Chapter 31
If you would understand human nature, look no further than the ghouls that haunt us. The bone-eater and the bloodsucker, who bring the all-too-human fear of letting go to its worst conclusions. And the night hags, who reflect back to us our paralyzing fear of holding on.
—the poet Rimkin
Shay resumes her task. She nudges with her mind, trying to persuade a friendly, but easily distracted, raccoon to fetch the hjabat from where it is hidden beneath a large rock across the lawn.
The raccoon approaches the rock once more.
Shay concentrates on sending it a message to lift and move the rock to the side.
The raccoon stops, even looking back at her as though seeking confirmation.
She nods encouragingly. The raccoon trots right past the rock, retrieves a gray feather that has fallen on the ground, and brings it to her.
Shay sighs and places the feather next to the raccoon's previous deliveries: an assortment of leaves, stones, shards of pottery, and one small animal skull. If this exercise is any indication, her plan is never going to work.
Shouts ring out, coming from the front of the house. Shay wraps Najla in a blanket and quickly ties the baby to her back. As she rounds the corner of the cottage, the brothers come into view. They're crowded around a body slumped on the ground.
She jogs up to them, panting. Hunched shoulders shift aside, giving Shay the sense of reliving a memory. Tarik lies sprawled on the ground as the brothers take turns kicking him.
“What is going on here?” The infant squirms against her back, and Shay sways side to side in a soothing motion. “Someone, please explain.”
Aidi plucks his reed hat from the ground and smashes it over his balding skull. He flings his arm out, pointing a gnarled finger at Tarik. “He's the one who gave Snow to your mother.”
Shay gasps, the words cracking in her ears, spreading like a fissure over ice through her mind as she slowly comprehends their meaning. She looks from one brother to another and finds confirmation on each face. “How do you know?”
“He admitted it,” Bono growls.
Shay raises an eyebrow, needing to be certain. “Was that before or after you knocked him senseless?”
“What did you think?” Tarik strains to lift his head. He coughs, pinpoints of some blue-black substance flecking his chin. “There would be no consequence for your ill manners?”
“My what?” Shay sputters.
“You could have accepted my gift,” Tarik moans hoarsely. “But no, you thought you were too good for me.”
Shay shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you telling me my mother, my baby sister's mother, is gone because I didn't want a pair of gloves that were literally stained with the blood of a dead woman?”
Tarik coughs again, spewing more gunk. “She was a terrible mother anyway.”
A metal clank rings out. Kabeer brandishes a dagger, the long steel blade glinting in the afternoon sun. Shay's belly tightens, everything soft inside her turning hard.
“Brothers, hold him down so I may pierce his heart.” Kabeer shakes the dagger. “Let's see how immortal he really is.”
“Wait!” Shay holds her arms out and turns to Aidi. “Will that actually kill him?”
Aidi nods solemnly, the wide brim of his hat layering his face in shadow. “It is one of the only things that will. Even sunlight and starvation do little more than weaken them.”
For a fleeting moment, Shay imagines the life that could have been if Hind stayed purged.
Perhaps, once the Lallat reawakened, Shay would have moved to the Cerabbi region and returned to midwifing.
They could have raised Najla near the sea, playing with sand between her toes and salt tangled in her hair.
It would have been a simple life, but a good one.
Or maybe it would never have happened that way. Maybe Hind didn't have what it took to give up Snow, to put in the necessary work to build a better life like Khawla's mother had. Maybe Tarik was right, and she was a terrible mother.
Shay will never know.
This vile, heartless creature robbed them of any possible future. Anger uncoils inside her like a poisonous snake. Staring at Tarik, she unfastens the blanket and carefully passes the baby to Dasri.
She strides to Kabeer and stops in front of him. “Give me the knife.”
Kabeer hands her the dagger without a word, his face unreadable.
With a nod, the other brothers understand her intention and leap to restrain the bloodsucker before he skitters away.
Shay stands over him, straddling his body.
She shoves back the stray hairs stuck to her sweaty face.
Heat beats down on her head like a molten crown.
She squeezes the dagger in two hands, her arms held straight and stiff in front of her.
Tarik stares up at her. Something in his black eyes quivers, but his voice is smooth as honey. “You're no killer.”
Najla begins fussing, and Dasri coos to her in an adorably exaggerated voice that would make Shay smile under less severe circumstances.
“I wasn't before,” she says, her voice a calm match to Tarik's, gentle as a cooling breeze. “But that's the thing about people, Sidi—they can change. If given the chance, or the right reason.”
“If you kill me, you'll regret it,” the bloodsucker blurts, speaking so quickly that his words run together. “I have information that will help the Sisterhood in their mission.”
Despite Dasri's earnest efforts, Najla's fussing progresses to low, drawn-out cries. Without turning her head to see, Shay hears the increasingly familiar sound of the baby sucking hungrily on her own hand.
“Do you think I'd believe anything you say at this point?” she snarls. “Or that I would allow you to live, knowing you could come after my baby sister next?”
“I—I would never,” the bloodsucker stammers, now plainly afraid.
The baby is full-on wailing. Hungry. Shay knows from experience that if she puts off the inevitable, she'll be rewarded with the appearance of two dripping wet circles on the front of her tunic. Her tears may be impounded, but leaking milk does not seem to be an issue.
She releases all the air in her lungs in one gush and turns to Aidi, handing him the knife with shaking hands. “I have to breastfeed her. But no one kills him until I return, understand?”
“As you wish, Lalla,” the elder brother concedes.
Shay takes the afternoon to think over Tarik's words. The truth is, she could use help with her mission. As little as she trusts the bloodsucker, she hasn't seen Shadi since before Najla was born, and she's desperate to make some sort of progress.
The bone-eaters have brought the bloodsucker inside and tied him to a chair.
His head hangs down, so all Shay sees is the domed top of his black turban.
Darkness is gathering. The walls glow orange from the lanterns set into each corner of the dining room.
The brothers, who would normally be preparing to go out around now, sit or stand against the walls as though waiting for a show to begin—Kabeer even made snacks.
Shay walks over and stands in front of Tarik with her arms crossed. “Still alive there, Sidi?” She delivers a kick to his shin.
The creature yelps, his eyes flying open. “Oh good, you're back. Is your miniature bloodsucker satiated?”
Shay holds out her hand for the blade, and Aidi obligingly places its handle in her palm.
“I've been thinking,” Tarik continues unabated. “If you must kill me, you should at least allow me to request a last meal, shouldn't you?”
“Be quiet and listen,” Shay spits out, flicking the tip of the dagger beneath Tarik's pointy chin. “I might not kill you. Provided you give me the information you mentioned.”
The bloodsucker smiles uncertainly, treating Shay to a glimpse of fang. “How do I know you won't kill me anyway?”
Shay shrugs. “How do I know you won't give me false information?”
Tarik bristles. “I've been around a long time, little dove. Long before Al-Mukhtar, and if we can come to an agreement, I plan to be here a long time after. Such an interminable lifespan does incline one to developing some sort of standard.”
“That's it. That's supposed to convince me you'll tell the truth?”
“I may not always be straightforward, but I'm not a liar,” the bloodsucker puts forth indignantly. “I know what this information is worth. It will change everything, little dove. And I'm not uttering a word of it until you untie me.”
Shay pulls back the dagger and taps the blade against her palm. “You said you wanted a last meal, right?”
Stillness takes over Tarik's face. “I may have mentioned that.”
Shay draws the blade across her forearm in one swift motion, hissing against the violent sting.
“Shay!” Deebi cries out. “Are you sure about this?”
Aidi steps forward, but Shay waves him back with her unwounded arm.
“I know what I'm doing,” she says calmly. Blood ribbons to her fingertips, where it hangs, suspended in a beaded drop. Tarik strains his neck forward, fangs fully extended, drool dripping from his lips. “Here, I'll let you have a taste.”
She lifts her arm over his gaping mouth. Her blood splashes his lips and chin. His eyes roll back, and his tongue darts out, lapping every drop. “Ah, as delicious as I remember.”
“You're only going to make him more obsessed with you than he already is,” Deebi warns. “Lallati, please think before you take this any further. You are clearly in grief.”
“Shhh.” Shay steps back from Tarik, splattering the blue-tiled floor in red.
He rocks the chair, edging it toward her. “It isn't good to waste.”
She plants her foot on the seat to still it, right between his parted legs, and leans over, keeping her bleeding arm behind her. “If you want more, tell me how to destroy Al-Mukhtar.”