“Not really. If you recall, I was fighting the urge to eat you at the time.”
He grimaced. “Right. Well. It fits with what Kubera said anyway—all the things we want and all the things that eat away at us. At first I thought when he said ‘us’ that it included you and me. But a vishakanya has a different effect on Otherworldly beings. She shows them desires. Maybe that’s what he meant!”
Vikram was so excited he couldn’t decide between tenting his fingers together or making small shuffling movements between his feet.
“Could you not…” I started.
But he was already pulling me down the line and straight to the tent. Half of the people who had been waiting patiently in line turned and glared. At the entrance, shadow tigers prowled, snapping and growling. One of the beasts cut his eyes to us. It blinked, and then threw its head back.
“Are you so eager to end your life, dear mortals?”
This was an excellent start.
“No—” said Vikram.
“Then why do you seek entrance here?”
“Can we not go into—”
The tiger roared at us: “ONLY VISHAKANYAS MAY ENTER WITHOUT THE LINE. AND ONLY YAKSHAS AND YAKSHINIS MAY STAND IN LINE. NO HUMANS.”
Air gusted from the creature’s mouth. The wind forced us backward and we retreated to the end of the line. Vikram paced furiously.
“How are we going to get inside when we’re clearly not vishakanyas?” he muttered, tugging at his hair. He stopped, his brow creasing in thought. “Or maybe we just have to look like them.”
I stopped pacing. “What?”
He glanced back toward the feast tables and started walking. I jogged to keep pace.
“I think I heard you say that we should look like vishakanyas.”
“You heard right. It’s not my first choice. I’d rather not dress like a courtesan again—”
“Wait. Again?”
His face colored.
“The Feast of Transformation may have something for us,” he mused.
“I’m still listening for the part where you explain why you dressed like a courtesan in the first place.”
Vikram braced his elbows over the Feast of Transformation, fingers hovering over the bottles. He held up a bottle containing a scrap of a woman’s sari and a pot of cosmetics.
“I hope this is more rewarding than last time,” he muttered.
The Feast of Transformation demanded a trade of hurt. The moment I grabbed a vial, I felt ghostly fingers carding through my memories, searching for a kernel of pain. It wasn’t hard to find. I felt a sharp tug behind my heart, the sound of a memory unclasping and rising to the surface of my thoughts. And then: Nothing. The memory faded. I looked down at my garb and found myself dressed in a rather revealing outfit studded with emeralds. A translucent veil draped down from my head. I looked unrecognizable in the mirror propped against the Feast of Transformation table. Thanks to glamour, my hair was now long and silver, my eyes were the color of quartz and I was taller and more willowy than I’d ever been without magic.
Beside me, I heard a sharp intake of breath. The magic of the Feast of Transformation had disguised Vikram as a short and shapely woman with a riot of copper hair. The only thing that looked the same was the sly smile he flashed when he inspected himself in the mirror.
“I look good,” he said, examining himself from multiple angles. He shifted from one foot to the next. “This is horrifically itchy. Why do women wear this miserable garment?”
“I don’t think that was our choice.”
“Oh.”
I laughed. “I can’t think of many men that would glamour themselves as a woman.”
He notched his chin a little higher. “This is just a form. In the older tales, a god made himself an enchantress just to trick a horde of demons. And the most famous warrior of the age became a eunuch for a year. I can have the form of a vishakanya for a night to win a wish.”
I clapped. He bowed. And we headed down to the vishakanyas’ tent. Before we reached the entrance, I pulled him to one side.
“What is it?”
“Assuming we get inside, you need to be prepared for a fight.” I hiked up the dress. Vikram colored and immediately turned away.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
I unhooked one of my thigh straps and handed it to him along with the small knife I had tucked inside it earlier.
“Where do I put this?” he muttered, patting his rather generous-looking hips.
“A real vishakanya wouldn’t need one at all. Remember? Conceal it.”
Groaning, he reluctantly strapped the knife to his ankle.
At the entrance of the tent, I gathered my courage. The line of people stared at us longingly. I hated being stared at like this, as if I were just a means of satisfying someone. Vikram looked indignant and folded his arms over his chest. The beast swung its head around:
“NO TRESPASSER—” it started, and then stopped, tilting its head.
Here goes.
“Since when am I a trespasser?” I demanded, sneering.
The shadow tiger shrank back, lifting its paw. “I did not—”
I raised a dismissive hand. “In what universe do you imagine that I am interested in recitations of your deficiencies?”
The beast’s brow furrowed; its ears lay flat against its skull. “I did not mean to make a mistake.”
Vikram—who had not lost his deep voice—wisely decided to keep his mouth shut and settled for a fierce glare.
“And I did not mean to find myself interrogated. Move aside.”
My heart was beating violently. One false move, and the charade would be ruined.
“My apologies,” said the creature and stepped aside.
I murmured a quick prayer before lifting the gossamer veils and entering the warm dark of the tent. No lamps illuminated the interior, but small lights were sewn into the silk, winking like hesitant stars. Incense painted the air with bright notes of sandalwood and orange blossom. Something reflective covered every surface that wasn’t already occupied by one of the Otherworldly patrons. We stepped inside carefully, searching around the corner for any sign of a vishakanya. Vikram went on his tiptoes to whisper in my ear:
“Just because we look like vishakanyas does not mean we are one. If they touch us, we die.”
I patted my thigh where the other knife was securely strapped. The tops of Vikram’s ears turned red.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I whispered back.
We moved quickly down the hall, scanning for any sign of Kubera’s key or a ruby. But so far there was nothing. Unease prickled in the back of my head. If this wasn’t the right place, then we had to get out fast. There was no telling how long the effects of the Feast of Transformation would last. At least a dozen patrons sat inside, their heads tipped back to stare at their desires twisting in the mirrors above them. I followed the structure of the mirrors overhead. They were all linked, held up by some kind of net.