Chapter 10 Gilded Age
Tara’s story is quieter than Chandini’s, but even more impressive to me.
Her sorrow ushers me through four uneventful days wreathed in a thick cloud of despair.
I spend my nights in bed, scouring the internet for information.
Although there are plenty of novels and films about making deals with demons and stealing magic, there’s not really any definitive how-to guide for battling real-life demons or saving your abortion clinic.
Academic and library databases are similarly a bust. Muya hasn’t contacted me at all either, leaving me without any real sources of information.
On Saturday, I lie in bed for hours, becoming increasingly paranoid, but when Aai calls, I pretend I’m fine and instead tell her brightly that I danced again.
“Even if you don’t want to come to mandir this weekend, you should at least do your prarthana,” Aai says.
“Okay.”
“You can do it while falling asleep, Nisha. It’s not a matter of belief. It will be meditative for you. It will help your anxiety and make you sleep better.”
“Right.” I can’t help it, I’m annoyed. Praying has not helped me once in two decades, but that never stops her from suggesting it over and over again. We both know that she wants me to pray because she’s worried I’m angering the gods.
“Don’t be rude,” Aai says. “I’m only trying to help you! You’re sad all the time, you never want to go out, you eat badly, and you don’t work out. What did you eat today?”
“I microwaved a frozen meal.” I know that’s only going to make things worse, and not for the first time I wish I could tell outright lies to Aai.
“You see?” Aai snaps. “I could be cooking for you, but no! If I suggest something good, you just start getting mad instead of even trying it out. Fine! Be unhappy! What do I care?”
“Your stupid little prayers aren’t going to cure me! Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m doing something good for the world? Doesn’t that matter at all?”
“Are you happy?” Aai shoots back, louder than is necessary.
“That doesn’t matter. I’m telling you praying won’t fix me. When will you let this go?”
There’s a long silence on the other end, during which I check my notifications. JJ texted me.
You free tonight?
There’s no way I’m up for a party or gala or whatever fancy event JJ is inevitably about to invite me to.
I’ve been invited to a fundraiser at the Art Institute!
Want to come?
We used to love going there, remember?
“I have to go,” Aai says at last. “I have a function to get to. Have fun lying in your bed.”
I make the decision then. It’s been days, and the dream-demon’s promised sign has failed to materialize. I should be safe now. “I’m going to a function, too, actually. A party.” There’s acid in my voice, and I know Aai hears it.
Even so, she says, “That’s really great, Nisha. I’m just trying to help.”
I take a deep breath. “I know. Love you, Aai.”
“Love you, baccha.”
I hang up and scrub my eyes. A chance to return to the place where this all started is hard to pass up. In fact, I should have thought about going back there to investigate sooner.
I’ll be there! Excited to be your hot date!
JJ sends me the two-women-dancing emoji, and I roll out of bed to try to find an appropriate outfit.
I manage to find an old dress that I bought before the accident that somehow still fits.
Floor-length, green satin, with a semi-daring back.
I slip on black leather sneakers underneath, since there’s no way I’m walking around in uncomfortable shoes all night.
I intend to make full use of the Art Institute.
When I arrive, walking up alongside fancy cars in the valet line and taxis, I feel excited despite myself.
I’ve never experienced the Art Institute after hours.
JJ texted that she’s running a little late, which is very in character—in fact, I was planning on it and arrived earlier than we agreed so that I’d have some time to myself.
I head directly for the South Asian exhibit, which is even emptier than I last saw it, and search for the statue.
I don’t really know what I’m hoping to discover, but if there’s a way to stuff Muya back into the statue and undo everything that’s happened, I need to know.
It looks like they’ve finished reorganizing, but after a few laps, I can confirm that the statue is no longer there.
“Looking for something?” a voice whispers in my ear. I whirl around, instinctively bringing up my hands in defense, and smack Muya in the face.
“What?” He sounds wounded.
“Don’t sneak up on women!” I snap. “Or anybody! Didn’t anybody teach you manners?”
“I’m a demon,” he hisses.
We glare at each other for a moment before I relent. “I was looking for the statue.”
“I destroyed it,” he says immediately.
For a moment I think he’s joking, but his tone is serious. “You what?”
“The day you freed me. I used my powers to disguise the theft, and smashed it to bits. Then I threw the pieces in the river. I am not getting trapped again.”
“So you were the one who wiped it from the museum’s records?”
He shrugs. “Humans. Very easy to fool.”
“Is the statue the only thing that can trap you?”
His eyes narrow. “Why do you want to know?”
“Shouldn’t I know the weaknesses of my allies?”
“Are we allies?”
“I saw Chandini,” I say in response. I’m studying his face for his reaction, and I get one. A slight twitch of his mouth, a widening of his eyes. His body tenses.
“Very good,” he replies at last. “What did you see?”
“She turned away an army.”
He seems to relax. “Ah. She was the best of my chosen.”
“Not Tara?” I ask.
“I barely knew her. I’d learned to stay away from your kind by then. Maybe you came here to look for the statue, but our connection… it has nothing to do with that. It was fate that brought you to me. The statue was but a tool.” Muya seems almost bored.
“So then what are you doing here?”
“The same thing as you, I imagine. Admiring the rich and powerful while searching these artifacts for anything that could help.”
“Help with what?”
“Taking my power back.”
My mind catches up to his implication a moment later. “How, by force?”
“It’s not personal. I was trapped by humans. I’d rather be in charge of my own destiny.”
“Why tell me all of this?”
Muya’s glance sweeps over the room and he shakes his head, but before I can push further, I hear, “Nish! There you are! I knew I would find you here.”
“Later,” I hiss to Muya, since I definitely do not want him to meet any of my friends.
I turn my attention to JJ. She looks absolutely amazing in a bejeweled blush halter dress, her hair in an updo.
“You look so good!” she lies.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, but that’s nothing compared to…” I gesture to her outfit. “You’re radiant.”
She grins, her pale cheeks coloring slightly. “Well, have you met anyone interesting?”
“You know how I am with faces,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t know if I had!”
“Well, this is the fundraiser for WomenCare. It’s a national foundation that raises money to help poor women access healthcare and combat maternal mortality.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of them before,” I say.
“It’s one of those rich-people things,” JJ says with a laugh as though she is not a rich person too.
For years I didn’t realize that she was wealthy, because she liked to pretend that she was as befuddled by the moneyed as the rest of us.
“Foundations that people only ever talk about at galas. They don’t do the work directly, just take in money and send it on. ”
“Ah.” That is in fact a rich-people thing. People are going to drop obscene, greater-than-my-yearly-paycheck amounts of money tonight. Maybe I can make a few connections.
“Um, but maybe don’t mention the clinic tonight,” JJ adds with a wince. “The work we do is great, and most people here would think so, too, but there are some older folks who we don’t want to alienate, yeah?”
“Yeah. Of course.” I’m reminded how JJ always saw the world in shades of gray. I appreciated it in college when everyone was still learning who they were. I try to appreciate it again now.
She elbows me gently in the side. “Hey, don’t be sour about it. Relax, have fun! You love this place. We’re all dressed up. They’re going to serve us little snacks on trays.”
I smile despite myself. “Oh, horse devourers?”
“Are you—you’re kidding, right?” I crack up, and JJ starts snickering as well. “Oh my god. Horse devourers. I’m going to use that on my mom sometime.”
It feels good to laugh like kids in the middle of the Art Institute. For a second, it’s like being back in college. We fold over onto each other, cackling, and just when we’ve managed to catch our breath, a passing server carrying a tray makes us lose it all over again.
After JJ and I have wandered through the Greco-Roman sculptures and eaten a variety of delicious horse devourers, someone grabs her arm, and I find myself as alone as one can be among the glitzy Midwestern wealthy, which is to say, pretty alone.
I take a deep breath. As always, I feel so much better than I would have lying in my bed, and I make a mental note to thank JJ for getting me out.
But while my mind is clearer, something about the room feels…
off. A fuzziness has fallen over the crowd, one I recognize as magical influence.
I take a step forward, intending to find Muya and put a stop to whatever he’s doing, when someone cuts me off.
“Nisha Kulkarni, right?”
A portly, balding, relatively nondescript man in his fifties or sixties stands in front of me.
“Who told you?” I ask, trying to make it sound like a joke.