. He's really cool too, we were analysing data sets together using empirical distributions."
"Yes, that is obviously the definition of cool," I said drily.
"He's really nice, Kaz. And he's new so he hasn't any friends. And we got on really well. Maybe he'll ask me to the prom!"
The prom was the end of the term party for the final year students, before they moved up to sixth form. Already there were cheesy posters in the hallways all over the school, designed to make anyone not invited feel totally worthless.
"Whoa, slow down," I laughed. "How would you get that past your Dad?" Em's Dad was the local police chief. To say he was protective of his only daughter was an understatement. Em shrugged.
"Cross that bridge when I come to it."
"What's he look like?" I asked, curious, despite myself.
"He's kind of tall, with spiky hair. And gorgeous greeny-blue eyes. Like the sea!"
"Oh, like the sea!" I mimicked her. "Better hope your kids get his eyes then, not yours, Mrs Magoo."
"Shut up."
I took another swig of coke, just as the door across from us opened. Miss Smith stepped out. She started chivvying everyone back inside for class. I watched her carefully for a moment, but everything was back to normal. No shadows.
*
When I got home, Mr Patel was in our hallway. He was a big, unshaven, sweaty man, and unfortunately he owned our house.
"Mrs Deva, you owe me rent for this month. I am being very considerate and patient, I am giving you time to pay, and I am still not seeing the money. When you can pay?"
To be fair, Mr Patel had a point. Mum forgets to pay the rent as often as she forgets to buy milk. Every three months or so Mr Patel would come round and demand cash, looming over Mum who is just five foot four in her socks. I knew he wasn't a bad man, that he just wanted what he was owed, but I hated that he tried to intimidate her. And I was mad at Mum for not standing up to him. Even now she was trying to calm him down.
"Mr Patel, I’m so sorry, you’ll have your money this week, I promise. How is Mrs Patel? And the children?"
Mr Patel didn’t want to be mollified, but Mum had on her sweet expression and men seemed to like that. He toned his voice down, mumbling that the family were fine, but he really needed the rent this week.
Mum showed him out, shooting me a warning glance.
The last time Mr Patel had come round to our house, I’d called him a fat pig and told him to get out. How was I to know that calling a Muslim a pig was a really big insult? This time I kept my mouth shut, glowering at him sullenly as he pushed his big belly out through the front door. Mum closed it behind him.
"Why are you always so nice to him?" I started, stomping into the kitchen. It smelled of spices. Mum had been cooking.
"Why are you always so bad-tempered?" she asked. She followed me through, pulling distractedly at her messy pony-tail. She and I had exactly the same long jet-black hair. Except that I managed to wash mine occasionally.
We sat at the kitchen table together. I couldn't help noticing the statue of the elephant god Ganesh was still in one piece. It sat on the shelf looking smugly down its trunk. Eventually I broke the silence.
"Are you working tonight?"
"No. Henry doesn't need me." Henry was the disabled Professor Mum was paid to look after in the evenings. She gave me a small smile. "I'm sorry about this morning."
I shrugged. It had been another stupid argument, I couldn't even remember what it was about.
"What's for dinner?"
"I made some chana dhal..." she saw my face. "But actually, I have a spare tenner left. Let's get some pizza in, okay?"
She shot me a hopeful look, willing me to declare a truce, at least for tonight. I bit back a retort about how a tenner was pretty pathetic and she should find a proper job. I was exhausted by the constant arguing, so I just nodded.
She jumped up to phone the pizza place, the gold stud in her nose glinting. Like the tattoo, this wasn't her trying to be cool. It was just another leftover of Mum's childhood.
I glared at the Ganesh statue, at the photo of the Red Fort on the kitchen wall, at the remains of the incense sticks on the window sill. I hated that she held on to things that marked us out as different. The more Mum tried to stay Indian, the more I tried to be British.
I thought briefly about telling her I'd seen the shadows again. About my hallucination. But I didn't. And by next morning, I'd all but forgotten them.
Daughter of Kali: Awakening Chapter 2
I knew something was up as soon as Em asked if she could watch me play football. She wasn't a sports fan, and usually preferred to spend spare afternoons in the library or on the computer developing new programs. I raised an eyebrow at her.
"You want to watch mixed soccer practice?"
She blushed and shrugged, but didn't say anything. The reason became obvious when we got to the playing field, and her eyes lit up.
"There he is! Look, that's the new boy." She pointed towards a figure dribbling the ball across the field. "He's so fit!"
I gave him the once over. Tall, slim, but not scrawny. Longish brown hair with the front sticking up in spikes. I narrowed my eyes. He seemed to be pretty good at football too. He effortlessly took control of the ball, flipped it up behind him an
d then booted it into the net. He slapped palms with one or two of the other boys, then spotted Em. He came bounding over.
"Hi Em, you came! I was hoping you would."
His voice had a gentle lilt, maybe a touch of Irish, I thought. As he smiled at Em, I practically felt her melt.
"Kaz, this is Ed Davies, he's the one I was telling you about." He turned his smile on me, his grin charmingly lopsided, his eyes greeny-blue and fringed with dark lashes. I started to smile back.
"Hi Kaz. Are you here to watch someone play?"
My smile froze. Watch someone play? Em felt me stiffen and jumped in.
"Kaz plays for the under 17s. She's a bit of a sports star here!"
"Is that right?" he asked with a grin. "I haven't met many girls who play footy. Not that are any good, anyway." I felt my hackles rising.
"Well, I gather you've been living in the Middle East," I said shortly. "Women are thought of as equals here."
He looked startled.
"Oh, I didn't mean..." but I had already stalked off.
I wasn't the only girl who played football at school, but I was the only one consistently picked for the A team. I had good pace, and no problems tackling lads twice my size. Our coach, Mr Naylor, called me aggressive but he meant it as a compliment. I was damned sure I could prove to Ed who was the better player.
I was still fuming as we divided into five-a-side teams. I made sure Ed was on the opposite side - but just to make my day complete, Gobbo was on my team. Normally he toned down his racist rubbish during practice because none of his mates were there. But today, he obviously felt he had to look big in front of the newcomer. He waited till the coach was out of earshot.
"Don't give her any corners, mate. She'll open a shop," he smirked as he walked past. Ed gave him a startled look.
The whistle blew and he took off down the field, neatly controlling the ball. He was fast. But not fast enough. I stole the ball right out from under him, whipping it away and taking it in the opposite direction. I swept it gracefully to the player on my right. I ran flat out, pulling ahead and finding space between the defenders. I took the return pass. One touch. The ball bulleted into the net. One-nil.
I shot Ed a look, trying not to look too smug. He stared at me for a second, then a slow grin spread across his face. He mouthed two words.
Game on.
From that moment, Ed cut me no quarter. He closed down every space I ran into, snagged passes meant for me and blocked almost every opportunity I had to shoot. And when he had possession, he passed it so skilfully, I had zero chance to take it from him. I scored another goal because one of his team mates fumbled a pass, but by the end of the game his side were five-two up, and he'd scored four of them. He even managed to shove Gobbo onto his backside a few times, which cheered me up a bit. I had to admit he was a brilliant player. Maybe better than I was. That was a stinging thought.
"Great play, you two," said Mr Naylor as practice ended. "Welcome to the team, Ed. You have to watch Kaz though, she'll have your kneecaps out if you're not careful."
I was sweaty and bit pissed off, and in no mood for compliments, but Ed surprised me.
"You are a freakin' brilliant player!" he said. "And I don't mean for a girl. For anyone!" He held out his hand. "I'm sorry I maligned your gender. I take it all back. Friends?"
He gave me that crooked grin again. Hesitantly I shook his hand, and felt a reluctant smile breaking out on my face.
"You're not so bad yourself, for a newbie. Are you in other school teams?"
"Just the swimming. They tried to get me interested in athletics but it I prefer the water. Probably because I lived in the desert for so long. You?"
"I'm a sprinter. One hundred meters."
"Right." He gave me a sideways look. "Maybe I should join, just so I can beat you at that too."
"You're kidding aren't you? You’d be behind me all the way."
He waggled his eyebrows comically.
"Ah, but think of the view I'd get!"
Before I could come up with a suitable put-down, Em came running over to us.
"Ed, you were great!" she said. "And you, of course, Kaz," she added loyally.
"I think he handed me my arse," I said wryly. Ed nodded towards Gobbo, who was heading towards the showers.
"What's his problem?" he asked.
"Don't worry about it. I can handle it. Em, I'll meet you outside, just give me five minutes to shower. Bye, Ed."
I trudged off, leaving Em to chat to Ed and praying she wouldn't ruin it by saying something geeky. Then I remembered he was a geek too.
As I left the field, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It looked like someone standing at the far end of the playing field. Watching me. But when I turned towards it, it was gone.
*
There was a time I'd been too ashamed to let Em come to my house. Not when we were little kids; when you're young you don't care about stuff like that. We played at each other's houses all the time. But when we started secondary school, I began to realise there was a vast difference between Em's life and mine.
She lived in a big detached five-bedroom affair. I was in a cheap terrace on a council estate. Her home was all cool white walls and wooden floors. Mine was full of Asian batiks and rugs, and other things Mum had dragged with her from India. Like that Ganesh statue. Or worse, the huge painting of Kali in our living room.
Kali was a dark-skinned goddess with four arms, one of them holding a severed head. I was embarrassed by all of it.
As we strolled along the road, Em talked non-stop about Ed. I made non-committal noises in reply.
"You do like him, don't you?" she asked suddenly, looking anxious. I remembered the way he'd smiled at me, his frank admiration of my football skills, and felt warm.
"He's okay," I answered carefully.
She chattered on, and I relaxed, enjoying the sunshine. For once, it was sunny and pleasant. The only blot on the landscape was the old wino who’d made his home outside the off-license. I say 'home' - I think he lived in a cardboard box. He'd been a harmless fixture in the neighbourhood for some time. Nobody knew what his real name was but all the locals called him 'Mumbler' on account of the fact that he was always muttering to himself.
It was quite sad really, I thought as we took a wide berth around him. He was pretty old to be outside all day long. He must have been seventy at least, all wrinkles and white hair.
Em smiled politely, as she always did when we saw him, but he was never polite back. As usual, he muttered and grumbled to himself as we walked past, before yelling a very loud and very distinct insult at us.
"ABOMINATION!" Em jumped.
"He's a real charmer, isn't he?" I grinned.
"I just feel bad for him," said Em. We turned to watch him shuffle down the road to the waste bin, where he proceeded to root around. Em got her purse out.
"Here, give him this." I took the coins and ran back to Mumbler.
"UNCLEAN!" he yelled at me, taking the money out of my hand. A blast of rancid breath hit me in the face. I jogged back to Em, grimacing.
"I think that was his way of saying thanks."
Ten minutes later we turned into our cul-de-sac. There was a delivery truck outside one of the houses. Mrs Cutler's new TV had finally arrived then, I noted. She'd been boasting for weeks about the new fifty-inch giant her son was going to buy her.
My neighbourhood may have been poor, but there were more massive TVs in this street than a branch of Argos. As we crossed the road towards my house, the truck began backing out of the road, the loud "beep beep" of its reversing sensor warning everyone that it was moving backwards.
Everyone, that is, except for the motorcyclist who had pulled up behind the truck. He was straddling his bike with the engine idling in a low growl. Twin cords of a pair of ear-buds reached under his helmet, and he was fiddling with his phone. I don't know if he was making a call or listening to music, but whatever he was doing, he couldn't hear the reversing truck.
Em saw what was about to happen and yelled a warning.
"Hey, you! Watch out!"
He didn't hear her. He was still looking at the phone when the truck hit him.
For a moment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw the lorry crunch into the bike, knocking it and its rider to the floor. I saw the mobile phone fly out of his hand and land further down the road. I saw the bike wheel buckle like a piece of plasticine. Then everything speeded up again.
Em shrieked at the truck driver to stop. He must have felt the impact - he bobbed his head out of the window, his face white and shocked as he slammed his brakes on. The truck came to a shuddering halt on top of the rear wheel of the bike. The motorcyclist had been thrown forward but not far enough: his leg was pinned firmly under the bike engine. A dark puddle of blood started to seep out.
And he was screaming. Even through his helmet you could hear the screams.
Em and I were paralyzed. The truck driver shakily opened the door and climbed down to stand beside us.
"Oh my god..." he moaned. "Oh my god..."
And for a long moment that's all I could hear. The motorcyclist screaming, and the driver moaning.
Then someone streaked past us, bare feet pounding, black hair flying. It took me a second to realise who it was.
"Mum?"
She yelled over her shoulder at us to ring 999 and told the truck driver to get his first aid kit. Galvanized, Em started digging for her phone while the driver raced back to the cab. I could see doors starting to open along the road, people peeking out to see what was happening.
Mum squatted down by the back wheel next to the rider, trying to calm him. I could see the truck would have to be lifted off the bike before he could be freed. I felt nauseous as I saw the blood pooling on the road. The biker groaned in pain, and I heard Mum speak to him softly.
"It's ok, I'm going to help you."
The truck driver was still desperately rooting through his cab for the first aid kit, and Em was on the phone to the emergency services. Mum shouted over to us.
"Kalpurna, Emma, go tell the driver to switch off his engine. We don't need fumes making things worse."
Mark of the Djinn: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Romance Page 24