Three months later

The wedding is beautiful. A flock of doves is released into sky the color of bruises. Fire-eaters swirl and parade on the beach, kites spangle the air, and thousands of candles flicker for as far as the eye can see. The waves are calm and shimmering as Osiris holds Pali’s hands over the fire, and her robes are burgundy like his, her veil the same rich color, her face behind it aglow with love. The priest pours oil into fire, heightening the flames. The flowers are a deep shade of maroon, almost black. Roses. The smile on Osiris’s face could light up the heavens. Maybe he does love her after all. I slouch further back against the silk cushion of the seat and stuff fish gills into my mouth.

That day, after we left the man’s house, I drove in a state that was frantic and calm at the same time, foot steady on the accelerator, heart shaking with what I’d done. I had covered up a death, a killing. I was an accomplice. But Pali was scared, her energy full of a fear so raw I was experiencing it as spasms all over her body and it was all I could think of. “It’s over. It’s going to be okay,” I repeated despite the slurry in my head. “You did what you needed to. You need to forget about it, move on.” I took Pali home later and put her to bed in the extra room. She fell asleep but whimpered in her sleep at intervals and I spent the night, waking to those sounds.

I wince now, coming back to bright lights, shouts, celebration. The flames are lower now, the main part of the ceremony over. The radiant couple are greeting guests.

What I know about Osiris is this—his parents died in a sea accident when he was in school. He took over the business at the time and now Alke Corp has interests in almost everything, especially gems, metals and pharma. Also, horticulture, which is a personal interest for him.

Clouds. That’s what I noticed when Pali told me that Osiris had proposed. Up in the sky where they scurried, white and plump. I tried to change her mind and failed. No exhortation worked, no reminder of how short a time she had known him. Pali was adamant. She argued with me, her voice a hiss in the wind. I was surprised and hurt — we had never really fought before this. She accused me of being jealous of her.

The beach continued around us with its waves, sand, throw-ball players. I looked away from her. When did Pali find the time to decide on love? When did she go from thinking about death to allowing desire?

As if realizing what she had said, Pali’s face shifted to something like despair. “You said I should move on. You said!”

“I did. I didn’t mean—,”

“It’s the perfect solution. I don’t have to join my clan. He’s so powerful, they can’t get in the way. I get to move out. I get to have my own life, be free. Besides, we’re in love! Why can’t you believe that? You don’t think someone like that could love me?”

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I stared at Pali, mute and miserable, filled with foreboding.

“You don’t think I’m good enough for him?”

Pali pulled on her diving fins and walked into the ocean. Water swooshed over my feet which were tense, spasming. She was now a black speck in the distance. I drew a line in the sand with my big toe and another one, branching out from it. I drew a tendril.

Getting up, I started walking, then jogged. Shells and crab paced underfoot. Tof birds circled each other on shore, calling in high voices. In the distance, a woman in black robes stood on the beach, looking in my direction. My feet quickened.

Maybe Pali was right. My troubles had made me too afraid. Osiris was rich, handsome, successful, everything a woman could want. He would keep Pali safe, help her forget the terrible incident. If anyone ever did find out what had happened, Osiris had the resources to protect her.

When I got back, Pali was lying on her stomach in the sand, her hair wet and sand-flecked.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m happy for you. It will…turn out fine. I’m sure of it.” A tingle started in my hands but I ignored it. “The wedding will be so beautiful. Coastal wedding, right? What color should the flowers be? Let’s talk about the flowers. Roses, you’ve always loved roses. We’ll get them from that florist in the Caves. She has the best ones, god knows how, some magic perhaps.”

Pali spoke with her face buried in her arms, her voice muffled. “I need you,” she said. “The family has refused to come. I don’t have anyone else.”

We haven’t spoken much since then. She has been too busy and I don’t want to intrude on their happiness with my mood of gloom and doom.

After the wedding, I get home to find the lights have gone out. Everyone is in the grounds, standing around the pool with flashlights.

“Went out ten minutes back,” a voice says. Esha, my neighbor, nearly sixty with a sweet smile and short hair that turns up hopefully at the ends.“We’ve called the manager. I had so much to pack. I am going to Omeira to visit my daughter.”

I turn to her shadowed face. “It’s been a while. Three years?”

“Ya. I want to bring her here but they never approve it.”

“How old is she now?”

“Nearly eighteen.” Esha stares at her own palms as if they contain all answers. “Every time I am afraid they won’t let me came back but I have to see my daughter, no? Now I have not packed and lights are gone. I hate leaving things to the last minute. Why won’t they approve her?”

Esha’s sadness makes me uncomfortable. It is a slow, piercing ache. Using the emergency light on my salamander, I venture up the stairs into my unlit apartment and sink onto the toilet seat. The sound of the flush is loud in the dark.

As I wash my hands, my face is an outline in the mirror. Some instinct makes me brighten the salamander and in the glow, my breath catches. Beneath my right eye, there is a curved line, like a mark in ink. A tendril.

As I watch, another mark loops out from it, and a third branches out from the second. Panic is a shark. My chest feels as if a hammer will break it. Half my face is covered with the markings, which are a luminous blue, almost black.

I rinse my face, then scrub it. The marks remain stubborn. Dripping sweat, I scratch at them. My mind is a piston. I feel like I’ve been poisoned. After washing my face a few more times, I give up, leave the bathroom, and light some candles. I check the markings in the half-lit mirror every few minutes. I spend the night pacing.

They resemble the markings on the addict. It makes no sense—I consumed no potion—but the Bhulg man’s warning comes back to me. Contagious, he’d said. Fear buzzes in my throat. I am shivering. I feel light as a feather, like anything could knock me over.