Aru Shah and the End of Time (Pandava Quartet #1)(22)

A blink later, it was in her hand.

“Okay, that’s a little cooler, but still useless in a fight against a demon.”

“Give thanks anyway,” scolded Boo.

“Thanks, Universe,” said Aru. “Even if I die, at least I can be buried with this ball attached to my hand.”

“Not buried,” said Mini. “Wouldn’t you be cremated? I guess that depends on if you want to follow Hindu burial practices….”

“Not helping, Mini.”

“You never know what might turn out to be handy when you need it most,” said Boo.

It looked like he was going to say something else, but then Mini squeaked.

“Whoa!” she said, staring at the compact she’d gotten from the Dharma Raja.

Envy flared through Aru. Did Mini’s gift actually do something magical? Why didn’t hers?

“What’s it showing you?” she asked.

“A zit!” said Mini, pushing her nose to one side.

“What? That’s it?”

“It means I’m growing up!”

“Or it means bad hygiene?” teased Aru.

“Or that,” said Mini. She looked far less excited when she closed the compact.

“So we have a mirror and a glowing ball,” said Aru.

“Yes,” said Boo.

“To fight monsters.”

“Yes.”

Honestly, what was the point of being a demigod if this was all they got? The shiny weapons were half the appeal anyway! And where was her majestic steed? She’d feel a lot better if she at least had a cape.

“Perhaps you will not need any additional weapons to get all three keys,” said Boo.

“And if we do?” asked Mini.

Boo’s feathers shivered. “If you do, then I must take you to the Night Bazaar.”

Night Bazaar? That sounds awesome, thought Aru.

“Assuming we survive getting the first key,” said Mini.

That thought was less awesome.

Mini looked around at their surroundings. “If this is where Urvashi’s mehndi map led us, then the first key should be somewhere around here….But why would anyone hide a key to the Kingdom of Death in a strip mall?”

The three of them looked around the parking lot. There was a Chinese takeout place and a dry-cleaning store. Also a Starbucks that was missing some letters in its sign, so it read: STA B S.

Aru’s gaze fell on a sign that was a little brighter than the rest:

BEAUTY SALON

YOU’LL BE SO HOT, YOU’LL BURST INTO FLAMES!

The longer Aru looked at the sign, the brighter the mehndi version of the first key glowed. Beside her, Mini wiggled her fingers.

“Is your map glowing brighter? Maybe it works like a homing device…” said Mini, poking at the “sprig of youth” design on her wrist.

“Only one way to find out,” said Aru. “We have to go inside.”

Mini gulped loudly, but nodded, and they made their way to the salon.

Light rippled around the edges of the storefront. It looked like a year-round Halloween store, with a few stray ghost decorations on the window and a rotting pumpkin by the entrance. Masks of screaming women hung from the roof. Their elongated faces and gaping mouths reminded Aru of that Edvard Munch painting her Art teacher had once shown the class.

“This place feels off,” said Mini, pressing closer to Aru. “And do you smell that?”

She did. A sharp, acrid scent, like overheated rubber or charred leaves. She wrinkled her nose and covered her face with her sleeve. “It smells like something was burned,” said Aru. “Or…someone.”

Mini made little goggles with her hands and pressed her face against the door. “I can’t see anything,” she whispered.

The door was a dark mirror. Aru wondered if it was a two-way one that let people on the other side see you while you only saw your reflection. Aru had learned about those the hard way. Two weeks ago she had looked in the mirrored door to the teacher’s lounge to see if there was something up her nose. A teacher had coughed quietly on the other side, and said, “Dear, you’re free of boogers. Trust me. I can see quite clearly.”

Aru had been mortified.

But now she didn’t feel mortified. She felt a strange twinge of cold run up and down her spine. The air crackled and popped like logs in a bonfire. The hairs at the back of her neck lifted.

A light shone from her pajama pants pocket. The Ping-Pong ball was glowing.

Engraved on the door was: MADAME BEE ASURA, HEAD STYLIST.

Aru knew that name. But why?

“Boo, when we open the door, you can’t act like, well, yourself,” said Aru.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” retorted Boo.

“You’ve got to act like a pigeon! Or you’ll blow our cover.”

“You want me to stay outside?”

“I’ll prop the door open,” said Mini. She pulled a piece of biscotto from her backpack, crumbled it up, and threw it on the ground. “Here ya go, birdie!”

“I. Do. Not. Eat. Off. The. Ground.”

That bitter taste of smoke filled Aru’s nostrils. “I. Do. Not. Care,” she whispered back. “Now stay here and be a good pigeon while we investigate.”

A bell jingled as Aru opened the door.