Goddess of Gotham (14 page)

Not even Badmash’s somersaults could lift her spirits. He tried every circus trick he knew but still he could not raise a smile.

‘It’s no use, Badmash,’ Kumari whispered. ‘Something has got to give.’

Badmash belly-flopped to the floor and sighed.

Happiness was a long, long way off.

KUMARI’S JOURNAL

(TOP SECRET. FOR MY EYES ONLY.

EVERYONE ELSE KEEP OUT!

THIS MEANS YOU!)

The World Beyond

Still December – 345 days to go

Would it be such a bad thing, not being a goddess? They don’t even believe in them in the World Beyond. It’s not like I get any special treatment – quite
the opposite, in fact. I’ve had about as much success in summoning Mamma here as back home, which means a big, fat zero. But then again, if I give up being a goddess I am never going to save
Mamma.

I have to face facts. That’s what Papa would say, at any rate. Not sure how you do that. Face facts, I mean. It doesn’t look like anyone is coming to rescue me. They would have
surely been here by now. Maybe no one has noticed that I’m missing. No, that’s stupid. Of course they would. So if they know I’m missing why has no one come for me? It must mean
they can’t or they don’t want to, in which case I’m as good as dead. OK, in limbo, whatever. Thing is, it wouldn’t even be the same limbo place as Mamma – limbo has to
be endured alone, which would really suck.

Maybe if I can become mortal I can buy enough time to find the kingdom somehow. That way I get more than a year and a day and I haven’t even got that much left. A whole moon cycle has
passed since I came here. That means only eleven moons left. And I don’t even know where to start to
find my kingdom. Maps are totally useless. Googling doesn’t get me anywhere.
I need more time to work on it.

CHAPTER 12

K
umari sat on her bed that night, gazing at the stars twinkling in the puddles. At least, they looked like stars, shimmering wetly on the city
streets. In reality, they shone from the buildings all around and from the cars rushing up and down the street. They reminded Kumari of the dragons of old, belching poisonous clouds as they passed.
Their headlamps swept the streets like eyes, their bumpers smiling dangerously. Their tyres squashed anything that dared get underfoot. Truly, they were terrifying.

Her breath formed mist on the windowpane. Idly, she drew with her finger, sketching out a mountain far away, clouds of Happiness drifting beneath. It was cold enough to snow, or so Ma said.
There might even be a white Christmas. Not that she knew what Christmas was. She guessed it had something to do with all the gaudy decorations adorning every building. Ma had stuck a flashing
display above the salon door, complete with a chubby guy dressed in red.

‘Who’s that?’ Kumari had asked. The man looked familiar.

‘That’s Santa Claus,’ said Ma, fiddling with the bulb in a reindeer’s nose. ‘You mean to tell me you never seen Santa Claus before?’

Come to think of it, she had, that first day when she had run right through the parade. It felt like forever since she had begged the man in red for help. In fact, it was only a few weeks. She
had sloped down to Hoodoo Hair about an hour after Chico left, slipping in the back door as Ma now insisted.

‘But why?’ Kumari had asked. Was there some problem coming in the front?

‘Never you mind, Kumari,’ said Ma. ‘Just do as I ask.’

She kept the blinds down now in the salon as well, so no one could see in. Actually, it looked even funkier, seeing as the blinds were silver Lurex. One thing about Ma – she had her own
unique taste.

In the salon, all was light and bustle. Kumari instantly felt better. The apartment was dark and lonely in comparison. Here, she could chat to the clients.

‘Mrs Brinkman,’ said Kumari. ‘Do you think it’s important to, you know, fit in?’

Mrs Brinkman considered her question carefully. ‘Sometimes yes, sometimes no. You see, Kumari, it’s most important to be true to yourself. If that means you are different, then so be
it.’

Kumari looked into her wise old eyes. Mrs Brinkman had a point.

‘Yes, but it’s hard being different.’

‘Nothing important is ever easy.’

Kumari thought this through for a moment. It reminded her of the Ancient Abbot.

‘I guess you’re right, Mrs Brinkman. If something was easy, everyone would do it.’

‘Exactly’ said Mrs Brinkman. ‘Here, take this,’ she smiled conspiratorially. Pressing a few dollars in Kumari’s hand, she added, ‘Go buy yourself something
nice. A Christmas present, something pretty.’

Kumari stared at the dollars in her hand. She had never bought herself anything. Well, OK, she bought her lunch every day with money from Ma but this was different. Back in the kingdom,
everything was provided for her. The girl goddess wanted for nothing. Here, she had to admit, it was much the same, although frankly standards had slipped.

Not that she wanted to appear ungrateful. But there was now a distinct lack of gold thread, not to mention fine silks and jewels and slippers tailored to her feet. Instead, she wore CeeCee and
LeeLee’s hand-me-downs when not in school uniform. Sometimes Ma would let her borrow her favourite pink cap just to add a flash of sequins. When it came to clothes, she was worse off than she
had ever been.

Thanking Mrs Brinkman, Kumari had skipped back home, stopping to gaze in every window. There was nothing much to look at, though – a couple of grocery stores, a hardware outlet. Somehow a
bunch of bananas didn’t cut it as a pretty present. Nor, for that matter, did a plastic bucket. Defeated yet again, Kumari’s mood faded fast. Shutting the door to her tiny bedroom, she
sat on her bed for A Think.

And here she was, several hours later, journal open beside her on her pillow, Badmash curled up, asleep, feet twitching, the bedroom lights turned out. Actually, she had never turned them on. It
felt better to sit in darkness. Kind of matched her state of mind, made her feel like she was truly suffering. It was hard work suffering – hungry, too, as it involved refusing food. That bit
was especially tough when enchiladas were on the menu.

Ma had shrugged her shoulders.

‘You’ll eat when you’re hungry.’

CeeCee and LeeLee, too, had left her alone, after the twentieth time of asking. Now that they had, it didn’t feel so good. Suffering was becoming boring. She could hear the TV through the
wall. It was
South Park,
one of her favourites. Sighing, Kumari stared out the window some more. Might as well suffer properly.

She stared out the window often. Couldn’t avoid it, seeing as her bed was squashed right up against it. From here she had a grandstand view of the sidewalk two storeys below. Tonight,
though, the sidewalk was empty. Nothing to gaze at but the puddles. Everyone must be indoors, sheltering from the rain. And then she saw it, a sudden movement in the shadows. Had she not been
staring so hard at nothing much she might have totally missed it.

Craning forward, she kept her nose a few inches from the window pane. That way, she reasoned, she stayed out of sight. There it was, once more, a shape scuttling along under the street light. As
Kumari peered, it bobbed up and down again. Now this was really interesting. There was someone out there trying to hide.

The shape was crouched down behind some cars. She wished she could see through them. Then it occurred to her, maybe she could. There was always Power No 2.
Oh, yeah, right, Kumari. And
I’m
so
good at my Powers.
Still, it was worth a try. After all, it was the Power of Extraordinary Sight. She would take this one carefully, really concentrate on getting it
right.

‘Don’t rush at it, Kumari,’ the Ancient Abbot always said. For once she would take his advice.

At first, she thought that, as usual, nothing was going to happen. And then she could feel it, something whizzing up through her. Her cheeks felt hot, her whole head tingled. Opening her eyes,
Kumari blinked once or twice. She squinted at the cars down below. She could clearly see two shapes now crouched behind the cars, then another and another. She was actually seeing through metal.
Which meant her Powers had worked!

Hardly daring to believe it, Kumari kept looking. The more she looked, the more she could see. This was one cool Power. There were four men, all dark-haired, bent over so she could not see their
faces. Now, if she could only read what they were thinking . . . no, her Powers were not yet that refined. Then one turned his head and Kumari gasped. She recognised him at once; it was the
kidnapper who had held her, the one who had helped her out of the car when she pretended to be sick. Another also turned and, seeing him, she knew for certain. The kidnappers were back on her
trail.

And they knew roughly where she lived.

This called for immediate action. Tiptoeing into the hallway, Kumari grabbed the phone. She’d learned a few things in the weeks she’d been in the World Beyond. Time to put them into
action.

‘I want to report an emergency,’ said Kumari when the 911 operator answered. ‘There’s a gang of men trying to break into cars. Corner of Rosa Parks Place and Grand Avenue.
They’re kind of suspicious looking. I think they might have guns. And I have reason to believe they are illegal aliens. No, I can’t tell you how.’

Slamming the phone down, Kumari skipped to the window and waited.

‘Come on,’ she muttered under her breath. After what felt an age, she heard sirens.

‘Watch this, Badmash,’ she said as, in the street below, four heads popped up and looked about. Too late, they spotted the flashing light of the police car which stopped a few feet
from them.

‘Hands up,’ shouted a policeman, just like in the movies.

Humming softly to herself, Kumari smiled as the four were taken into custody. Another few weeks locked away would do them good. More importantly, it would buy her time. Time she desperately
needed.

Simon Razzle licked his lips. He could taste blood at one corner.

‘Not so handsome, now, huh?’ smiled the goon. ‘You wanna get cosmetic surgery, doc.’

His accomplice giggled.

‘Cosmetic surgery. Hey, that’s funny. Him being like a surgeon and all I mean . . .’

‘Yeah, yeah, OK, we get it.’

The first goon leaned forward. His breath assaulted Simon’s bloodied nose. It smelt of garlic, more garlic and a touch of oregano.

‘You got one week to find the money, doc. $30,000. One week and I’m being generous. Mr Paolozzi, he’s a patient man, but your time is running out.’

The goon made for the door, shoving his accomplice before him.

‘OK, OK,’ mumbled Simon. He could feel his lips swelling. Some of his patients would pay good money for that kissable, puffed up look. He half-smiled then winced in pain.

‘Something amusing you, doc?’

‘No, no,’ said Simon.

‘That’s good,’ said the goon. ‘Me, I got no sense of humour.’

‘You can say that again,’ muttered Simon as soon as the coast was clear.

Sitting down heavily at his desk, he sank his battered head into bruised hands. He had begged them not to touch his fingers, on account of his work. This was a bad situation. There was no
getting round it. He had to come up with the money in just one week or he was mincemeat. If only he had left the casinos well alone, he would not be in this mess. All right, so he had been stupid. Gambling was for mugs. And now he
owed Paolozzi big bucks. His line of credit had finally run out. There was no getting out of this one, not even with the famous Razzle charm.

Opening up his laptop, he tapped out a slow, painful email.

The deal is off,
it read,
unless you deliver the girl within three days.

Pressing ‘Send’, Simon tried not to whimper. Those goons had meant business. It was time for Simon, too, to get tough. He gazed at his precious hands. The bones were not broken. Yet.
Fail to come up with the money and he could kiss goodbye to his livelihood. There was no way he could perform intricate procedures with hands that had been mashed to a pulp. As a matter of fact,
there was no way he would be doing anything if he wound up dead.

He had clawed his way this far and there was no chance he was going back.
Simon Razzle, Surgeon to the Stars.
His eyes flicked to his instruments, laid out neatly on a table. The
razor-sharp scalpel glistened under the surgery lights. The sight of it made him catch his breath. The girl, she was the key. He glanced at the clippings on his desk, taken from the newspapers. The
ones the broker had sent to prove that the girl was indeed out there. Somewhere. He gazed harder at the blurry picture. The secret of eternal youth flowed through those pretty veins. Secreted
somewhere inside that slender body, the source of endless billions. Find it, extract it and Simon would be saved. He could name his price, ensure his fame. Pay the goons. Save his life.