“What’s it look like I’m doing?” said Mini. She put the coin in her backpack along with the sprig of youth. “I’m finishing this. I have to try to save my family.”
“But you need me,” said Aru. She had that hot, stuffed-inside-a-sausage feeling that always happened before she cried. She didn’t want to cry.
“Maybe,” said Mini sadly. “But I just don’t trust you.”
Mini pressed the image of the last key on her hand, the wave of water shimmering across her fingers.
“Mini, wait—”
She stepped through a cut of light. Aru tried to grab her hand, but only found air. Mini had disappeared.
Aru was left standing by herself. The books around her tittered and gossiped. There was no place left for her here in the Otherworld. The Sleeper didn’t even think they were enough of a threat to bother with killing them. She should have felt grateful, but she just felt invisible. Useless. On top of that, Boo was hurt, and Aru had earned and lost a sister in a matter of days.
At the thought of days, Aru slowly turned over her hand. She felt like she was being handed back a quiz that she’ddefinitelyfailed and was doing her best to turn over the paper as slowly as possible.
What the heck was that?
Whatever number it was, it definitely wasn’t the number six. Mini would know what it meant. But Mini wasn’t here.
Aru was running out of days, and if ever there was a time to cry, it was now.
But she couldn’t. She was too tired. Andangry.
She paced. There was no way she could go back to the museum. What would she do, sit under the elephant and wait for the world to end? And yet she couldn’t follow Mini, either. Mini didn’t want her help. Aru had nothing to offer. Her only natural gift was lying.
That wasn’t a very heroic quality.
Aru was nearly at the end of the library’s rowAwhen a strange book caught her eye. It was small and bright green. It bounced up and down when she got close. The title was simple:Aru.
Curious, she reached for it and opened the front cover. There she was. There was a picture of her at school. And there was another picture of her waiting at home for her mom. She rifled through the pages, her heart racing. There was even an illustration of her and Mini at Madame Bee’s beauty salon. Aru was in the middle of talking. In the next painting, Aru was looking down triumphantly in the Court of the Seasons.
She tried to flip to the end, but the pages were glued together. Mini had said something about the library of the Night Bazaar, that this place held the stories of everything and everyone. Including her. Maybe it meant that her story wasn’t finished just yet. She had deceived both Madame Bee and the Seasons…but her lies hadn’t beenbad. They had led to something good. She’d talked herself and Mini out of trouble, and gotten them new weapons. Maybe…maybe her gift wasn’t lying. Maybe her gift was imagination.
Imagination was neither good nor bad. It was a little bit of both. Just like her.
Was Arjuna at all like this? Did he ever lie or worry that he was more bad than good? The legends made him sound perfect. But maybe if he’d grown up the way she did, he would’ve made mistakes, too. It was hard to judge, based on a story, what he might really have been like. If she were writing about herself, she wouldn’t put in the bad parts, only the good.Tales are slippery, her mother had often said.The truth of a story depends on who is telling it.
If thatArubook was to be believed, it meant that her story wasn’t finished yet.
Aru glanced at her palm. Whatever that Sanskrit number was, it looked too fancy to be a one. She was sure there was still some time left. She closed her hand into a fist.
Forget the Sleeper.I’m going to fix this.
Aru shut the book. Part of her wanted to take it with her, but she stopped herself. It reminded her of the time she’d passed a cemetery that had an apple tree. The fruit looked like jewels, and Aru had wanted to pluck one. But she had the weirdest sensation you weren’t supposed to take them, let alone eat them. That was how she felt about the book. Aru ran her finger along its green spine and felt an answering trace down her back. Then she forced herself to put it back on the shelf.
As Aru rounded the corner, something bright caught her eye.
It was the birdcage. The one the Sleeper had carried.
She remembered now: it had rolled away from him. It had come to rest in theBaisle. The shelves were noisy, and it smelled like vanilla here.Baby, a small blue book, was wailing, whileBackhandandBackwardtook turns smacking each other with their covers.
Aru knelt and picked up the birdcage. It seemed odd that the Sleeper had taken the bird, but not the cage. Rattling around inside were a few small clay figurines, each no longer than her pinky. She reached in and pulled out a goat, a crocodile, a pigeon, a snake, an owl, and a peacock. There was even a seven-headed horse. And a tiger with its mouth still open in a roar.
As she arranged the animals in a line on the floor, she frowned. Didn’t the goddess Durga ride a tiger? And she could have sworn that the god of war rode a peacock….
Why would the Sleeper be carrying this with him?
Aru traced the manes of the seven-headed horse. Indra, her father, rode an animal like this. Except it wasn’t made of clay (duh). In the stories, the creature was said to shine brighter than the moon. Aru pulled the glowing ball from her pocket so she could see the figurines better.
