I hold it together until we get outside, and then I can’t stop myself from shaking. What have I done? I let Deven notice me and he noticed too well, too much. I feel like a fool. What did I think? That he would ask me on a picnic? That he would invite me to dine with him under the stars? Stupid. I could tell as he looked at me and Mani that something felt off to him. I’ve piqued his curiosity, and that is the worst violation of tradecraft. I am supposed to be invisible. My life depends on it.
A sharp pain shoots through my jaw and I realize I’ve been grinding my teeth. I take a deep breath and slow down. I’ve been rushing, moving way too fast for Mani. I glance over at him, but he’s having no trouble keeping pace with me.
“Hey, monkey,” I say, “how are you feeling?”
“Really good,” he says, searching my face. “What’s wrong?”
I try to force cheer into my voice. “Nothing,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
“Your neck is all splotchy—that’s what always happens when you’re upset.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, I was reading a book today with a very distressing scene, so maybe that’s it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, I’m not four years old.”
That startles a laugh out of me, which makes Mani giggle, and soon we are both cracking up. It’s the kind of laughter that often follows tension—exaggerated, as if that can somehow compensate. I don’t knock when we get to our flat, just slide my key into the lock and open the door.
I stop laughing.
Gopal is here. He stands in the center of the room, his hands clasped in front of him. Each of his thick arms is tattooed with a black snake, the tail starting at his elbow and the body coiled round and round his arm until the head of the snake bites the inside of his wrist with sharp fangs. “Hello, Marinda,” he says.
Seeing Gopal always makes me feel like I have been caught doing something wrong. Mani’s grip on my hand tightens.
“Nice to see you, Gopal,” I say, though it isn’t. He smirks like he can see my thoughts, and a shiver dances up my spine.
“I need to speak with you,” he says, and motions for me to follow him outside.
“But Mani—”
“Gita will look after your brother.”
Gita is sitting silently at the table, her arms folded across her stomach. I didn’t notice she was here. A small clay pot sits on the table in front of her along with the bottle that holds the medicine used to make Mani’s breathing treatment—it’s the same unspoken threat as always. We exchange a glance and she gives me a small nod. I kneel in front of Mani. “I have to go for a bit, but I will be back soon, okay?” Mani bites on his lower lip, and I can see the fear in his eyes. Gopal terrifies him, and Gita is only marginally better. I fold him in an embrace and whisper against his ear, “I won’t be long, I promise.”
I follow Gopal outside. He begins walking and I fall into step at his side, waiting for him to speak. He reaches for my hand, and it takes everything I have not to flinch. When I was a little girl, Gopal held my hand wherever we went, the head of his snake tattoo pressed tightly against my skin. It used to give me nightmares, imagining those fangs sinking into the soft inside of my wrist, sucking out blood and replacing it with venom.
Gopal’s fingers close around mine. I try to focus on something else. A half dozen soldiers are gathered on the other side of the street. The deep tones of their conversation interspersed with occasional bursts of gruff laughter float over my head, though the actual words have faded away before they reach me.
They wear black uniforms with a bright orange sun representing Sundari on one shoulder and the Raksaka on the other. One of them glances toward us. I see his gaze travel from my face down the length of my arm, where my fingers are intertwined with Gopal’s. The soldier’s expression registers shock, and I realize how I must look to him, hand in hand with Gopal like we are lovers. I taste bile at the back of my throat.
The soldier whispers something to his comrade, and then they are both watching us—no, watching Gopal—with expressions I can’t quite place. Then understanding washes over me. They must know him, must know who he is to the Raja.
It’s fear on their faces.
Gopal sees them staring and yanks me around the corner, out of view. He continues walking. “The Raja is in need of your services,” he says after we’ve put some distance between us and the soldiers. I swallow hard and stare at my feet as we walk. Iyla said another job was coming, but usually it takes weeks before I am needed.
“Of course,” I say, because this is the correct answer and the only answer that will please him. “When?”
Gopal’s jaw tightens as if even this question crosses a line. He sets the pace of the conversation, not me. “Tomorrow.”
I gasp. “So soon?”