Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

people.”
    A humanoid tiger, equipped with extra arms and human intelligence, would be the stuff of anyone’s nightmares.
    “Rakshasas realize that tigers are frightening and often adopt this form; however, legends say that they can be ugly or beautiful. Out of three rakshasa brothers, one could be lovely beyond description, one could be a giant, and one could sprout ten heads. It really varies. Some sources insist that one can never know the true form of a rakshasa; only the form they favor most at the moment.”
    “Anything else?” Jim asked softly.
    “They can fly.”
    Delightful. “Ours didn’t fly. They mostly jumped unnaturally high.”
    “That could be due to low magic, incorrect information, or an insufficient number of people believing in the myth. Or all three. Take your pick.”
    “Can these rakshasas do something that would stop you from shifting?” I asked.
    Dali thought about it. “They’re shapeshifters but not in the same way we are. They deal in illusion. You said they pulled their human skins off. Where are the skins? You brought his ripped clothes. I find it very hard to believe that between the two of you, you forgot to pick up torn human hide.”
    I concentrated, recalling the scene as we left the house. “The skins disappeared.”
    Dali nodded. “That’s because technically there were no skins. Magic or no magic, you couldn’t physically pack that”—she kicked the four-armed corpse again—“into a human hide. Rakshasas don’t actually flay a human and pull on his skin. They consume a human in some way, physically, mentally, or spiritually, or all of the above, and then they assume the shape.”
    Light dawned in my head. “The skin ripping was an illusion. An intimidation tactic.”
    “Exactly. They pretended to cast off human skins because they wanted to disturb you. Rakshasas are exceedingly arrogant and cunning but not too bright. Their mythical king, Ravana, is a prime example: ten heads but very little brain. The flying palace you saw, assuming both of you haven’t gone insane, is most likely Pushpaka Vimana, an ancient flying machine. Ravana appropriated it from its original owner and was flying around on it to and fro when he came upon Shiva the Destroyer during his rest.” Dali paused for dramatic effect.
    Hindu mythology wasn’t my strongest suit, but even I knew about Shiva. Any god titled Destroyer of Worlds wasn’t to be taken lightly. When not enjoying his home life with his loving wife and two sons, he ran around the woods wrapped in cobras and wearing a torn tiger skin still dripping blood. He stripped pelts from fearsome beasts with a touch of his pinkie. His wrath was likened to Rudra, a roaring storm. In his malignant aspect, he was absolutely terrifying. In his benign aspect, he was easily amused. His forehead hid a third eye, which, when directed outward, burned everything in his path and periodically destroyed the universe. Anything associated with Shiva had to be treated with kid gloves while wearing a Level IV biohazard suit and preferably a tank.
    Dali smiled. “Ravana managed to annoy Shiva, and the Destroyer of Worlds put him into a cage of stone bars. Ravana had to sit there and sing until Shiva got tired of listening to him and let him go. Ravana was the ultimate rakshasa: arrogant, flashy, and ruled completely by his impulses. He was what they would aspire to be. You’re dealing with terrible show-offs, convinced of their own superiority. To them you’re amusing food slash adoring audience. They’ll milk everything they got for dramatic effect and they get off on playing to the crowd.”
    Jim and I exchanged glances. If you got your jollies by getting the herd high, the Midnight Games was the place to do it.
    I turned my cup upside down, looking for more coffee. None came out. Still, the crowd-pleasing factor had to be just a bonus. They were after the gem. Why? I was swimming in a sea of random information and it refused to make itself into anything logical. I opened my mouth to ask Dali about the topaz, but Jim jumped ahead of me.
    “Can you explain the jungle?”
    She made a face. “I have no idea. It could be some sort of pocket of deep magic. Or a portal into a magic jungle land. I’d need more information to answer this question. By the way, I’m so thirsty, my tongue feels like paper.”
    Dali licked her lips and Jim went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water, which he handed to her. She drained half of it.