The Chaos Curse (Kiranmala and the Kingdom Beyond #3) - Sayantani DasGupta Page 0,61
I was thinking.
I felt my face heat up. Okay, maybe I was a little more like Lal than I was ready to admit. I too seemed to be having a hard time getting over stereotypes about rakkhosh. But of course, that didn’t mean I was wrong about Neel’s mom.
“Operation Demonic Wedding Guest is well underway!” Mati told us, spreading her hands around her with pride.
“The wedding invitation clearly says no rakkhosh,” Neel said, looking around at all the potential wedding guests. “How are you planning on getting all these demons to pass as human?”
“These rakkhosh are going to pass as human the same way I passed as a regular Parsippany sixth grader!” explained Naya. Tuni was sitting on her shoulder, casually nibbling on the birdseed she held out in her hand. “Nothing that a little manicure, pedicure, dental filing, contact lens insertion, haircut, dermabrasion, and wart peel can’t solve!”
“What about for air clans—the ones who can’t hide their wings like Naya?” I pointed to a bunch of rakkhosh waiting around, who had huge dragon-type wings, smaller insect-type wings, feathered eagle wings, and everything in between.
“Oh, that’s nothing for the legendary fashion designer Gyanendrachandra Mukherjee!” Mati said. I followed her gaze and realized there was a little mini fashion show going on in one corner of the cave. A long-bearded, gray-ponytailed fashion designer with a cape, gloves, and dark glasses was clapping his hands and showing off models wearing futuristic backpacks over their evening gowns, giant feathery capes over their saris, and even elaborate hat-scarf sets that draped all the way down the backs of their tuxedo jackets. All were designed, I guessed, to hide wings.
“Clever,” Neel said, but I wasn’t convinced any of those outfits wouldn’t draw more rather than less attention to the person wearing it.
“Exploitation of the sewing proletariat,” sniffed Bunty. “Although I do like those snazzy capes.”
“You should see some of these engagement party pictures!” said Tuni, dropping a copy of the Seven Oceans Gazette in my lap. “We missed a wild party while we were traveling through that wormhole!”
I looked at the party photographs on the front page of the Seven Oceans Gazette. I noticed a couple of tall cape-and-scarf-draped partygoers, and realized they were probably rakkhosh in disguise.
“The plan is to send out just a few scouts at a time to each of these pre-wedding events, to see if their disguises hold,” explained Mati. “Last night, all of our spies came home safe and sound.”
“Why are you being so cautious?” Neel asked. “I thought our plan was to infiltrate the wedding and stop it.”
I couldn’t help but agree with Neel. “Plus, I didn’t travel through all these dimensions just to sit around and watch other people go up against Sesha,” I said. “I’m ready. I want to face him.”
“We can’t just rush in there, Kiran. I want to make sure we have a plan that works,” said Mati. “We can’t risk everybody’s lives because you’re impatient.”
I glanced at my cousin’s cane, wondering again if she was overdoing it. “You should take it easy, Cuz. Is your foot bothering you?”
“Are you implying something?” Mati’s temper went from about zero to sixty in a second. “Because if you are, you need to step off with your ableist assumptions. I’ve been running this resistance group this whole time, and I’m going to keep running it.”
“I’m not implying anything!” I said, holding my hands up in an “I give up” gesture. Wow, the multiverse potentially coming to an end really had everyone on edge.
“Sorry.” Mati rubbed a tired hand over her eyes. “You’re right. This whole leading-a-revolution thing has been a little stressful. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
“No worries,” I said in a somewhat milder tone, even though I was still irritated inside.
To stop myself from saying anything I’d regret later, I studied the huge front-page newspaper photo of Sesha and Pinki, the Demon Queen. They were posed in kind of a fancy-perfume-ad style, her flinging her hair and staring off into the distance, him flexing his bicep as he kissed it.
“Weird,” I muttered. “I still can’t believe they’re getting married.”
“Because marriage is an antiquated symbol of the heterocapitalist patriarchy,” asked Bunty, “or because you can’t believe they’re marrying each other?”
“That second thing you said,” I told the tiger.
“Wait, I’ve got video!” gushed Naya. I was glad to see that being in the PSS resistance hadn’t squelched any of my friend Naya’s natural enthusiasm for all things glamorous. She pulled up the Thirteen Rivers television