Star Daughter(15)

“Hardly,” said the man. He emptied his satchel of its glass vials. “I gave you so many chances to return my vision to me. You wasted them all.”

“How could I return what I never stole?” the star objected. “Your vision is still in you, as it has always been. All I did was wake it.”

The man laughed. A glittering blade appeared in his palm. “I have a different vision now.”

And, ignoring the star’s pleas for mercy, her screams of pain, he began to bleed her with small, careful strokes of his knife.





5


Sheetal screamed, and the web of song tattered all around her.

When she came back to herself, she lay on the floor of Dev’s room, right in the pile of rejected compositions. What was that?

Her heart thundered so hard she thought she might faint.

The scenes with the star and that horrible man—her lover?—had been so clear, like a movie. The thought of being able to walk freely among humans, back when they still believed in magic, blew Sheetal’s heart wide open with hope. Total freedom, even acceptance. Her whole body hungered for it.

But superimposed over all of that was the bloody knife.

Her hands tingled and tingled, aching like the pins and needles that came from sitting in one position too long. No, like lines of fire running just beneath her skin. She tried massaging her palms, but that only made them hurt more.

Above her, still in bed, Dev rubbed his eyes. “I had the weirdest dream. This is why I don’t nap.” He blinked blearily at her. “What’re you doing down there?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I had a nightmare.”

“You, too? I guess we’re both allergic to naps. Are you okay?”

Sheetal shifted so she could hide her hands under the bed. “I’m fine. What was your dream about?”

Dev rolled his shoulders before switching on the bedside lamp. The sudden light made Sheetal squint. “My cousin and me at some family picnic.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” she said. “Unless, I don’t know, you don’t like eating outside.”

“Well, it got weird after that. My grandfather started telling us a story.” Dev frowned. “Huh—I haven’t thought of that day in years.”

Cousin, family picnic, grandpa telling a story. The question slipped out before Sheetal could catch it. “Wait, was the kid with the curly hair Jeet? Like in the picture?”

His frown deepened. “What?”

“And the story,” she rushed on, “the one your grandpa told about the . . .”

Her tongue lurched to a halt. Even with all the momentum behind it, she couldn’t bring herself to say stars.

You must never let anyone know what you are.

Her brain caught up with her mouth two seconds too late, and Sheetal blushed hard. What was she doing? Dreams were creepy sometimes, but that was no reason to make him think she was, too. “Never mind.”

“What about the story?” Dev asked slowly. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes.

She tried for casual. “I think we both dreamed about your family. Isn’t that funny?”

“What exactly did you see?” Dev’s tone was cautious, as if taking care not to spook a feral animal he’d found on the street.

That decided her. She didn’t need to be gentled, thanks very much. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d even believe her. “A man and a star woman.”

“A star woman,” Dev echoed.

And then, because she clearly didn’t know when to stop, Sheetal added in a spooky voice, “And a knife.”

Dev stared at a poster on the wall, nothing relaxed or easy about him now.

Anxiety flickered deep at her core, kindling her flame. Why wasn’t he teasing her back? “Dream logic, right?”

Dev took his time replying. “What happened with the knife?”

Well, Sheetal had already stuck both feet in her mouth as far as they would go, so maybe she should just tell him the rest, and then they could make fun of her over-the-top subconscious together. “The man trapped the star in a cage and then cut her. For her blood. Isn’t that awful?”

“He cut her,” Dev repeated, still looking at the poster. “You saw that.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, creasing and uncreasing the nearest discarded song draft. Okay, that had been a terrible idea. Now he just thought she was into violence or something. “You know what? Forget it. Who knows why anyone dreams anything?”

Dev ran a hand through his messy hair. “Jeet was right,” he muttered. “I don’t believe it.”

That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. “Right about what?”

He faced her again, his expression oddly clinical. “Damn. You really did, didn’t you. You saw my dream.”

Sheetal felt like she was moving underwater. Everything was blurred and unreal. “What?”

She vaguely remembered singing to him as he’d slept, remembered the way her flame had sparked and taken her over as she’d reached for his heart with her own. But that had been part of the dream itself, hadn’t it?

Or was she still dreaming right now?

When Dev spoke, he sounded awed. “You saw my granddad’s story.”

Sheetal’s palms tingled even more. Now he was scaring her. She sat on her hands, hoping they’d go numb. “I don’t understand.”