Gods Ascendent: The Apsara Chronicles #2 Page 5

  “That murder in Manhattan, I just heard more about it come through. It’s a horrific scene. The police are fearing the worst.”

  “And the Horde Assembly?

  “They don’t deem it important.”

  “And this sub-cult?”

  “They are all smiling happy people at the moment. Things seem to be going according to Ishanie’s plans.”

  Karan nodded. He didn’t want to hear that something else had happened that he’d need to send Vaishnavi to investigate. Despite her abilities, she was making herself all too vulnerable by putting herself in harm’s way.

  He’d seen the images in her mind, the ones of the man who was following her. She hadn’t told him as much though. Perhaps she didn’t believe the events to be connected. Or perhaps she felt as though she wanted to deal with the problem herself. Or perhaps she didn’t want to believe that someone was after her. The Apsara was an unusual creature, strong, powerful, knowledgeable, and yet she held herself back with such intensity that it worried Karan. If she lost her focus, he’d have to think of something else to do to help her.

  Karan looked over at Carl who’d removed a small device from his pocket and was busy tapping at the screen. “Carl. Can you get Nate to bring the car around? I want to meet my agent at the scene of the crime.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The man left the room, and Karan gritted his teeth. She won’t be happy to see him, but he needed to ensure she was informed of the possible danger to her life.

  Karan only hoped that it would not be too late. Things were far from what they appeared to be right now.

  And Karan had a distinct suspicion it was going to get far worse.

  Chapter 9

  Vee headed out of Central Park, sending the details Karan had emailed to her on to Brent. She’d requested a warrant ASAP, to which he’d replied with ‘On it,’ which Vee knew meant he’d have the paperwork sorted and emailed to the relevant parties within the hour.

  He’d followed with a second message that annoyed her, and yet did not surprise her.

  The traffic cams in the vicinity of the warehouse hadn’t picked up a thing. Probably because the demons had been smart enough to jump from location to location.

  Vee stepped toward the curb and flagged down a cab. Her mind remained focused on Karan, his freezing of time, his passionate response to her criticism, the calm way that he’d passed on the next case to her, not to mention his little hint that she may not be the only Apsara around.

  She snorted as she thought about the number of other things about the man that both frustrated and fascinated her. A cab finally slowed and drew to a stop for her. She pulled open the door only to be dosed with a blast of comfortingly warm air with a side of ear-shatteringly loud rap music.

  Vee winced as she slid inside, pulling her bag off her body. She had placed the satchel on the floor at her feet and was about to tell the guy to turn it down when he turned and greeted her with a broad smile that made his eyes twinkle. Her cab driver was a cheerful old Japanese man, and she didn’t have the heart to yell at him. More so when she saw the photos of what must have been his brood of grandkids, all hanging from the top of the windshield like bunting.

  She smiled back and raised her voice to give him the address, then settled back, pulling the beanie off her head and stuffing it onto her bag. As soon as she was able to block out the angry lyrics of the current song, her thoughts pulled straight to Karan again.

  She realized that she really ought to stop questioning him. She had long since accepted that she’d never be able to fully trust him. Full disclosure was not something he was capable of. He drip-fed her information, both about current cases and about himself and why he’d chosen Vee. Not to mention the issue of where he was getting his information from.

  But the one thing that stuck with Vee though—the thought swirling within her head, threatening to make her dizzy—was his implication that there were others like her.

  Other Apsaras.

  Vee’s mother, though a daughter from a strong Apsara line, had not been gifted with the kind of powers Vee possessed. Devi’s ability was of a calming, more empathetic type, nothing in the vein of Vee’s destructive abilities.

  Not to mention the wings.

  Vee’s own existence implied that it was possible there were others out there, and the idea that she was not alone lifted her spirits. Until she realized that it was possible that Karan had just meant she was the FBI agent he was most partial to.

  She wished she was able to figure the man out.

  “You know, when a goat is staring you straight in the eye, you can do one of three things, yell loudly and frighten it away, stare it down and get head-butted for your troubles, or turn and run—”

  “Which would result in being head-butted in the ass,” Vee murmured softly, her voice drowned out by the rap music to which her cabdriver bobbed his head. She smiled and glanced over at Radha—or rather her ghost, since Vee still wasn’t entirely sure she was real. “Yeah. Heard that one before, Ma.”

  Radha smiled and nodded her approval. Today the ghost wore a deep red silk sari, a bright red dot on her forehead. Vee shook her head and said, “You do know that nobody has ever had any clue as to what that means. Every time you quoted it people would roll their eyes and smile.”

  The apparition grinned, her white teeth gleaming as a ray of sunshine caught them as the driver took a right at the intersection.

  Radha looked over at Vee. “Sometimes people like to tell themselves that a thing is too hard to do, to be, to understand. It’s usually because they already know the answer but won’t allow themselves to admit it.”

  Vee stared at the old woman, both marveling at how she glowed in the sunlight, and annoyed at her non-answer. She shook her head. “What is that?” she asked, her attention suddenly drawn back to the red bindi on Radhima’s forehead.

  “What is what, dear? You are going to have to be a little more specific than that.” The apparition’s answer was serene.

  Vee raised her finger and began to point it at Radhima’s forehead. Belatedly, she realized where she was and held her hand low on her lap, though her finger still pointed at the ghost’s face. “That. What’s it doing on your forehead.”

  “Oh,” Radhima answered giving a soft laugh. “My bindi.” She inhaled slowly and shifted to look Vee in the eye.

  In that moment, Vee felt the warmth radiating from her grandmother, although a part of her mind swore that it was only the sunshine streaming through the window and heating up the back of the already warm car.

  It occurred to Vee that each time she held these conversations with this figment of her imagination, Vee herself seemed to fall into a sort of natural acceptance that the vision was real. She should stop doing that, or else she’d confirm to herself that she was nuts.

  “My mother once told me something in the days before I was married. She said that a woman’s laughter is like the sound of birdsong. That a woman’s love is like peace for the soul, and that a woman’s life is her only true possession, one that can never be taken from her. The world may see a woman as an extension of her husband. They may take her visible claim on her marriage,” Radhima pointed at the bright spot of red on her forehead, “from her when he leaves this plane. But nobody can control the one true fact that a woman is the embodiment of life. Unless we choose to stoop to utter barbarism, nobody can take that life power from her. Do you know what the red bindi is a representation of?”

  Vee was startled by the sudden question. She’d been lulled by Radhima’s voice, by her beautiful words, and the inquiry jolted her from what she discovered had been a place of peace. Vee cleared her throat. “A representation of marriage. Something about the goddess Laxmi. Fertility? Being the light of the household?” Vee shrugged, running out of responses.

  “And who do you think created those rules. The gods? Would a god have decreed such a thing?” The old woman shook her head. “Those who choose to negate a woman’s claim on her husb
and’s estate, those who wish to destroy the power she’d once held as his consort, they are ones who sought to instill that barbaric ritual.”

  “But you wore the bindi all through your marriage. And you allowed them to remove it when Babaji died?” The longer Vee spoke, the more uncertain she felt. Radhima was turning everything Vee had known about her past on its head.

  Radhima smiled and stared out of the window for a moment. When she looked back at Vee, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “There was a good reason behind my mother’s advice. She was giving me the tools to live a life as a strong woman…a strong woman who had to pretend to the world her entire life.”

  Vee frowned and sat back. She wanted to laugh it off, make a joke and change the topic. Her grandmother’s words made her uncomfortable, and she sensed the natural social urge to protect herself from the truth. But that was cowardly. She’d be disrespecting Radhima by making light of her pain.

  Vee said the only thing that she could think of. “Do you want to talk about it?” Vee felt tears burn her eyes and she swallowed against the tightening in her throat.

  The old woman smiled and shook her head. “That is not the conversation we are having now, child.” She inhaled slowly and looked up at the sky. “I understood much later in life what my mother had meant. You see, nobody owns the birdsong. Perhaps the bird is caged, but its music is free to dance on the wind, to make people smile. Our birdsong is the song of our hearts, our creativity, our literal voice, our art. Even caged, we can still make ourselves heard.”

  Vee’s ears were ringing. The reality of what her grandmother was saying was hitting her hard. She had to force herself to breathe, to listen as Radhima continued, “A woman’s love? It can only be had when her partner has traveled the right journey, conquering ego, uplifting selflessness, giving freedom. A woman’s life? It’s the one thing nobody can take from you.”

  The back of the cab was steeped in silence for a few moments until Vee said, “What about a woman’s body…her physical self?”

  “Physical life?” Radhima tilted her head to study Vee. “Physical form, yes? That can be beaten down. But not your inner essence. That’s yours no matter what happens to your physical self. Even through great trauma, one’s inner essence remains within us. We just have to find our way back. I won’t say the journey is ever easy, but we do what we must to go home,” she said, patting below her sternum—at the point of the solar plexus chakra.

  The cab rolled to a stop and Vee peered out at the address, reaching for her bag. Her eyes widened at the sight of the red carpet and the gold plaque set into gray stone beside the entrance. She raised her eyebrows and turned to share her surprise with her grandmother when she realized that she was alone.

  Radhima was gone. Vee sat back, stunned, deflated. She’d been speaking to the ghost—apparition—for all this time and she’d totally forgotten that the old woman wasn’t even real. And yet she’d felt real. And Vee wasn’t thinking about the warmth that had emanated from her body from time to time.

  No. It had been more than that.

  “You’re a fortunate young woman,” a high, crackly voice said from the front of the cab.

  Vee snapped her attention to the driver—who had twisted around in his seat and was facing her— and frowned at his words. She didn’t feel particularly fortunate right now. Still, she shook her head, confused as she waited for him to elaborate. “Good spirits don’t often visit us, you know. If she’s coming to you and she’s been kind and loving, then you know she’s here for a reason other than to do you harm.” The old man smiled and winked. As if that was going to make her feel better.

  Vee tilted forward, still frowning. “You saw her.”

  He nodded. “When you live a long life like I have, you tend to see a lot of strange things.”

  You can say that again.

  Vee glanced back at the empty space beside her. “I thought I was imagining her,” she murmured.

  The driver shrugged. “If that was the case, I’d say that imagination of yours is very strong.”

  The things Vee’s grandmother had said had been illuminating. And yet it made her realize something. Vee now had information she could take to her mother. A fact about Radhima’s life that she’d never been told. A piece of the past that Radha’s daughter no doubt knew.

  A tiny part of Vee’s mind asked what she would do if it turned out that Mom knew nothing about her mother’s marital discontent.

  Vee suppressed a sigh. She had no choice but to speak to her mother now. After what the apparent apparition had just revealed, Vee owed it to herself and to her ghostly gran, to confirm once and for all if she was real.

  Though the cab-driver’s confirmation should have been enough, she still needed her mother’s response to what Radhima had revealed.

  Because if Vee’s figment-of-imagination grandmother was really Radhima come back to the land of the living, Vee was going to have an epic meltdown.

  Chapter 10

  As Vee entered the hotel room—or suite if she wanted to be specific—she grimaced. Her nostrils were assailed with the scent of blood. The apartment itself was cloyingly hot—despite the cold outside—the sun had just passed its zenith and was at the perfect angle to light up the room. The brightness only highlighted the white-on-white decor within the plush suite.

  Vee dug inside her messenger bag for a pair of bootees and latex gloves. She slipped the coverings onto her shoes and then—as she strode further into the room—drew the latex gloves on.

  Crime scene techs and police officers milled around the front living room, hands, and shoes also protected. A few shifted their attention to her as she entered, their spines stiff as if ready to tell her to get lost. She waved a gloved hand and drew her jacket aside, revealing the FBI badge and gun on her belt.

  The sight of the badge turned a few expressions sour, but not everyone appeared to be entirely hating her. She had a few people on the local force who respected her enough to at least greet her with a modicum of civility. She greeted the room and kept walking past a feature table that lay on its side, a large brass bowl toppled over with white roses and carnations strewn across a patch of wet carpet. Thick cream pile covered the floor, and white and gold marble end-tables were scattered around the large space. All the furniture was white leather of expensive fake fur or hand-woven wool.

  Its pristine condition was destroyed by the streak of blood on the far wall, and a large oval shaped bloodstain on the carpet near the windows. A pair of double doors opened to Vee’s left, and from the low hum of voices, she figured that was the location of the murder. Vee walked over to the inner doorway, and entered right into a middle of an argument, their huddle blocking the view of the victim on the gigantic bed beyond them.

  The three cops embroiled in some sort of turf argument all turned to look at Vee who stood serenely on the threshold. Detective Andrea Monroe stood closest to Vee, and for once she didn’t ignore her. The two other detectives didn’t appear to know Vee. Which could work in Vee’s favor.

  Or not.

  Monroe strode toward Vee and held out a latex-gloved hand. Vee raised an eyebrow and looked at her hand, then took it and gave it a short shake. Whatever the woman was up to, Vee decided she’d enjoy the semblance of professional courtesy Monroe was currently affording her.

  “Agent Shankar, glad you could make it.” Monroe smiled, though the expression didn’t seem to meet her eyes.

  And Vee had a strong feeling that the detective’s bad attitude was not directed at Vee herself. Monroe turned to the waiting men and strode off without a word. Assuming Monroe had meant for her to follow, Vee hurried after her.

  She scanned the room as she went. Large, at least ten times the standard size of a double bedroom, cream wool carpeted the floor, deep mahogany furniture completing the plush expensive decor. Floor-to-ceiling drapery graced the right-hand wall—which consisted of one giant window— and was currently flung wide open. Allowing the sun to stream inside. Had Vee been in c
harge she would have shut the curtains, especially knowing what heat did to biological evidence. Surely Monroe knew that.

  She came to a stop in front of the two detectives. Both had already begun speaking, but Vee lifted a hand, cutting them off. “Can we get those drapes closed, please? Before the biological evidence degrades?”

  Monroe raised her hands in the air and then dropped them. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell them, but they refuse to listen.”

  Vee shifted her attention to the two men. “And why exactly is that?”

  “This is our jurisdiction,” said the first detective, poking his thumbs into his belt loops. He wore a pale pink shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a tanned chest covered in a thick layer of chest hair, a fat gold chain gleaming around his neck. His hair was cut short, military style, and his shoulders were muscled. He wore dark chinos and cowboy boots, which he hadn’t bothered to protect.

  His partner on the other hand—dark-suited and elegant—was so pretty Vee had to force her jaw to close. Startlingly blue eyes, thick hair cut long on top to grace his chin, short and sensible at the back. High cheekbones, full lips, firm chin, all making Vee peg him as Middle Eastern, Persian or something East Asian. He stood there, watching her watch him, his stance wide, his eyes devoid of emotion.

  Neither man introduced themselves.

  “Jurisdiction or not, you clearly do not understand the concept of preserving the evidence.” Vee reached into her messenger bag and withdrew two more pairs of bootees. Handing them over she said, “I’m sure that should you win the argument over jurisdiction—which you likely won’t because Monroe is Special Victims and you guys just want to make things difficult—you will ultimately want to catch the killer. To do so, you will require evidence. Viable evidence. The sun coming in through those windows is turning this place into an oven.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Vee could see Monroe opening her mouth.

  Vee didn’t allow the detective to speak. “I’m absolutely confident that my associate Detective Monroe here knows procedure. So, can I assume that it is you two detectives who saw fit to ignore protocol?” Hands now on her hips, Vee looked over at Man Chest, who stared at her, features schooled—so he was good at this—and then turned to look at Pretty Boy who let out a soft hiss of breath.