Aru Shah and the End of Time (Pandava Quartet #1)(34)

There were still metal grocery carts, but they were…alive. The metal grilles curved up and down like mouths, and an extra set of handles slanted like eyebrows. When someone came near them, tiny spikes of metal rolled up and down the grocery cart like bristling fur. They seemed a bit feral. A couple of them growled. One woman with a snake tail cursed loudly as she wrestled with her cart. Finally, when she took hold of its bright red bar with both hands, it gave in and allowed itself to be steered by the triumphant naga woman.

Three glowing signs hovered in the distance, but Aru couldn’t read what they said. When she started walking toward them, she felt a sharp nip on her ear.

“Stay in line!” said Boo.

Only then did Aru realize they were in a long line in front of the entrance to the Night Bazaar, which glimmered on the other side of a pane of glass.

“This is absurd,” said the naga in front of her. The snake woman turned to her husband, her cobra hood flaring. “I’m going to miss my haircut appointment. It took me months to book.”

Her husband sighed. As he did, a forked tongue flicked out of his mouth. He rubbed the back of his head and sank lower into the bronze coils of his tail.

“It’s a different world, jaani,” he said. “Less safe. Less secure. Plus, there’s rumors that none of the gods can find their vehicles—”

Mini pulled on Aru’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

“Obviously, Mini. I’m standing right here.”

Mini blushed. “Do you think they know about the Sl—”

Before she could finish, Boo pecked her hand. The warning on his face was clear: Don’t say his name.

“The You-Know-Who?” she whispered.

“He’s not Voldemort!”

“Well, I don’t know what else to call him!”

Aru knew better than to mention the Sleeper in the Night Bazaar. It would probably be the equivalent of shouting Fire! in a theater. Everyone here was clearly on guard. A frantic kind of energy was coming off the crowd, as if they were all waiting for something to go terribly wrong. Aru even caught a couple of muffled conversations:

“—the world is simply stopping. Whole groups of people and neighborhoods just utterly frozen! But the pattern makes no sense! Some place in the southeastern United States, another in a strip mall in the Midwest?”

“I’m sure there’s a good reason—”

“The mortals are befuddled….”

Aru tried to shrink. If anyone looked at her, would they see her guilt? All she’d done was light a lamp that everyone thought was going to get lit anyway (just maybe not so soon…). It felt almost cartoonish, like someone throwing a tiny snowball at a mountain and causing an avalanche.

The line moved quickly. Within minutes, the three of them were standing before a muscular man with the head of a bull. Aru recognized this type of Otherworld person from the paintings in the museum. He was a raksha. Aru almost panicked. But not all demons were bad. It was one of the things she liked best when her mother told her the stories: villains could be heroic, and heroes could do evil. Makes you wonder who the villains really are, her mother used to say. Everyone has a bit of good and bad in them.

The raksha regarded them with bored black eyes. “Empty your pockets, please. Take off anything remotely enchanted and place it in the bins at your left.”

A couple of crystal baskets floated to the left of them. On the right was a conveyer belt that looked like it was made from molten gold. Straight ahead curved a sparkling archway that reminded Aru of the body scanners at airports.

“If you happen to be carrying a miniature universe, please place it in one of the baskets on the right. If it is unregistered, a Devourer of Worlds will eliminate it. If you would like to make a complaint, don’t bother. And if you are a cursed being or under an enchanted form, please notify me prior to stepping through security.”

Mini was the first to go through. She placed the compact in one of the glass baskets. She was about to walk through when the raksha raised a hand.

“Backpack,” he said.

Mini handed it over. She was sweating and pale-faced. “Whatever’s in there isn’t mine,” she said. “It’s my brother’s.”

“That’s what they all say,” the raksha said, sifting through the contents.

He shook it upside down over the counter. Out spilled a sleeve of Oreos (Aru felt an indignant flare of YOU-HAD-THOSE-THE-WHOLE-TIME? feelings), a first-aid kit, a roll of gauze, a bunch of Boy Scout key chains (which made Aru raise her eyebrow), and the wrapped sprig of youth. The raksha scanned them with his eyes as he listened to someone talking in his earpiece. Then he pressed a small button on the lapel of his jacket and muttered, “Copy that. No sign of the godly mounts.” He swiped the contents back into Mini’s backpack and handed it to her. “Next.”

Boo fluttered to his shoulder and whispered in his ear. The raksha’s eyes widened for a moment.

“Sorry to hear that, mate. That’s some rough luck. You may proceed.”

Boo harrumphed and soared through the gate.

Next was Aru. She put the golden Ping-Pong ball in the basket and stepped forward, only to have the raksha stick out his hand.

“Shoes off as per Otherworld Transportation Security Guidelines.”

She grumbled, took off her shoes, and placed them in a bin. She stepped forward, only to have the raksha stop her. Again.