Poison's Kiss by Breeana Shields

Author:Breeana Shields
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2017-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

I pound on Iyla’s door until my fists ache, until they’re as red and raw as fresh meat, but she doesn’t open her door. I hate myself for trusting her, for believing that she was my friend. And even more I hate that she didn’t have to lie to betray me. She only had to arrange the truth in a clever way. The words of the boy selling wisdom are pulsing through my mind like a headache: Suspicion is the only defense against betrayal.

I was too trusting of Iyla.

Deven was too trusting of me.

I press my forehead against the door and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m desperate to talk to her, desperate for answers. Gopal will be furious when he finds out not only that Deven is still alive, but that Iyla has compromised our entire operation. She didn’t help me, but she didn’t help Gopal either. She could have refused to be part of my plan, or she could have told Gopal that I had lied and that Deven would need to be dealt with by someone else. It would have made it harder for me to save him, but it would have made it clear where her loyalties were.

But she knew I cared about Deven and she made him hate me. Does she despise me that much?

I slam my shoulder against the door so hard that the windows rattle, but still nothing. My shoulder is throbbing, but I don’t care. I crash against the door again. Sweat trickles down my forehead and stings my eyes. I press the full weight of my body against the door, but it’s clear that brute force—no matter how anger-fueled—isn’t going to get the job done. I pull the pins from my hair to pick the lock, but my fingers are trembling, and it takes me three tries before the knob finally turns freely. I step into Iyla’s foyer and Mani reaches for my hand, but I pretend not to notice and move away from him.

“Help me look for her?” I ask.

“Sure.” Mani scampers off, and his small feet press footprints into the plush white carpet like tracks in freshly fallen snow. I turn in the opposite direction and call out Iyla’s name. I move through her sitting room, her kitchen, her dining room. Everything is pristine, from the gleaming countertops to the polished tables. Nothing is out of place—no blanket thrown casually across a chair, no bowl left in the sink or sandals by the door. I wonder if Gopal provides Iyla with a maid.

“There’s nothing here,” Mani says, poking his head into the dining room, where I’m running my fingers across the table, marveling at the lack of dust.

I sigh. “She must be out somewhere. We’ll just have to wait for her to get home.”

Mani shakes his head. “No. I mean none of her stuff is here.”

“What?” I race up the stairs to Iyla’s bedroom and fling open her closet. It’s empty. I pull open the drawers, search in the bathroom. Nothing.

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