Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(4)

“Good morning, Japa,” I say. “How can I help?”

Japa folds me in a brief embrace, and I turn my head slightly so that the kiss aimed for my cheek lands closer to my ear. No reason to be careless. He motions toward the stack of books. “I could use some help shelving all of those,” he says, and then spots Mani hiding behind my knees. “Ah, and I see you brought the best helper of all.”

Mani’s face scrunches up in confusion. “But I never help,” he says with a hint of a wobble in his voice.

“On the contrary,” Japa says, mussing Mani’s hair. “A boy lost in a book is the best kind of advertising.” Mani gives a shy smile, and a wave of gratitude washes over me. Mani scampers off to the corner of the shop to curl up on a fluffy purple cushion like a small prince; he will spend the day there having adventures in the pages that he is denied in real life.

Japa plucks an ancient-looking book from the top of the stack. “Take extra care with this one,” he says. “My supplier claims it’s from the Dark Days.” His eyes are bright. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

I try to keep the ignorance from showing on my face. I’ve heard of the Dark Days in passing, but my education has been on a need-to-know basis. If it can’t be used as a weapon, it’s not deemed worth my time. That includes history.

“It’s incredible,” I say. I try to sound appropriately awed, but hot shame climbs up my neck and licks at my cheeks.

Thank the ancestors Japa is too entranced to notice. He admires the book a few seconds longer and then pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

The book is deep burgundy with a ribbed spine and worn edges. I ease the cover open to find that each page is actually composed of four separate, narrow rectangles made from dried palm leaves and strung together with a slender leather cord. Some of the rectangles have writing in a language I can’t read—probably ancient Sundarian—and some are illuminated with miniature paintings. It’s breathtaking. I turn the pages carefully—the palm leaves feel delicate between my fingers, like they could crumble with the slightest amount of pressure.

One page has an illustration of a village being destroyed. Flames curl up the sides of buildings, and smoke hangs thick in the air. But what catches my eye is the source of the inferno: it’s an enormous snake with fire bursting from its mouth. And the villagers are staring at it in slack-jawed horror.

I close the book. I really should get to work. I slide the volume onto the top shelf where Japa keeps the items for collectors and turn to the rest of the stack.

Shelving is one of my favorite tasks. Japa isn’t fussy about speed, so I take my time admiring the books, caressing their soft leather covers with my fingertips, flipping through pages, falling in love before I slide each volume onto the shelf, snug between friends. Slowly the gaps fill in and my pile begins to shrink. I’m so absorbed that I startle a little when someone pushes the door open and the noise from the street spills into the bookshop.

I shake my head, disoriented. The sun is high in the sky now and I must have been here for hours, though it feels like it has been only moments. Mani is curled on his side, eyes closed, a book splayed across the bridge of his nose.

A boy a year or two older than me stands at the entrance surveying the shop like he can’t quite remember why he’s here. He’s tall and broad with arms shaped like a workhand’s and inky black hair that falls across his forehead in waves. He glances over and I realize I’ve been staring. My cheeks flame. I should be offering to help—Japa isn’t paying me to stare at the customers. I start toward him, my mouth already forming a question, when Japa calls out, “Deven, how are you, my boy?” I snap my mouth closed, disappointed and relieved in equal measure. Deven. The name rolls around my mind as he follows Japa into the storeroom.

Mani yawns behind me and I realize that I am still standing in the same spot, staring at the door. I press my hands through my hair at the temples. I can’t seem to hold on to time today. Mani stretches his arms out in front of him and arches his back like a cat. He has a page-shaped line across the left half of his face.

“I fell asleep,” he says.

“I can see that.” I flop down beside him. “Boring book?”

He looks at me as if I’ve just suggested we have mud for dinner. “No,” he says. “It has pirates.” He waits a beat. “I just got really sleepy.”

I run my fingers through his thick hair. “A nap was probably good for you,” I tell him. And it’s true. His cheeks have more color and his breath is coming with less effort.

“Can we stay longer?” He clutches the book to his chest like he’s afraid I’m going to pry it from him.

I laugh. “Yes,” I say. “I’m not quite finished.” Mani flashes me a grin and leans against the wall, book propped on his knees. I return to the shelves, though my gaze keeps wandering to the storeroom entrance. I can’t help wondering what Japa and his visitor are talking about that is taking so long. Is Deven family? Is he Japa’s grandson? I can’t remember ever seeing him here before, but then again, I’m not here that often.

I try to get reabsorbed in my project, but it’s too late. The spell has been broken and my mind is jumpy and distracted.

The last few books are cradled in the crook of my arm when Japa comes back from the storeroom with Deven at his heels. “Marinda,” he says, “you’ve done so much.” This is generous, considering he must know I could have finished hours ago—that he has been paying me to browse through novels. “I want you to meet my young friend Deven.” Questions pool at the tip of my tongue. How do they know each other? And for how long? How can they be friends with such a large age difference? But I have been trained to swallow my questions, so I smile instead.