The Wild Ones Read online

  “Well?” He pokes me.

  “Well what?” I say, and he glares at me. “Okay, okay.”

  “Do you promise?” he asks.

  “I do.”

  “Say it.”

  “I promise.” I sniffle.

  As a reward, he kisses me again.

  Sonagi, or A Sudden Rain

  We are still shaken from what happened in Marrakech. We startle easily and huddle together for comfort. Our screams are a breath away and our hands tremble. We hate this weakness immensely, but Baarish has threatened the safety, the security, we have spent decades if not centuries cultivating.

  The evening finds us in the living room, with the television blasting cheers from the fans of Apink, a K-pop girl group we all stan. We are seated around a stash of street food Areum and Etsuko went and bought. Taraana has discovered tteokbokki and appears to have found heaven at the same time.

  “What are we going to do now?” Apink’s song ends, and Valentina turns the TV off.

  Paheli pops a piece of tuna kimbap into her mouth, chews, and swallows. It is a delaying tactic of hers that we’re familiar with. “We do an experiment,” she says finally. “Before we decide how exactly we’ll use the conjury we bought from the old man, we need to know what exactly it does.”

  Valentina gets up and starts pacing. “Why do I feel like you’re not taking this seriously? Those middle worlders last night—they were from Baarish, right? He was able to follow us to Marrakech. Who is to say he won’t be able to follow us here? We are sitting ducks here. Isn’t it time we made plans?”

  “Can’t I finish eating first?” Paheli puts another kimbap piece into her mouth and chews with relish.

  Valentina glares at her. “Paheli!”

  “Fine.” Paheli wipes her mouth.

  “I don’t see why you are being so casual about this. I don’t see why you had to stay behind!” Ah. That’s the crux of it. Valentina’s angry.

  “Look, I’ve just had a difficult time explaining to Taraana—”

  “Actually, I don’t recall you saying a single thing in explanation,” Taraana corrects her.

  Paheli glares at him.

  “So? What do you have to say for yourself?” Valentina asks, a quivering tone in her voice.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I need to act in ways that don’t make sense and aren’t very sensible. I will attempt to do better.” This is the first time we have heard Paheli say something like this, and our eyebrows are so high, they might break through the stratosphere and reach space.

  “Apologize a hundred more times and I’ll consider forgiving you,” Valentina replies with a sharp smile.

  Instead of responding to her, Paheli walks over to where Daraja’s backpack is, opens it, and grabs the bag containing the small rectangular boxes that house the pendants along with their chains. She takes one out and pops the box open. The semiprecious stone in the center of the pendant glints dully in the light. Paheli holds the pendant in her hands and nothing happens. It really looks like a piece of unmagical jewelry.

  “So, we can be sure that human conjuries are dangerous to middle worlders; otherwise they wouldn’t be as conscientious about cleaning them up as they are. In fact, not only do they clear up places selling the conjuries, but they also kill the humans who make them. While we know they consider it dangerous, we don’t know what they do to middle worlders for sure.” Paheli rubs her chin and glances at Taraana. “We’ve got Assi’s word for it, but we need more than that. So, to figure things out clearly, let’s see what a conjury does to a Between diamond.”

  Talei places a Between diamond on a coffee table in the middle of a living room next to the rec room we were in. Then Paheli balances the unawakened pendant on the Between diamond. We take five steps away from the table, but nothing happens.

  Taraana takes a breath, closes his eyes, and says the word that’s supposed to awaken the conjury.

  Five seconds later, the pendant starts glowing purple, and the Between diamond starts melting. In five more seconds, all that remains of the diamond is a puddle, and that too disappears shortly.

  Ligaya whistles through her teeth. “That was intense.”

  “Now I know why middle worlders take human conjury so seriously,” Areum says, shivering.

  “Okay. I am pleased,” Paheli says. “Now all we need to do is get Baarish to hold one of these pendants, activate it while he’s holding it, and bang!” Her eyes are shining with a bloodthirsty light.

  We stare at her.

  “What?” she asks.

  “He’ll die if he holds an activated pendant,” Talei says flatly.

  “That’s the point.” Paheli looks at us, the lightness flitting from her face. “Isn’t it?”

  “We’d be directly responsible for his death.” Daraja licks her lips. “I don’t know if I’m okay with that.”

  Paheli tilts her head. “But you’d be okay with him chasing us, catching us, torturing us, and ultimately killing us?”

  “Paheli.” Valentina slips an arm around her.

  “Do you have any other methods to suggest? I’m not speaking to Daraja alone. If you have any other suggestions, make them. I’m listening.” Paheli’s face is uncharacteristically serious. None of us are able to meet her eyes.

  Paheli turns to Taraana. “Do you have the same qualms about killing Baarish?” Before he can reply, she forges ahead. “Listen, I’m not a saint who forgives people for the pain they inflict upon me and the people I love. I refuse to be a victim. If this means I have to plan for Baarish’s death, so be it. I will not let him take Taraana again, and I will not let him hurt one of us.”

  “Won’t bonding with the Between make Taraana more powerful?” Widad asks. “Can’t we try that?”

  “Taraana has been trying,” Kamboja says. “You’ve seen that.”

  “But he could try harder,” Widad says, and then stops talking at the look Paheli gives her.

  “We’ve been able to escape Baarish thus far not just because of luck but because he hasn’t been seriously chasing us. He’s playing with us the same way a cat plays with its prey. Once he does get serious, how long do you think we can run from him?” Paheli asks.

  “Ideally, Taraana would be able to bond to the Between, gain a lot of power, which would keep him safe from Baarish and his companions.” Valentina spells things out. “However, the process of bonding to the Between is more complex, and right now, attempts to do so without attracting Baarish’s attention, impossible.”

  “But Baarish is simply one of many people who want Taraana,” Ligaya counters. “Aren’t the others on the Magic Council also after him? Are we going to kill all of them? Can we?”

  “Probably not,” Paheli says. “But as I said, let’s take one enemy at a time. If your conscience cannot handle what’s going to happen, you can either stay with Eulalie or leave. I promise, there’ll be no hard feelings whatever you decide. It is your choice.”

  “I will always choose myself,” Taraana says suddenly. “Between Baarish and me, I mean.” He slips his fingers through Paheli’s. He offers us a crooked smile. “I have to be alive to feel the twinges of my conscience.”

  Paheli has made her decision, and it is up to us to make ours.

  “How do you propose to get Baarish to hold a pendant in his bare hands?” Etsuko asks when the silence lasts for a beat too long, raising one of her thin eyebrows. She has no problem planning a murder.

  Paheli licks her lips at the question and turns to look at Taraana. He meets her eyes, and his face becomes blank for a second before a steely resolve fills it. He nods.

  Areum is the first to comprehend what that wordless exchange means. “How can you ask him to do something like that?” Her protest is a wail.

  Paheli considers the question for a moment. “You know as well as I do that you have to save yourself. No one else can do it for you.”

  “I don’t want anyone else to do it for me,” Taraana says. “I have to save myself.”

  “I
think we should talk to Eulalie about this plan. Maybe she can come over,” Daraja says. She’s the most troubled by the current course of actions.

  “Okay,” Paheli agrees easily. “I will ask her.”

  “You’re not going to New Orleans!” Ligaya exclaims.

  “No, I’m going to call her.”

  “How?” Ligaya again.

  “I’m going to use the telephone?”

  “Oh.”

  “All right,” Valentina says. “This is a plan I can live with.”

  “You’re going to have to do more than just live with it, Tina,” Paheli says, leaning against Taraana.

  “What do you mean by that?” Valentina angles a narrow look her way.

  “You will need to go and make friends with Tabassum Naaz,” Paheli replies. “Don’t give me that look. I know you don’t mind getting to know her.”

  A blush deepens Valentina’s dark skin. “Pray tell why I need to do that?”

  “We need to prepare a trap for Baarish. It’s not like we’re really going to let him take Taraana.”

  “So, you’ll have her play double agent?” Valentina replies.

  “Yeah,” Paheli says. “Ask her if she’d be okay with that. If she isn’t… we’ll do something else.”

  Valentina nods.

  * * *

  Eulalie arrives on the same day Valentina leaves for Istanbul. She is out of breath and wheezing by the time she reaches our house, the lack of magic in the area affecting her as much as the stairs in Gamcheon Culture Village. We give her a Between diamond with which to sustain herself. She wraps her fingers around the diamond and absorbs half the magic in it before putting it away.

  Her face glows after her intake of magic and she breathes out, relaxing.

  “All right, tell me what you are up to now,” she says to Paheli, a wealth of suffering in her tone.

  Talei is the one who ends up narrating all that has transpired since we left New Orleans. Eulalie listens quietly, her gaze often on Paheli.

  “Let me see this pendant,” Eulalie says after a measured silence.

  “Look at it from here,” Paheli tells her. “Be careful.”

  “Oh, I might think you love me.” Eulalie grins.

  “I do,” Paheli replies softly.

  Eulalie looks surprised. The next moment her eyes fill with some emotion none of us are very familiar with. Mothers are a four-letter word to us. We don’t say it.

  Paheli clears her throat and we point Eulalie to the coffee table where the activated pendant is still lying. It’s glowing purple, all but broadcasting its identity. Eulalie looks at it closely before she shudders and takes a step back. “You said you have an unawakened one?”

  Daraja hands Eulalie a box containing one. She takes it out from the box and picks it up, turning it over in her hands. “How fascinating. You’re telling me that this will become a conjury after the word activating it is spoken?”

  “What does it feel like to you?” Talei asks.

  Eulalie shrugs. “Like a pendant. I don’t sense any malice in it like I do with human conjury.”

  “Will it work on Baarish, do you think?” Taraana asks hopefully.

  “It will more than work on Baarish,” she responds. “But you will have to face the Magic Council afterward. They will consider it murder.”

  “We will deal with them when we have to,” Paheli replies. “And technically, it is murder, so they wouldn’t be wrong.” A strange feeling, like a frigid wind in winter, blows through us at her words.

  “It’s self-defense,” Eulalie replies. “Baarish won’t let you simply die if he catches you. Mama Magdaline will speak for you. But the reason I made the trip today is to tell you about Wa’ad. Remember, I said I had heard of a middle worlder who was a librarian in the middle-worlder equivalent of the Library of Alexandria?” Eulalie leans back in her chair. We are in the kitchen, cooking lunch. Well, Areum is cooking. We’re just hanging around, annoying her.

  “No, I don’t remember, but tell me more,” Paheli asks, pretending to cut up carrots but actually eating them, Bugs Bunny–style. Taraana, who actually is helping, takes over the cutting session, shooing her away in the process.

  “She is remarkably erudite and, obviously, well-read. She might know of a way for Taraana to bond to the Between. It can’t hurt to ask,” Eulalie says. “She’s currently in Cairo.”

  Paheli looks at Taraana. “Cairo, huh?”

  He shrugs. “It may as well be Cairo.”

  Paheli: The Cheese in the Trap

  Cairo, the city of a thousand minarets, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of the cities that stood in its place. It has blood on its streets and fever in its heart. Cairo, a refuge to some and a cage to others. The magic here has a smoky feel to it, as if it is born of grief.

  The sky over Cairo is a disconcerting blue. The air in the city has the smell of a new day, car exhaust, and spices. Taraana and I separate from the others a little while after we enter the city. They are going to follow us from a distance. Daraja and Ghufran left with Eulalie the day before, preferring to provide emergency relief should we need any.

  Our first destination in Cairo is an unnamed eating establishment run by a not-human woman called Tayseir. She has dark hair, brown skin, and eyes the gold of desert sand. She is standing at the front of the restaurant, talking to a customer, and moves aside to allow us entrance. With her kohled eyes and multihued scarves, she is as beautiful as her name. Her smile brightens when she sees us and sharpens a moment later when she notices Taraana.

  “Who is this, Paheli?” Her voice makes a song out of my name. “Are you looking for trouble?”

  “I hope so,” I reply with a grin. I’m always pretending. “I’ve even sent it an invitation.”

  My reply gets me a glower from her. I sketch a bow and turn to follow Taraana, who has chosen a table close to the back of the restaurant, away from the light and the inquisitive patrons.

  We exchange Between diamonds for currency and, upon Tayseir’s insistence, order lunch. No matter what Tayseir cooks, the flavors in her food evoke the taste of the time you were happiest as a child. This is the magic of this restaurant and the real reason I brought Taraana here. He should taste some happiness before bad things happen.

  The food arrives and we gape at the bounty being placed on the table. Tayseir has outdone herself.

  “It’s not often you bring a man here,” Tayseir says with a grin, and Taraana raises an eyebrow.

  “I have never brought a man here!” I protest.

  Tayseir laughs and introduces the food. “I have feteer, gollash, fresh bread, bamia, and ful medames. Here is a platter of rice and a jug of icy sharbat. Eat your fill, and if you want more, just tell me.”

  Taraana stares at the feast in front of him and takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the delicacies. Then he notices that the plate before him is the only one on the table.

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asks.

  “I am not hungry,” I reply. He shrugs, then dips a piece of bread in ful medames and pops it into his mouth, closing his mouth to savor the taste. I watch him chew and swallow. A few seconds later, his eyes widen.

  “Did you remember it, then, your happiest memory as a child?” I ask, and he nods. “Will you tell me about it?”

  Taraana takes a sip of his sharbat. His fingers are trembling, so he clenches them into a fist.

  “It’s all right if you can’t. You don’t have to.”

  “No, I want to. It’s just that talking about my family is… difficult.” He licks his lips. “I had five older brothers and two younger sisters. I don’t remember their faces anymore, let alone their names. But there were times when I was still a part of their family. Times when I believed my parents loved me. We never had much to eat, and sometimes one or two bites were all each of us got. But once in a while, very, very infrequently, my mother would get some parantha from somewhere, some sugar and ghee from somewhere else, and she would make malida out of them. Do yo
u know what that is?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s just leftover parantha torn into pieces, mixed with sugar and ghee and rolled into balls. Three of us shared one, but every bite was eating a little bit of sunlight. The days we got malida were the happiest I ever was. I had brothers, sisters, and parents. I was loved. It didn’t matter that soon we would be hungry again or that my parents would fight or I would be beaten. As long as I had malida days to look forward to, I could go on and endure anything.”

  He smiles his broken smile.

  “When I eat this food, I taste the malida and feel the happiness I felt back then. I think I can even understand why my parents sold me. I was just one and they had so many to take care of. I can pretend they cried when they sent me way. I can pretend they were reluctant but had no other choice, no better alternative. I can tell myself those lies and pretend they are the truth.” He stops talking and takes another bite of the gollash.

  It takes all I have not to get up, grab his hand, and flee. Away from here. Away from Baarish’s men.

  “Taraana,” I say.

  “Yeah?” He glances at me before he returns his attention to the food.

  “I won’t judge you if you change your mind, so tell me that you have.” Please say that you have changed your mind. Please.

  He stops eating and focuses on me. “You know I haven’t.”

  I look at his stupidly beautiful face, at the stars in his eyes, at the way he is looking at me, and I find the resolve in me break. I am the stupid one. I should have thought of a better plan. One that doesn’t involve him getting kidnapped. Possibly beaten. Hurt.

  “I am wearing the pendant. I know the word. It will be okay.” Why is he reassuring me when I should be the one reassuring him?

  “Why don’t you wear more than one?” I ask. “Just in case.”

  “It’ll be too suspicious if I do,” he says, turning me down. “One will be enough.”