Haunted Legends by Ellen Datlow, Nick Mamatas Read Free Book Online

rest on the tarmac. Shaken, she had to wonder what it all meant to Ravi Singh, how much hair he had—a lifetime’s worth, twined under that yellow turban, she had read. Do Sikhs expect God to grab them by the hair and yank them up to heaven, or did she make up that part?
    Which god? She didn’t know. Driving, the Sikh presented a massive profile so stony that she was afraid to ask him.
    Riding along in silence, she had time to wonder.
    It was her fault she wasn’t clear where Terry was taking her. She’d been tied up at work; she let him research this trip and he did all the planning. She told him she wanted to be surprised, but she was afraid. India was toobig, rich with legends like kept secrets. People could be born here and spin out entire lifetimes in a place this rich and complicated without comprehending what it was. They could read and study, travel the length and breadth of their country and still not know any more than a fish knows about the ocean, so preparing, she’d just packed and walked out the door.
    Now she was beggared by her ignorance. With Ravi closed and locked for the day, she touched her mate’s arm. “About this legend we’re living. Which one, Terry? Which one?” He never snored, so she knew he was pretending. They rode for hours. She gave in and slept until the car stopped and sudden stillness awoke her.
    Ravi pulled the hand brake and got out to open the door for them. Heat rushed in. “From here, you walk. Where shall I wait?”
    Like a seasoned tourist, Terry answered, “Jami Masjid. That’s big mosque to you,” he told her helpfully.
    Don’t pretend to know places you’ve never seen.
If thoughts could kill. But why was she so angry? It didn’t matter. She could say it out loud and he wouldn’t hear her, not now that they were here. They spilled out on the scorching road like two peas dropped on a griddle. Because this was her last chance to find out, Sara turned to Ravi. “There is a legend about this place?”
    He touched his joined hands to his forehead. “Salim Chisti.”
    “Who?”
    Damn Terry, why did he look so pleased? He tapped the guidebook with that hopeful grin. “It’s all in here.”
    She grimaced. “I was asking Mr. Singh.”
    “The emperor Akbar built this city to give thanks to the saint, and brought his people here.” The driver sighed. “It has been empty for many years.”
    “Thanks for what?”
    Anxious to get going, Terry preempted. “We have that, Sara. It’s in the book.”
    “Sunset,” the Sikh said, as if the timing was a given.
    •  •  •
    The driver leaves them standing there in the strong sunlight, blinking. In the streets below, other tourists, vendors, beggars jostle—
all these people
—and Sara steps closer to Terry, as though to escape them; oddly, it’s like stepping into the iris of a camera’s eye just before it closes.
    Something shifts. Time passes. Startled, Sara shakes herself, blinking. The light has changed.
    “Terry, what are we doing here?”
    “What do you think? Waiting in line for tickets.”
    Want.
    She whirls.
Who spoke?
    The want.
    “I don’t see any line.”
    “Cool! We can just go in.” He tugs at her hand. “Come on!”
    She wants to, but it is worrisome. For the first time there are no guides clamoring, there’s nobody begging, nobody selling curios or street food or—God!—water. Their car is gone, Ravi Singh is gone and the road that brought them to the ghost city is empty. For the first time since they landed on the teeming subcontinent they are alone. “Where is everybody?”
    “Inside, I suppose.” For the first time Terry sounds uncertain. “Unless it’s some kind of holiday.”
    After the bustle and outcry, it’s so eerily silent that Sara shudders. “Are we safe?” She is asking more than one question here, although Terry won’t notice.
    “Sara, it’s a national monument! Don’t you think these places are protected?”
    “How am I supposed to know! I don’t even know