Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(22)
We follow him all the way out of the neighborhood and into a part of Bala City I’ve never seen before. It’s an upscale shopping district without the mysticism of the market or the mundaneness of Gali Street. Small shops line the streets with window displays that feature a breathtaking array of merchandise: dresses, scarves and saris in silky fabrics, jewelry inlaid with gems of every color, wool rugs in colorful patterns. One shop has a live model shifting between poses, her back to the street to show off her intricate hairstyle. I’m so entranced that my gaze keeps wandering from Deven to the shop windows, and I’m startled when I hear my name.
“Marinda?”
I look up sharply. Deven has turned and spotted us.
“Hi,” he says. “What a nice surprise. What are you two doing here?” There’s not a hint of suspicion in his voice. Warmth rushes to my cheeks and I’m too flustered to respond. It’s Mani who answers.
“We’re just exploring,” he says.
“Exploring, huh?” Deven says. “Well, how would you like to explore some lunch with me?”
“Yes!” Mani says. Deven laughs and looks to me for confirmation. This moment is bigger than lunch. It feels like cracking open the door on my tightly locked life and letting Deven in. It’s dangerous. It’s exhilarating. It’s the only way I can think of to save him.
“If you insist,” I say, and I hope it’s not the wrong answer.
Deven leads us down a side street to a little café. The facade of the building is stone, and the windows and doors are trimmed in deep green. A menu is posted near the door, painted in swirling gold script. Inside, the aroma of roasted meats and spices hangs heavy in the air. At the back of the room, behind a tall counter, a thickset man shouts orders at cooks—half a dozen of them—who are chopping meats and vegetables, stirring thick sauces and sliding flatbread into clay ovens. Tall tables and chairs line the edges of the room, while short tables with cushions for seating fill the middle. Deven turns and touches my elbow.
“Do you want to take Mani and find a table? I can order for us.” I glance at Mani. He does look exhausted.
“Thank you,” I say.
Deven grins. “Sure. What would you like to eat?”
“I’m not picky,” I say. My stomach feels so tied in knots that I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat anything at all. Deven turns toward Mani.
“How about you, pal?”
“I want whatever you’re having,” Mani says. Of course he does. Deven is like a small god to Mani.
Mani and I choose a low table, and I sit on one of the cushions with my legs tucked underneath me. Mani sits beside me and lays his head on my shoulder. I’ve pushed him too hard this morning with all the walking. I pat his back while I try to formulate a plan. Once Deven comes with the food, it’s just a matter of distracting him for a moment so that I can slip the poison into his drink. The thought of him catching me makes my pulse spike, but I won’t get a better opportunity. I wish I could just tell him the truth. But if he didn’t believe me, he’d be in more danger than ever.
After a few minutes Deven arrives with steaming platters of meat pies with green dipping sauce, chunks of tender chicken skewered on wooden stakes, and fluffy white rice. He slides the platters onto the table and says, “I’ll be right back with the drinks.” Why couldn’t he have brought the drinks first? There’s no way I can poison anything on the platters. How can I be sure what he’ll eat? My hands grow moist and I dry them on my skirt. Deven returns with three cups full of creamy, dark liquid. Mani examines his cup skeptically.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s called a Hot Sweetie,” Deven says. Mani giggles at the silly name. “It’s good. Try it.” I take a sip—it tastes like extra-creamy hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon and cloves.
“Delicious,” I say. My voice is steady, but my hand is shaking so badly that some of the liquid sloshes out. A dark stain spreads over the white tablecloth, but if Deven notices, he doesn’t say anything. I glance over at Mani, who is happily slurping his drink, a thin film of chocolate coating the area above his upper lip.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Deven tells him. The food looks and smells amazing, but I can barely taste it as I chew. I keep staring at Deven’s drink. It’s over half gone, and if I don’t do something soon, I’ll miss my chance. My mind wanders to Iyla and something she told me once. “It’s easy to get boys to trust you,” she said. “You just have to use their best traits against them.” What is Deven’s best trait? And then I know. I pick up my cup and take a sip and then deliberately set it near the edge of the table. When Deven looks away, I nudge it with my elbow. It tumbles to the floor, splattering dark liquid all over the polished hardwood. Deven is on his feet in an instant.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, dabbing at the spill with my napkin. My cheeks are hot with deception.
“It’s okay,” Deven says. “I’ll go get you another one.” I have only a few seconds. I pull the vial from my pocket, yank out the stopper, and tip the container forward until a single pale drop falls into Deven’s cup. Then I replace the stopper and shove the vial back into my pocket. I glance at Mani, and his face sends a pang of regret through my chest. He’s looking at me like I’m a traitor, like I’ve just poisoned his friend. I put my arm around his shoulders and start to reassure him, but then Deven’s back and holding out a cup to me. I snap my mouth closed. Explaining will have to wait until later.