Archangel's Shadows
Page 52
“Trust me, sugar, you are already a favorite. My family thinks I need someone to put me in my place.”
It was so tempting to stay here, to talk and laugh and flirt, insulated from the world and from reality, but tonight their time wasn’t their own. It belonged to a woman whose life had been stolen from her with heartless cruelty.
They stepped out without any need to discuss the point.
“Your fancy car will be safe here?” It was an artwork of a machine. “You don’t want to put it in one of the bigger lots with security?”
“Elena owns an interest in the blood café over there,” he told her, to her surprise. “She set up this lot for anyone from the Guild or the Tower who needs to use it in this part of the city—it has top-of-the-line security. Your Guild hasn’t told you?”
Ashwini winced. “Memo must be in my Guild in-box. Haven’t checked it for a while.” Words had never been her friend. “I’m dyslexic. Got help late, and while I can read fine if I put my mind to it, it’s not the relaxing thing for me that it is for others.”
Janvier locked the gate behind them and they began to walk in the direction of the clubs. “I didn’t learn to read until I was in Neha’s court.”
“It must’ve been hard.”
“Yes, but there’s a scholar in Neha’s court who is very patient.”
So many pieces of him she was seeing tonight, and she knew why. He was taking the first step, the first risk, being the brave one. Ashwini wasn’t sure she had the courage to follow him, to take the steps that would lead to a confession that, once made, would change everything. But neither did she want to belittle his trust by withholding her own. Whether it was dangerous or not, right or wrong, they were beyond that.
“My family,” she began, “is very academic.”
20
“My father was a professor of philosophy; my mother, literature, with a particular emphasis on South Asian texts,” she said, heart hurting. “You know my brother is a neurosurgeon.” No matter the pain between them, Ashwini was fiercely proud of Arvi’s achievements. He could’ve permitted the agony he’d borne to crush him—instead, he’d used it as an impetus to become the best in his field.
She just wished he’d chosen any specialty but that related to the brain. Arvi used his own skill like a razored whip with which to flagellate himself, always looking for an answer, a “fix,” and coming up empty.
“One aunt is a paralegal,” she continued, “the other a political strategist. My cousins run the gamut, from engineers to psychologists to biomedical researchers.” Shining bright, that was the unofficial Taj family motto.
Even the rebel in the group, the laughing black sheep everyone loved and Ashwini wanted to grow up to be, had been a brilliant scholar of languages. Tanu had interceded for Ashwini more than once, but her sister had been much older, with her own life. Away at college when Ashwini’s problems with the written word first became apparent, Tanu hadn’t been there to mitigate the fallout at home.
“My parents were impatient with me, thought I was lazy, not trying hard enough.” As a confused child who couldn’t understand why she was being punished—by being banned from attending the dance lessons that healed every hurt inside her—she would stay up all night trying to teach herself to read the letters that got all confused in her head.
“They were learned people.” Janvier’s scowl was heavy. “Shouldn’t they have known?”
“It’s funny how really smart people have the most unusual holes in their worldview and perception.” For Ashwini’s mother, this supremely clever woman who was around words every day, reading was such a joy, such a wonderful escape, that she’d been unable to wrap her mind around the fact it was a struggle for her daughter.
“There was pride, too.” Seeing a flashing sign that said part of the Quarter had been flooded by a burst water main, Ashwini and Janvier took a slight detour. “The idea of asking for help, of having me seen as different . . .” As an adult, she’d come to understand that the latter had been the crux of it, her entire family trying desperately to avoid looking into the blinding, eviscerating light of truth.
“Pride has often led to foolish actions.”
“Yes.” She had the Taj pride, too, and knew it. “Anyway, I was falling desperately behind in school before a teacher realized what was wrong and got me help.” Digging up a smile, she said, “I still love books, though. Listen to a ton on audio.”
“How about if I act as your personal narrator?” Janvier closed his hand around her own. “My voice is not so bad.”
His voice was raw sex and molten honey. Ashwini wasn’t sure she’d comprehend a word of the actual story if he read to her. “Looks like we’ve ended up at the exclusive end after all.” Breaking the handhold out of habit, she nodded at the club coming up ahead.
The detour had funneled them to the opposite end of the Quarter from the blood café. “Might as well start here.”
Club Masque was the definition of exclusive—and of dangerous. It was the center of the Flesh Market, a group of clubs that catered to the darker appetites of the sophisticated vampire upper class. Club Masque’s sign for the mortal queue made the club’s direction clear. It said Fresh Meat.
Ashwini could see at least fifty pieces of hopeful “meat” in the line.
It was so tempting to stay here, to talk and laugh and flirt, insulated from the world and from reality, but tonight their time wasn’t their own. It belonged to a woman whose life had been stolen from her with heartless cruelty.
They stepped out without any need to discuss the point.
“Your fancy car will be safe here?” It was an artwork of a machine. “You don’t want to put it in one of the bigger lots with security?”
“Elena owns an interest in the blood café over there,” he told her, to her surprise. “She set up this lot for anyone from the Guild or the Tower who needs to use it in this part of the city—it has top-of-the-line security. Your Guild hasn’t told you?”
Ashwini winced. “Memo must be in my Guild in-box. Haven’t checked it for a while.” Words had never been her friend. “I’m dyslexic. Got help late, and while I can read fine if I put my mind to it, it’s not the relaxing thing for me that it is for others.”
Janvier locked the gate behind them and they began to walk in the direction of the clubs. “I didn’t learn to read until I was in Neha’s court.”
“It must’ve been hard.”
“Yes, but there’s a scholar in Neha’s court who is very patient.”
So many pieces of him she was seeing tonight, and she knew why. He was taking the first step, the first risk, being the brave one. Ashwini wasn’t sure she had the courage to follow him, to take the steps that would lead to a confession that, once made, would change everything. But neither did she want to belittle his trust by withholding her own. Whether it was dangerous or not, right or wrong, they were beyond that.
“My family,” she began, “is very academic.”
20
“My father was a professor of philosophy; my mother, literature, with a particular emphasis on South Asian texts,” she said, heart hurting. “You know my brother is a neurosurgeon.” No matter the pain between them, Ashwini was fiercely proud of Arvi’s achievements. He could’ve permitted the agony he’d borne to crush him—instead, he’d used it as an impetus to become the best in his field.
She just wished he’d chosen any specialty but that related to the brain. Arvi used his own skill like a razored whip with which to flagellate himself, always looking for an answer, a “fix,” and coming up empty.
“One aunt is a paralegal,” she continued, “the other a political strategist. My cousins run the gamut, from engineers to psychologists to biomedical researchers.” Shining bright, that was the unofficial Taj family motto.
Even the rebel in the group, the laughing black sheep everyone loved and Ashwini wanted to grow up to be, had been a brilliant scholar of languages. Tanu had interceded for Ashwini more than once, but her sister had been much older, with her own life. Away at college when Ashwini’s problems with the written word first became apparent, Tanu hadn’t been there to mitigate the fallout at home.
“My parents were impatient with me, thought I was lazy, not trying hard enough.” As a confused child who couldn’t understand why she was being punished—by being banned from attending the dance lessons that healed every hurt inside her—she would stay up all night trying to teach herself to read the letters that got all confused in her head.
“They were learned people.” Janvier’s scowl was heavy. “Shouldn’t they have known?”
“It’s funny how really smart people have the most unusual holes in their worldview and perception.” For Ashwini’s mother, this supremely clever woman who was around words every day, reading was such a joy, such a wonderful escape, that she’d been unable to wrap her mind around the fact it was a struggle for her daughter.
“There was pride, too.” Seeing a flashing sign that said part of the Quarter had been flooded by a burst water main, Ashwini and Janvier took a slight detour. “The idea of asking for help, of having me seen as different . . .” As an adult, she’d come to understand that the latter had been the crux of it, her entire family trying desperately to avoid looking into the blinding, eviscerating light of truth.
“Pride has often led to foolish actions.”
“Yes.” She had the Taj pride, too, and knew it. “Anyway, I was falling desperately behind in school before a teacher realized what was wrong and got me help.” Digging up a smile, she said, “I still love books, though. Listen to a ton on audio.”
“How about if I act as your personal narrator?” Janvier closed his hand around her own. “My voice is not so bad.”
His voice was raw sex and molten honey. Ashwini wasn’t sure she’d comprehend a word of the actual story if he read to her. “Looks like we’ve ended up at the exclusive end after all.” Breaking the handhold out of habit, she nodded at the club coming up ahead.
The detour had funneled them to the opposite end of the Quarter from the blood café. “Might as well start here.”
Club Masque was the definition of exclusive—and of dangerous. It was the center of the Flesh Market, a group of clubs that catered to the darker appetites of the sophisticated vampire upper class. Club Masque’s sign for the mortal queue made the club’s direction clear. It said Fresh Meat.
Ashwini could see at least fifty pieces of hopeful “meat” in the line.
