The Hand of Kali Box Set (Books 1-3) Page 2

  The door closed with a snick just as the cushion Maya had been playing with hit it. Maya shook her head, chuckling. Her mom always had a way with words. Although her parents had accepted she didn’t fully believe in the theology of Hinduism, her mom never failed to try her luck at convincing her every so often. Still, she was thankful they didn’t force her to perform all the rituals and customs. They were less orthodox than the other parents in the community, like her friend Ria’s father. But they still maintained their belief in the gods.

  It's merely mythology. Not actually real.

  But when her mother looked at her that way, Maya had to wonder what it really took to believe.

  Chapter 2

  "Holy moly, what the heck happened to you?" Ria whispered as she traced the bluish-purple splotch on Maya’s cheek. She hadn't even bothered to say 'hi', just barged in, plonked herself onto the bed and stared in morbid fascination at Maya’s bruise. "It looks so painful. Does it hurt?"

  Maya shook her head slightly, to avoiding hitting her throbbing cheek against her friend’s exploring fingers. In the next moment, Ria pressed against the darkest, most painful part of the bruise.

  "Ow!" Maya howled, unable to control the volume of her pain, struggling with the throbbing agony.

  "What? I thought you said it didn't hurt." Ria tried to look innocent. And failed.

  "Right. Why would I admit it hurts like a hot iron against my face?"

  "Because it hurts, silly." Ria smiled, long dangling earrings sparkling, hair pulled neatly away from her face.

  "Don’t be such a girl. You're not supposed to admit that something is painful." Ria stared at Maya, confused and partly distracted by the striking bruise. "You’re not supposed to admit to being weak. That’s all I’m saying."

  Ria shook her head. "But you aren’t strong, so doesn't that make you weak?"

  "Nope. I am strong. It’s part of my training. And . . . because I say so."

  "And the shiner? What does that say? That you lost a fight with your father’s fist?"

  "It says I'm brave, and courageous." Maya knew she was reaching. Knew the bruise made her look like a loser. She’d feel it more at school next week. "And it was my instructor’s fist."

  The argument was one they’d had time and time again. Even though they’d moved to America before she was born, Ria’s parents had done a great job brainwashing her into thinking women were mere objects, meant to bear children for their husbands and certainly not meant to fight. Only men did that, and men were supposedly there for protection.

  Ria snorted. "The bruise says you lost the fight. I say it spells weakness. Besides, girls shouldn’t be fighting. Or learning to fight."

  There she went again.

  "And which male chauvinist told you that?" Maya pierced her friend with narrowed eyes. She wanted to ask what happened when Ria's father raised his hand against her, as he’d done all her life. Who protected her then? But Maya bit her tongue.

  "My mother, you idiot." Her friend's kohl-lined eyes went flat. Maya knew a lie when she saw one.

  Ria’s dad was pure, unadulterated male chauvinism in a neat and tidy Indian package. Her poor mom would have been in deep trouble if she hadn't had a son after Ria. Thankfully, Ria’s two little brothers served to remove the attention from her lack of maleness. God knew, they’d probably be arranging a marriage for her soon.

  Just the thought made Maya want to grit her teeth again.

  "Really, Maya. You and your dad should be more careful with your sparring sessions. Girls are not built to fight like guys. Look at what happened to you; a black eye? Are you seriously going to continue learning martial arts now?"

  Maya nodded. "Yup, as soon as the bruise heals."

  She hid a smile at the expression on Ria's face. Her friend’s cheeks flamed and her eyes glittered. Boy was she mad, but instead of yelling at Maya as she usually did, she took a deep breath and looked out the window.

  "Well, who am I to tell you how to take care of yourself when it's abundantly clear you're doing a perfectly good job on your own."

  Maya heard the hurt in her friend's voice. And she understood. Ria just didn't want anything to happen to her. Of the two friends, Maya had always been stronger, and she'd always been the one to take care of Ria. Good thing their families attended the same temple so they saw a little more of each other at cultural functions. A little taste of Indian tradition in suburban America. Ria was the only reason Maya agreed to go to any of them.

  "Ria." Maya waited for her friend to turn and face her. Then she smiled. "Thank you. For worrying about me and even for bossing me around."

  That drew a small smile from Ria and she walked over to the bed to perch on its edge. "Promise me you’ll take care of yourself? Please."

  Maya nodded. "Pinky swear."

  Ria giggled and both girls locked pinkies and smiled at each other for a moment.

  “It’s getting late. Let’s go.” Maya pulled her hair around her face, hoping the fall of black curls would hide her cheekbones until they got into the darkened movie theater.

  “Hey, you two. You've been let out on parole?” Maya and Ria turned to make space for Joss as she snuck under the red plastic barrier.

  “Hey.” Both girls smiled and Maya waited. Joss was sure to have an interesting reaction to the bruise.

  “Woah! What the hell happened to you?” Joss's eyes narrowed, as if she expected Maya to come up with some fantastic lie, reminding Maya that Joss hadn't turned up for class so she'd missed the knockout session.

  Joss, or Jocelyn Cawood, a name she loved to ignore, had joined Dev Rao's martial arts school two years ago and Maya often enjoyed a sparring session with her friend. She also enjoyed a good dose of envy as Joss seemed to pick stuff up so much faster than Maya.

  “Sparring accident. I wasn’t concentrating. Didn’t duck fast enough.” Maya moved backwards, tilting her head so her hair covered most of her face.

  “Sheesh.” Joss wrinkled her nose and leaned closer. “Does it hurt as bad as it looks?”

  Maya shrugged, not eager to continue the discussion with so many people around. Turning to face the cashier, she caught sight of Nik standing in the next line, and whipped her head away, hoping he hadn’t seen her staring.

  Lately, she’d been seeing Nik around far too much. Not that she minded. She saw a confidence in his eyes, like he was stronger than he looked, and sometimes like he knew more than he let on. He managed to fit in and yet stand out all at the same time. His crooked smile and those broad shoulders were certainly easy on the eye.

  A quick glance back at him revealed he’d spotted her. And he stared at her, the slightest hint of a grin at his lips. Ugh! Lips she had no right even thinking about.

  He took a tiny step toward her, his mouth opening as if he meant to say something, but the line moved ahead and Maya followed, ignoring Nik and whatever he’d been about to say. She didn’t have a chance in hell with a guy like him. Besides, she was here for movies, not boys.

  The movie ended up being lame. A slasher flick which made Maya want to laugh hysterically instead of scream. Whatever happened to her normal human reaction to scary stuff? None of it seemed scary to her, although her friends both screamed on cue.

  Exiting the theatre, the three girls slowed to a stop as Joss’s cellphone vibrated. While Joss dug into her pocket, Maya scanned the crowds surging from the doors of the cinema for one tall, dark-headed form, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “Hey, you guys wanna go to Amber’s party Saturday night?” Joss said after checking her texts.

  “I didn’t know we were invited.” Maya kept her voice bland and uninterested. Ria stiffened beside her.

  Ria never went to parties. She wasn't ever allowed.

  Maya hardly went either. She hated the cool parties.

  She rarely received an invitation to any of them and even if she did go she wasn't part of the popular crowd. Besides, it was too much of an effort to fit in. Too much of an effort to pretend to be some
thing she wasn't.

  And, under no circumstances did Maya qualify as cool.

  So, when Joss tossed Maya her cellphone to read Amber Alden’s text invitation, there were two reasons she didn't want to go.

  Her ghastly bruise would still be around. Who'd want to pitch up looking like someone had used her as a punching bag?

  And because she wouldn't fit in with Amber's crowd. She didn't feel up to making such a huge effort. Didn't feel up to inventing some elaborate cover story just to get out of the house. Didn't feel up to pretending she understood what went on in Amber’s pretty dark head to even bother to extend the invitation to Ria and Maya.

  Too hard.

  Maya handed back the phone and shook her head.

  “Aw, come on Maya. You cannot seriously be telling me you plan to snub the only invitation you have ever - and I will repeat - ever received from Amber.” Joss’s voice almost broke.

  This was one of the times Maya wondered why her blonde, blue-eyed friend even bothered to spend any time with them. Sure, they’d been together since kindergarten but Joss had always been popular, while Maya and Ria were, and always would be, outcast.

  But Joss was right. Being ostracized almost always began with a ‘No’. And since Maya and Ria had absolutely zero chance of obtaining permission to join the cheer-leading squad - with all those tiny little skirts revealing the girls thighs for everyone to see - they couldn't risk declining.

  “I’ll help you pick something to wear if you like?” Joss offered, smiling, already knowing she'd beaten Maya into submission.

  “Fine, I’ll make a plan. And thanks for the offer, but I think I can figure out what to wear all by myself.” Maya relented, but she had a feeling this was a bad idea.

  Maybe the years of being told how bad modern society was had ingrained itself in Maya's consciousness. All those years being told by her family how easily a girl could ruin her reputation, and lose her precious chance of finding a decent husband. Or maybe Maya’s conscience was stronger than her need to rebel.

  In the end, she knew it was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  Chapter 3

  Between the inventive lies to her parents and the multiple wardrobe changes, and the repeated attempts to hide the fading, but still hideous, purple and yellow bruise on her cheek, Maya was exhausted even before she arrived at Amber Alden’s mansion. Everything about the place, including its clean modern lines and miles and miles of glass, screamed Maya didn’t belong. The threatening wrought iron gates, the curving stone driveway. Even the door at the entrance opened out wide enough for a semi to pass through.

  And yet here she was.

  Her stomach rolled.

  Some huge butterflies there. Maya still wondered about Amber’s reasons for inviting her. But she didn’t linger on those thoughts. The house vibrated; laughter and music making the ground rumble beneath her feet.

  At the last minute, she'd donned a pair of dark blue jeans and a strappy sequined top that belonged to a fancy Indian outfit. A bit raunchy, but Bollywood set the trend and if she wore Indian attire it was okay to display everything from below the boobs to the hips. But not thighs. Or knees. Even ankles were semi-taboo, depending on who made the rules.

  Someone swayed past. A guy, hands tattooed all the way to his black painted fingernails, held the wall for support. Maya watched him stumble into the garden, retch and fall straight into a blooming rose bush. Her stomach did a nosedive. Nobody mentioned anything about alcohol.

  A voice in her head laughed at her, the sound echoing in her mind. So what am I? Naive? Stupid? Of course, there’s alcohol. It's a popular party, rich kids, college students. Maya sighed, walked through the enormous doorway and promised herself she was going to take this opportunity by the horns.

  Whatever that meant.

  She paused, lost in a huge hallway, lost in her decision to enter this place, and totally losing the argument against staying. Fortunately, within the next few seconds, Joss rushed in through a small set of doors and things began to look up a bit.

  "Hey, you made it." Joss grinned, her tongue-bar peeking at Maya, reflecting the light in a slightly macabre déjà vu kind of way

  Relief flooded Maya’s veins. Was she so insecure that the mere sight of Joss made her relax? Joss, the bearer of Amber’s special invitation, the reason Maya was here in the first place. The reason she’d lied to her parents, who now believed she and Joss were having a little innocent sleepover at Joss’s cavernous, empty house.

  Joss slung her arm around Maya’s shoulder and pulled her into the kitchen, waving her hand at nothing and everything in the chrome and cherry-wood room. "Get a drink, whatever you like."

  The bench-top overflowed with every alcoholic drink under the sun. The myriad colors were pretty in a barbaric kind of way. A large silver pedal bin stood beneath a refuse rainbow, filled to the brim, dozens of empty bottles strewn beside it.

  Maya tread water in the sea of her ignorance.

  But Joss came to her rescue, handing her a glass of blue booze. Maya tried to sip the contents with an air of nonchalance, hoping to exude experience. No such luck. She obliterated the effect when she choked and spluttered on the first sip. She cleared her throat and took a good swallow. The blue heat seared its way down her throat and she struggled for air and struggled to swallow and couldn’t believe she’d sunk to such a terrible low.

  Rules, rules, breaking all the rules. Liquid heat gouged burning fingernails all the way to her stomach.

  "Thanks," Maya said, the word scorching in the wake of the blue blaze. Wait. What am I to be thankful for again? Suicide by internal first-degree burns?

  Searing flames licked her insides, sensuous and languorous and so hot.

  She blinked and gasped.

  "No problem," Joss said. She giggled before slugging a deep red drink, a drink too red, too thick, and Maya felt her throat close. "Amber left these for us. Said they were a special 'thank you' for accepting her invitation."

  "Nice of her." Maya rolled her eyes, feeling them wobble. Amber didn’t inspire even the slightest bit of affection in her and no gift, alcoholic or otherwise, could warm her heart towards Miss Popularity.

  "Yeah. Very nice of her. See, I told you Amber was nice," said Joss nodding so hard her blonde locks fell forward almost hiding her pretty oval face.

  Maya glared at her, eyes narrowed, but Joss paid little attention. Joss shoved her hair out of her face and her words tumbled over her swollen lips, swollen words swirling like the liquid in her glass. Joss swayed, her turbulent balance at odds with the unmoving floor. She swept a glance around the room, eyes glazed, reality glazed, nodded for no apparent reason, and then dragged a stool to the counter almost tipping herself and it over each other. She shoved a few bottles aside to make room for her elbows.

  A mean chill constricted Maya’s gut, a chill with a knife-edge of fear. Here, in this strange house overflowing with kids who were almost nasty, always indifferent, and Maya’s one ally swayed before her, wasted. Sixteen and wasted for god's sake. The tiny thrill of excitement she’d experienced on entering the party had long since faded, consumed by reality one intoxicating drop at a time.

  Maya blinked and lost focus and missed a breath. Strange, inexplicable warmth licked at muscles now too relaxed, too calm. Heat filled her body, a heady awareness of soft limbs and melting bone, and the odd and distant thunder rumbling beneath her ribs and in her skull. Fire broke the floodgates, and burned a gentle path to Maya’s fingertips, and left a thrum in her ears and in her heart and in her throat.

  Maya shook her head. No, I won’t allow anything to spoil this for me. She blinked away the heaviness in her eyelids, and tensed her upper arms, but they felt wrong. A heavy sleepy sludge had invaded her muscles, had pushed through her defenses. She gasped, gripped by a sudden wave of fear, but no sound left her twisting throat.

  "Joss." Maya shook Joss’s arm as her friend's eyelids drooped and she began to slide off the stool. Joss's eyes shot open. She stared at
Maya, and stared more. All blank innocence and cheerful smiles, though she failed to hide the fleeting confusion, the equally fleeting suspicion. "You don’t have to shout. I can hear you just fine."

  Maya deliberated, chewed her lip, and scanned the kitchen. She stared through the gap in the doorway opening on a dark and sweaty, heaving throng. Bass shook the house, hammered the walls and throbbed beneath her ribs.

  She had to get Joss out. A house full of drunken kids was no place for a teenage girl to pass out. Maya wanted to release the laughter building in her throat. Wanted it all to be terribly funny, funny because her judgment had let her down so badly. Wanted the gnawing teeth in her gut to be wrong. But her instinct refused to back down. And, right then, Joss's safety outweighed Maya’s suspicions.

  Getting Joss home should be easy.

  Getting Joss home would have been easy, had Maya been in full possession of all her faculties.

  Tingling.

  That was it. Her entire body, fingertips included, tingled as if millions of tiny fire-ants were kissing every inch of her skin.

  The ants themselves would have been bearable, but the way the kitchen twisted and tilted affected Maya more. The floor bucked beneath her feet and her throat contracted. The ants and the twisting scared her. Terrified her. Maya’s glass sat on the counter, blue melting ice cubes reflected the bland kitchen fluorescent light.

  What the hell was in that drink?

  Blood thundered in her ears as Maya tried her best to keep focused. Joss had been drinking the cocktail far longer than her. Made sense she'd be far more under the dubious influence of the drink. Alcohol. Definitely alcohol. Nice-tasting stuff, if you went for stuff like that, but alcohol nevertheless.