Nebula Awards Showcase 2012

“But listen,” said Papa, “I know a much better solution. I have written to—you know that boy, he was on television. The one who holds cobras. He is still alive; I wrote to his parents. They agreed that he should meet Shruti.”

“Oh, what a good idea,” Mama said. “They will have so much in common.”

“They can open a pet shop,” said Vikram.

Gautam glared. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Than in my own home?”

Gautam turned his back on Vikram and said, “She’s never even met the boy.”

“Your mother’s right. They both like snakes to the point of obsession. Neither is quite—normal . . .”

Vikram snorted.

“. . . but his parents are happy that she will not scream at his cobras.” “She’s only sixteen, Papa.”

“Am I getting her married tomorrow?”

“Are they Brahmins?” asked Mama.

“No, but they are well off, and we cannot be too—” He stopped, and glanced at Gautam. “That is, in this day and age, it is very old-fashioned to care about caste.”

Gautam pushed himself to his feet. Hands flat on the table, he leaned over his father. “You talk like she’s defective,” he said.

Vikram murmured, “There’s a reason for that.”

“She’s not stupid, Vikram. She’s clever enough to stay away from you.”

The microwave beeped insistently into the silence that followed.

“Vikram,” said Auntie, a little too loudly, “can you clear away your books and call your Papa, Beta ? It’s time for dinner.”

“She’s just. . . innocent, Papa. Look, you don’t need to worry about her. She can stay with me. Really.”

“What kind of life would that be for her?” Mama demanded. “Unmarried, unwanted, and underfoot in her brother’s house? No!”

“Sit down,” said Papa. “I know you want your sister to be happy. We all do. But you are too young to see the wisdom of age.”

“Does the wisdom of age mean settling her life behind her back?”

“If she cannot even be home at dinnertime, maybe it does!”

Gautam’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“Gautam,” said Mama, “What have we said about language?”

“Well, it’s not like her, is it? I’d better go look.”

Vikram stood up, smiling. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “Mama, you’ll clear my books, won’t you? The poor darling might be in trouble.”

Knowing that we are both disobeying our elders brings us closer. I do not leave when I normally would, nor do I pull away when he tugs at my kurti, when he eases it over my head. My jeans follow. The bra confuses him, until I help.

He is a shadow cast by the waning moon above me, black limned with silver. His tail strokes my leg, tossing an arc of light between its coils, and light catches in his circlet. He picks jasmine flowers, lets them drift through his fingers onto my bare skin. I taste jasmine on the roof of my mouth, and crushed leaves, and arousal. He leans down. Kisses my neck. I feel teeth against my skin.

He slides a hand teasingly down my belly, and shifts. The wind grows stronger, bringing me the rich leaf-scent of the great forest. His magic tingles just under my skin. I arch up, aching to shift, and find myself pressed against him. He is in man-form. His gasp matches my own. We stare at each other.

We both hear the snap of a broken twig.

We freeze. Another footfall and he shifts, from man to half-snake to snake.

I snatch my jeans and jam my legs into them. Not Vikram, I pray, not here, not now.

The snake melts into shadows. I grab my kurti, telling myself that he had no choice. A click, and the great forest is washed away on a wave of over-bright blue light, leaving me alone. I hold the kurti to my chest.

“What have you been doing?” It is Gautam’s voice. And Gautam’s LED key chain torch, the one he is so proud of. I wince.

“I think that’s pretty clear, no?” says Vikram behind him. “The question is, who’s Little Miss Innocence doing it with?’

I clutch my kurti closer.

“Put that on, stupid. It’s not for playing with.”

I twist away and pull it quickly over my head, inside out, trying not to show him more than he has already seen. Beadwork scrapes against me.

“I never would have believed it,” says Gautam softly.

Vikram shoulders past him. I shrink back. “Believe what you want,” says Vikram. “The question is what the neighbors—” His foot jerks sideways under him and he falls crashing through the bougainvillea bush. He screams.

Shadows swing wildly as Gautam runs toward us. He stops short of the bush, grabs his torch, points it. The shadows still. Wrapped around Vikram’s ankle, gleaming black against the blue-gray garden, are cobra’s coils.

Vikram tries to sit up, bloody scratches on his face and arms. The snake strikes. Vikram falls back and is still. A little wordless sobbing noise comes from my throat.

Gautam says shakily, “He—” He draws a hissing breath. “Ambulance.”

The snake shimmers, shifts to half-man. Says, “No need.”

Gautam stares.

“No kills in mating season.”

They watch each other, the Naga swaying to silent music. I smell fear but cannot tell whose it is. Gautam pulls himself up straight. The Naga rises to match his height. Like the forest, he is washed away in the LED’s harsh glare; he looks as though he has gathered shadows for protection from the light.

Gautam shakes his head. “Mating,” he says blankly. “Mating? You’re— and she’s a child.”

“She was willing.”

Gautam glances at me but turns back to the Naga. “How would you know?” he demands. “You’re not even human.”

“I know she was willing, because I saw her unwilling. When he tried.” He points at Vikram, lying silent.

“What?”

I shake my head. Blood seeps from Vikram’s scratches, black as the paper-thin bougainvilleas scattered around and over him.

“I don’t know what you have done to my sister, but—”

“Done to her?” He draws himself higher, and higher yet, spreading his arms out like a hood. “I protect her. I hear her.” He starts a slow glide toward me, looking all the time at Gautam.

“Don’t you touch her!” Gautam stumbles forward, raising a fist.

The half-man shadow shrinks, becomes a snake. Hisses.

No kills in mating season.

Between rivals.

But Gautam is my brother. I shake my head again, but I am more invisible than even a shadow, and neither one sees me.

The cobra sways. I scream, “No!”

The cobra stops. Turns in a beautiful, silent arc and comes to me, slides over me, wraps himself around my arm, across my shoulder.

Gautam’s hand falls, and he stares at me. “You can talk?”

I stare back. There is too much to say.

“What else have you kept from me, Shruti? Why? I thought we were close.”

I want to run to him, to hold him. I want to explain. “Vikram talks better,” I say.

Gautam’s eyes widen. “Then he did . . . ?”

I nod.

“You should have told me. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have believed you.”

“And Papa?”

“ Aaizhavli.” He puts a hand to his face. “Papa.”

“What?”

“Papa has a suitable boy in mind for you.”

I cringe, shake my head. “No,” I say.

He nods. “And I don’t know what I can do for you, after this.”

I keep shaking my head.

The snake slips off my shoulders, shifts to half-man, and wraps his arms around my waist. I twist around, rest my face against his chest, taste his wet-earth scent. He says, “Am I a suitable boy?”

I look up and meet his gaze. Warm. Anxious. He gestures wide with one hand, offering me the dark deep forest.