“Sleeping,” said Boo in a duh-why-do-you-think-he’s-called-that-it’s-not-like-he’s-known-for-his-own-epic-napping-skills tone.
The seven-headed horse shook its head. Blood and spit flew over the walls. “We cannot stay much longer, daughter of Indra, but you have fought…” The horse paused, struggling to find the right word.
“Bravely?” Aru guessed.
The horse heads snorted.
“Valiantly?” she suggested.
“Cunningly,” it finally said.
Aru sighed with relief, bracing her hands on her knees. Now that the Sleeper was down, all she needed was to finish him off with Vajra.
She turned toward the wreckage of the chandelier, but a demon rushed at her. Boo acted quickly, and bird droppings rained across the demon’s eyes and forehead.
“ARGH!” it shouted, spinning around before knocking itself unconscious by running headlong into the wall.
“If only I was in my former form,” the pigeon moaned. “Ah, well. Annoyance is its own power.”
Aru raised her arm and Vajra transformed into a whip. The lightning bolt was very heavy, like carrying three gallons of milk in one hand. But she was so close to having everything back to normal that strength rushed through her. She brought Vajra down with a sickening crack, and the demon flew back, slamming into the wall before evaporating into…demon dust? No, demon gunk. There was some sticky-looking residue on the paint. Nasty.
The chandelier shards twitched. Mini ran to Aru’s side. Time for their final blow.
It should have been easy. Quick and painless.
But then a lot of unexpected things happened at once.
Around them, the room went from full to empty in the space of a second. The army of demons and rakshas—many of them now little more than melted lumps on the lobby floor of the museum—vanished in a puff of smoke. With a rush of wings and paws, the celestial mounts disappeared, called back to the deities they served. The last thing Aru heard was “Blessings upon the Pandavas.”
The Sleeper rose from beneath the smashed chandelier. Pieces of glass scattered in a thousand directions. Aru squeezed her eyes shut, gripping Vajra tightly. Then she raised the lightning bolt over her head. Beside her, she could sense Mini’s thoughts: Now, Death Danda, move quickly!
Unfortunately, the Sleeper moved faster. Black ribbons streamed from the tips of his fingers. They were aimed not at her, but at Mini and Boo.
The two of them slammed backward and were pinned to the wall.
“Aru!” croaked Mini.
Aru raised the lightning bolt, but a ripple of instinct held her hand. It was as if Mini’s thoughts alone had stopped her: If you attack, he’ll kill us.
Aru paused, her lungs heaving from the weight of the lightning bolt and the decision put before her.
“Your move, Aru,” said the Sleeper. He grinned. “You can destroy me, or protect them.”
Aru stood still. There was nothing she could do. No right answer.
“The chandelier was a rather clever move,” said the Sleeper, rubbing his jaw. “But not quite clever enough, I’m afraid. Here’s some advice: let your family die, Arundhati. The love of one’s family can be a powerful and horrifying thing. Why, just look at the stories of the Mahabharata. Consider Shakhuni—although you know him as ‘Boo.’ He felt his sister had been insulted when she was forced to marry a blind king, and for that he swore destruction on your ancestors. And he succeeded. That’s just one example among many. You see, child? To act with your heart is a dangerous thing. Let them die.”
“Let them go,” croaked Aru.
“Oh, dear,” said the Sleeper. “And here I thought you would have turned out to be so much more clever.”
“I said, let them go.”
“Drop the lightning bolt, and I will.”
Aru lowered her hand, hating herself.
The Sleeper flexed his wrists, and Mini and Boo slumped to the ground, unconscious.
But alive.
“You just reminded me of something, child,” he said softly. “Mercy makes fools of us. I’ve had eleven years of torture to think about all the ways I was made a fool.”
The Sleeper was next to her in an instant. “Rather fancy toy for a child,” he hissed, snatching up Vajra.
Aru hoped it burned him. How could her mother have ever loved someone like this?
The young, hopeful Krithika had misjudged him. He couldn’t help but be a demon after all.
The Sleeper grabbed her arm and dragged her across the museum lobby. “You made me into what I am now,” he said. “You and your mother. All I wanted to do was end the tyranny of destiny. Can you understand that?” For the first time, his voice grew soft. “Do you realize how cruel it is to tell someone that their future is fixed? That they can do nothing but play out their life like a puppet? Do you see how even your gifts have enslaved you?”
Aru was only half listening. Panic had sharpened her thoughts. When her hand had knocked against her pajama pant leg, she had felt something in her pocket: a nub of tile from the Palace of Illusions. It can give you the part of me that matters most: protection.
“Your death will signal the end of not just a life, but an era,” said the Sleeper. His eyes were shining. “You and your siblings will no longer be damned to live life over and over again. I’m doing this for you, because your mother”—he sneered—“didn’t have the guts to free you.”
“Sorry,” said Aru, yanking her arm from his grip. “I’m just not in the mood to die right now.”
Her fingers dug out the little piece of home, and she threw it on the floor. A fierce gust of wind blew the Sleeper back. For one blissful blink of her eye, Aru could catch her breath. She felt the tile of home thud back into her pocket. The piece of home was tiny and so only bought her a second’s worth of distraction. Still, it was enough.
The Sleeper had lost his grip on Vajra. Aru raised her hand, and the lightning bolt snapped into her palm. Now she held it out. She steeled herself. She had to do this.
The Sleeper lifted his arm, as if he was trying to block out the light. “Child, wait—” he said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Aru was twelve years old. Even she knew that half the time she didn’t know what she was doing.
But this wasn’t one of those times.
“You’re cursed,” said the Sleeper. “I’m only trying to help.”
Cursed…
Before Aru could throw the lightning bolt, an image sprang before her:
In this vision, Aru was older. Taller. Across from her, on a night-soaked battlefield, stood four other girls…four other sisters, she realized. She wasn’t even sure how she knew that, but it was undeniable. All five Pandava girls, together. All of them wielding weapons. Even Mini.
Mini was older, too. Her face was a fierce mask of hate.
Hate that was directed against…her.
“Don’t you see?” said the Sleeper. “Fate never intended for you to be a hero.”
Who’s the Liar Now?
The image faded.
Aru couldn’t shake it from her thoughts. She had done something so bad that her own sisters had turned against her. Why were they on a battlefield? What had happened?
“You think your partial divinity is a blessing,” said the Sleeper. “It is a curse.”
“You’re lying,” said Aru, but her grip on Vajra had slackened.
When she blinked, she saw them—all of them—turning against her. Rejecting her. Abandoning her.
Where were they going?
Why were they going?
Nausea jolted through Aru. She thought of every time she had rushed out of her bedroom and run to the window, only to see her mother leaving for the airport and Sherrilyn giving her a sad smile and offering to take her out for ice cream. She thought of every day she had walked through school filled with dread, knowing that all it would take was one word, one gesture out of line and she’d lose it all: the friends, the popularity, the belonging.