Star Daughter(25)

The memory strained to uproot itself and sail toward the vetala’s open flask. Sheetal shoved it, and the jar, back down. “No!”

Dev’s grin shone in her mind, followed by Dad’s disappointed ire. Too bad today hardly counted as a prized memory. She’d give that up in a heartbeat.

“A year of your life, then,” offered the vetala, leaning over the counter. “You would never miss it.”

Minal inserted herself between them. “Nope. Not ever.”

“Why are mortals always so certain their life is worth living?” the vetala groused, though his smile remained wide and eerie. “Even the most wretched among you clings desperately to the same miserable existence you pray to be rescued from.”

“Dikra!” Radhikafoi cautioned.

“A simple thing, really,” said the vetala to Sheetal. “A single strand of your hair would do. But free of that unseemly pigment.” He tittered. “Who do you believe you are fooling, child?”

It would be so easy just to pluck a strand in exchange for the chance to escape. To have the more she’d always craved.

But the Dad in that other world didn’t need her. The one in this world did. “Another time, maybe.”

“Buy now, or buy never,” the vetala warned. His disconcerting eyes vanished into the mass of folds created by his gleeful grin. “For what you see here today may well be gone tomorrow.”

“Buy nothing now!” barked Radhikafoi, glaring at him. “We’re here to help your papa, dikra, nothing else.”

“He speaks true, my neighbor does!” called the merchant in a nearby stall, a middle-aged woman with the voice of a flute. “The Market fluctuates with each breath, and none can know who will remain from night to night. So come close and let me dress you! I have such exquisite fabrics on offer, all cut in the latest styles. Cloth-of-sky! Velvet spun from amethyst! If you can dream it, you can wear it, as I like to say.”

“Amethyst velvet? Just take my money.” Minal led Sheetal toward the adjacent stall.

A spectrum of opulent textiles greeted them there. Each bolt was more luscious than the last: shining crimson spider silk, pure flame tatting with gracefully smoking edges, blue-green organza obtained from cresting ocean waves. Sheetal ran covetous fingers over the delicate sea-foam trim. She remembered seeing her mother wearing clothes like this once or twice when Dad took her out to New York City.

The apsara Sheetal had seen earlier entered the shop and began to riffle through the bolts. A stylized golden crown sat atop her long black hair, and jewels dripped like afterthoughts from her ears, throat, and wrists. She draped a length of cloth-of-sky against her shapely frame and considered her reflection in a full-body looking glass. The luxuriant cerulean fabric shot through with cumulus clouds reminded Sheetal of her auntie’s temperamental barrettes. A heavenly nymph, wrapped in the heavens themselves.

“You should absolutely buy that,” Sheetal blurted. “It was made for you.”

“It is nice, is it not?” the apsara murmured. Her words flowed like running water, too smooth to sound human. “But I rather fancy this taffeta.” One slim, tapered hand drifted from a swatch of deep pink lotus-petal fabric to a bolt of purple velvet. “Or perhaps a richer color.”

Sheetal fought the urge to snatch it away. She wanted that cloth, wanted it to slip through her fingers like liquid. She could already feel it on her skin, supple and decadent. Dev wouldn’t know what hit him.

Irritated, she threw that last thought right into the mental trash can.

Her mouth curving in amusement, the apsara released the velvet. “For you, then, star’s daughter, though I would have thought you to prefer all the shades of the night.” She resumed sorting through the bolts. “Then again, it is a wonder you and those around you survived long enough for you to care about such things, half-mortal that you are.”

Sheetal ignored the apsara’s rudeness. “Is there someone here who sells healing potions for a star’s burn?”

“Poor child,” cooed the apsara, pausing to drape a shawl of sunshine about her shoulders. “Is your own blood not enough?”

“Do you know or not?”

The apsara twirled. “I know many things.” She danced away, taking any hope of a straight answer with her.

Sheetal left the apsara to her shopping, then accompanied Radhikafoi and Minal past a kiosk serving ice cream and kulfi in wacky flavors like churel fangs and Lord Kama’s love spells. A customer wrestled with a cone of smoky gray soft serve that towered over him. “Bhoot’s breath,” he said cheerfully. “You should try it.”

The repulsive breath of a ghost? Sheetal exchanged a grossed-out glance with Minal, who exclaimed, “Why? Why would you do that to ice cream?”

“Shreemati! Shreemati!” called a rakshasa with a lion’s head, racing over. Radhikafoi hopped backward, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I have been looking everywhere for you!”

“Rakshasa,” Radhikafoi whispered. “Get away from me, monster!”

With a grunt, the rakshasa switched forms, becoming a green-skinned man with long, half-moon-shaped fangs protruding from his mouth. Sheetal was sure her auntie would faint when he tried for what he obviously considered an ingratiating smile and laid his clawed hand on her shoulder. “Shreemati, it is said you are a connoisseuse of quality couches? Then you must come with me. In my shop, we have settees, divans, daybeds, sofas! Anything you can dream of, in colors and styles you cannot begin to imagine. For the right price, anything—anything—can be had!”