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.
I sigh. “I’m an assassin.” I expect Japa to look shocked or angry, so I’m taken off guard by the sadness in his eyes.
“For how long?”