The Wild Ones Read online

  “Who is he?” Taraana says, his voice low. There is a scowl perched like a crow on his eyebrows. “Is he—no, is Paheli—no, I mean—”

  “No,” Valentina says.

  “Maybe,” Etsuko counters.

  “Really?” Taraana’s eyes are wounded.

  We narrow our eyes at Etsuko and she grins. “I’m joking.”

  “What?” Paheli, who has returned to us, asks. We turn to her as one. “What did I do?” Taraana is looking at her aggrievedly.

  “Nothing. There is nothing going on. With anyone,” Valentina says, especially to Taraana. “What did Hizrat say?”

  “He’s actually not sure if the person he knows is the person we’re looking for, but he told me to check a tea place in the Grand Bazaar after sundown,” Paheli says. “There’re still a few hours before then, so let’s check out the store that sold conjuries in Dilan Souk.”

  “Do you meet him often?” Taraana asks as we make our way out of the palace.

  “Who?” Paheli frowns.

  “Never mind. Let’s go,” Taraana says, beaming again.

  We spend some time in Dilan Souk looking for the conjury store without finding anything to reward our efforts. It’s as if the place never existed. We exit the souk when the shadows are lengthening and the skies are a blue particular to the time after sundown.

  “I am exhausted.” Widad groans, sitting down on a bench outside the souk.

  “Why don’t Talei and Valentina accompany me to the Grand Bazaar? The rest of you can go home,” Paheli suggests.

  Taraana’s reaction is instantaneous and expected. “Absolutely not!” He is furious. “Why do you always try to exempt me?”

  Paheli’s usually unruffled mien falters before her eyebrows draw together in the most magnificent scowl we have ever seen from her. “Listen, has it not occurred to you that you are in danger? Yes, I know that you are going to say that this girl saved you, but it has been a long time since then, and who’s to say she is of the same mind now?”

  “I can protect myself!” Taraana says, leaning down so he and Paheli are nose to nose.

  “I am sure you can. However, I am not willing to risk you. What if Baarish is there? What if there is someone else who recognizes you there? We’d be delivering you to them with all but a bow on top!” Paheli replies, standing on tiptoe to glare into Taraana’s eyes.

  “Do you two need a room?” Valentina asks delicately.

  They turn to us with equally infuriated expressions.

  “I am going with you!” Taraana crosses his arms.

  “You are not.” Paheli crosses hers.

  “How about we do this?” Talei says. “If we do find the granddaughter at the Grand Bazaar, and she is agreeable to hearing what we have to say, we will ask her for a formal meeting. Once we have ensured that her ambitions align with ours, you can reveal yourself. Does that work for you?”

  Taraana hesitates, then replies grumpily. “Yes. You had better come back to me,” he says to Paheli, catching her by surprise. She stares at him, her eyes shocked at his words. And then, to our continued amusement, she blushes.

  “I will return to the apartment obviously,” she says to him. “Not to you specifically. Goodness, why do you say these things? Let’s go, Talei! Tina!”

  She practically runs away, with Talei and Valentina following her at a slower place.

  “They’ll be okay, right?” Taraana asks us anxiously.

  “Yes,” Daraja says, putting her arm around Taraana’s waist. “Let’s go eat some dessert. If it makes you feel better, we won’t save any for Paheli.”

  Paheli: The Peculiar Crackle in the Electricity

  My cheeks are so hot I might die. Can a person die by blushing? Because I think I’m about to try.

  Ugh. Why—no, HOW can that boy say things like that without realizing the effect his words can have on poor, unsuspecting girls like me? Is he really that pure? I know he meant nothing other than “be safe,” so why couldn’t he have just said “be safe” instead of the remarkably dangerous “come back to me”?

  Excuse me, my face is on fire.

  “Why are you so embarrassed?” Valentina says to me as soon as she catches up.

  I give her a Look. Valentina has been with me the longest, even though I have, on more occasions than one, suggested that she go out and live her life fully, as she should. But I suppose once you have been through what we have been through, normal loses its flavor.

  “It’s not like you haven’t been tempted to dally with boys here and there,” she continues, intentionally oblivious to my state of mind. Plus, excuse me again, I may have been tempted, but I have never acted on those temptations, not that there is anything wrong with acting. And temptations. I’m just saying.

  “Do you honestly think getting involved with Taraana would be a dalliance?” Because I don’t.

  She’s silent for a bit as we walk toward the Grand Bazaar.

  “All right, I don’t think dallying with him is a good idea,” she says when we are about five minutes away from the shopping mecca.

  “Thank you,” I reply loftily.

  “But he obviously has feelings for you,” she continues without so much as a by-your-leave, entirely ruining what little peace I had managed to wrest for myself. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Pretend his feelings don’t exist,” I reply promptly. “Denial works brilliantly for me.”

  “I didn’t know you were the stick-your-head-in-the-sand kind.” Valentina can be quite acerbic at times. Lots of times. Almost always.

  “Yes, I feel a keen kinship with ostriches. I don’t fly either, you know.”

  “Maybe you should try out for a career in stand-up comedy someday.”

  “Is it my wonderfully lavender hair?”

  “We are here.” Talei interrupts our conversation.

  We turn and look at the magical entrance to one of the oldest markets in the world. The human hours are from the morning till early in the evening, but for the middle-world citizens, the Grand Bazaar never closes. Invisible to human eyes, a separate entrance exists for middle worlders. These gates are protected by their region’s ruler, not that we know much about him. All of us, but especially Valentina, are allergic to authority. The two guards at the entrance both look like they need bathroom breaks, so we walk past them quietly without making a single attempt at provoking them.

  I am suddenly glad that Taraana is not with us right now. Danger blooms in all corners here, and though his glasses hide a lot of who he is, I’d much rather not tempt fate, because fate is not as resistant to temptations as I am. We don’t know how long Baarish’s arms are.

  Anyway, it is almost eight in the evening, which is when the human vendors lock their stores and make for home.

  We keep our heads down and walk past groups of middle worlders standing just inside the entrance. They don’t give us a second look, and we’re glad to be beneath their notice.

  A whiff of perfume scents the air; the sound of voices haggling over items; stores filled with light pouring from intricately crafted lamps, exquisite tea sets, luxurious rugs, glinting jewelry, mounds of baklava, and so many other things. I almost wish Taraana were here. He would be just as dazzled as I am.

  The magic is so potent here that I feel like I’m drowning in it. Would Taraana glow brighter here? How would he like this place? I wonder.

  Why do I keep thinking about him? My brain seems to be growing maudlin in its old age.

  “Where do we look?” Talei whispers to us.

  We follow the magic through streets, around corners, and into a narrow alley, which has teahouses on either side of it. I am forever amazed by the sheer size of the Grand Bazaar. Very little light spills from the teahouses onto the main pathway, and no other creature, human or magical, is visible in the dimness. Hizrat told me Tabassum Naaz usually whiles away her evenings at one of these teahouses, though personally I can’t see the attraction. How much tea can you drink?

  I look
at my sisters and they look back at me; their confidence in me scares me, but I take a breath and walk into the alley. There are walls around us, so we can retreat to the Between in case of danger, but I prepare a scream anyway. We all tense when a low, masculine laugh reaches us. Talei sucks in a breath and clenches her fist. I realize my mouth is open and the scream is building in my throat.

  I close my mouth. We all have nightmares. Ours are just a bit realer.

  “Let’s go.” I put on my most brazen mask and stride ahead, determined not to let the fear have me. I will not be afraid.

  I enter the first teahouse we come to, and my sisters follow. It is a tiny place; there are only five small tables inside, and all of them are occupied by middle worlders who bless us with their attention.

  We could have done without their blessing. The proprietor has eyes found more often in a snake. I hold his stare for a long moment before he suddenly breaks into a smile I find more disturbing.

  “I’m afraid you will have to wait for a table,” he says. He has a snake’s tongue, so his voice curves around his letters in interesting ways.

  “I am not here for tea,” I tell him politely. “Is there someone called Tabassum Naaz here?” I pitch my voice so the patrons of the teahouse can hear.

  “You will find her next door,” a not-human boy says. He has red eyes. There are flowers blooming under his light green skin. I nod a thank-you at him, and we leave without making eye contact with anyone else.

  The teahouse next door is a bit larger and more welcoming than the first one. Warm gold light pours out from a chandelier dangling low in the middle of the room. The corners are covered in dark, but the middle seating area is cozy. The patrons of this teahouse seem to be younger and more human-shaped. Music hums in the background, providing an accompaniment to the many conversations occurring simultaneously.

  The proprietor has a welcoming smile that fades slightly when she sees us. But she recovers her composure and waves us toward a recently vacated spot in a darker corner of the room. We sit down, keeping our eyes to ourselves at least until we are settled in with cups of mint tea into which we have added liberal amounts of sugar.

  “There,” Valentina says, her eyes trained on her cup. “That girl bears a resemblance to Baarish.”

  I turn and look. In a group made of boys is one girl. They are all dressed similarly in formfitting pants and vests. The girl has golden hoops in her ears, a treasure of rings on her fingers, and Baarish’s nose, which she has decorated with a gold stud. She is fair, with large dark eyes and black hair scraped back from her face in a tight braid. Also, and very importantly, this girl is staring at Valentina in the same way a lion stares at a particular delicacy before gobbling it up.

  Hmm.

  Perhaps the girl senses my eyes on hers because she looks at me next and not as kindly. Her companions follow her gaze, and all of a sudden, I feel something alien press against my conscience—someone is trying to use magic to read us. Obviously, the magic fails to uncover the mysteries we present. The girl’s stare increases in intensity; it is a wonder I am not on fire. So, of course, I smile at her as sweetly as I can.

  In the next minute, without any word from the proprietor, the other patrons of the teahouse exit the place, and the door to the establishment is closed and barred. Oh dear. This girl is entirely too easy to provoke. We don’t move from our spot, affecting an interest in our teacups and the conversation we are not having. We are master pretenders.

  “I have heard about you,” the girl says, getting up from her seat. She speaks as she weaves through the tables toward us, her companions faithfully behind her.

  We turn as one toward her.

  “What do you call yourselves? Ah, yes, the Wild Ones.” Her tone mocks the title I bestowed on us. I bristle slightly. The girl catches it and her sneer widens. Good. She’ll give more away if she thinks she has the upper hand. “I was wondering if you would come to me.”

  “Why is that?” Valentina asks, her voice lazy and disinterested. The girl starts, as if she didn’t expect Tina to talk. Her gaze snags on Tina’s lips, and her cheeks are suddenly dusted a soft pink. Hmm.

  “Well…” She pulls a chair from a neighboring table and straddles it, resting her chin on the chair’s back. She smiles and says no more, seemingly content to stare at us. Well, stare at Valentina.

  “Send your dogs away, would you? They make me want to scream, and bad things will happen if I scream,” I say to the girl, with my politest smile. She holds my gaze for a minute before nodding at her companions. They move away from us, hugging the wall across from our seat.

  “Are you willing to talk?” Valentina asks.

  “It depends on what you want to talk about,” the girl replies. She reaches out a hand and hooks a finger around Valentina’s pinkie. I hold my breath and steal a look at my friend. She is staring at the offending digit with a fascination that makes me afraid for the future of that finger.

  I clear my throat noisily and Valentina pulls her hand away. The girl grins.

  “Do you remember that boy? The one made of stars?” Talei says.

  All lightness drains away from the girl and she leans back, her face suddenly fierce. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, crossing her arms. She needs to work on her poker face.

  “You may not remember him, but he remembers you.” I keep my voice casual. “He would like to talk to you. Tomorrow at one at Kultur Cafe in Taksim.”

  “He’s here? Are you out of your mind? Why have you brought him here?” She hisses, pitching her voice so only we can hear her.

  “He is not for you to worry about,” Valentina replies. “We protect our own.”

  “Then why are you talking to me?” the girl demands. She has a point.

  “If you are Tabassum Naaz, we have a proposition for you,” Talei says. I observe the girl.

  “If I am Tabassum Naaz, talking to you would mean an automatic death sentence for me. My grandfather does not suffer traitors.” Her voice falters.

  “Pretty late for you to worry about that, isn’t it? You should have considered it before setting Taraana free all those years ago,” I tell her. “Besides… from what I’ve heard, your grandfather wants to kill you regardless.

  “If you do decide to talk to us, we will be at the stated place tomorrow for one hour after the promised time. We will wait.” I get to my feet. Valentina and Talei follow my lead.

  “I didn’t say you could go!” The girl stands up too.

  “Would you like to try and stop us?” Valentina smiles at her and the girl looks away.

  Well then. Things are getting remarkably interesting.

  * * *

  When we return to the apartment, the girls are waiting for us. Taraana is conspicuously absent and I admit it, okay? Not seeing him causes me undue panic as it turns out he just went to take a shower.

  My bowl of ice cream and I are the only ones remaining in the living room when he returns. His slightly long hair is curling at the tips, and his soft cotton T-shirt clings to his slender frame. He sits in the chair opposite mine, smelling lemony fresh and utterly irresistible. I have the urge to sniff at him and restrain myself with a heaped spoonful of choconut ice cream.

  “You are back,” he says unnecessarily.

  There is no reason in the world for him to be as attractive as he is. To me. Absolutely no reason.

  “As you can see,” I reply, focusing all my attention on the ice cream. Okay, I lie. I’m pretending to attend to my ice cream. The truth is somewhat different. He smells good, all right?

  “Did you see her?” he asks hesitantly.

  I take a deep breath, quash my libido, and tell him what occurred earlier that evening. Somewhere during my narration, he moves to sit beside me. By the time I finish talking, he is practically glued to my side.

  “Do you think she’ll show up?” He is afraid to hope. He is also too close. I inch away.

  “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

  We s
it in a contemplative silence. Well, he is contemplative. I’m trying to figure out the best way to extricate myself from this situation. Being alone with him is bad for my heart.

  I fidget and finally decide that sleeping is a good idea. I go to pat Taraana’s shoulder to bid him good night, but he turns at that moment. His gaze captures mine. Holds it. “I want to be strong in front of you.” His voice is a murmur in the silence that suddenly returns to us. “I want to show you all my best sides.” He sits up. Licks his lips nervously. A pulse ticks under his eyes. I feel like that deer frozen in the headlights. Any minute now I will go flying over the windshield. “I want so many things, Paheli. I want to wake up in the morning and not feel afraid I won’t last the day. I want to walk in the streets without caring about who is looking at me. I want many things, but out of them all, I most want you. However, I keep getting confronted by the limitations this world imposes upon me.” A tear, just one, escapes from his eyes and falls on my hand. He breathes in. Oh no.

  “Not now, but someday in the future, if”—he swallows—“if I make it, do you think you could love me?”

  I stare at him, still channeling that deer, still frozen in the headlights. He touches my cheek once. I do not explode. He leaves the room. I topple over.

  Ten Degrees Past Despair

  We wear different shades of red lipstick and our fiercest expressions to the meeting. Paheli’s not at all sure the girl will show, but Taraana is hopeful.

  Hope looks good on him.

  We arrive at the narghile café thirty minutes before the designated time and are shown into the room we reserved the day before. Despite the early hour, the café is as crowded as we expected it to be. The more humans around, the easier we can mask ourselves, which is why we chose the place we did.

  The private room is one of the few the café keeps reserved for the most affluent of their customers. Sumptuous rugs, tasteful wall hangings, and intimate light provide the perfect atmosphere for the narghile, or as the West refers to it, hookah. Chairs are set in a semicircle at the back of the room with a wide coffee table set in front of them. The narghile occupies the place of prominence on the table, though none of us, apart from Sevda, have acquired a taste for it.