An Evil Eye

77

Melda startled at the water. Through the black gauze of her burka the Bosphorus looked dull and menacing, speckled with white.

Perhaps the water was to be her grave.

She entertained few illusions. The lala who had asked her questions had said they were going somewhere safe. She had read the expression in his eyes and thought that it could have been reassurance: but then she was not sure what reassurance looked like anymore, or how to tell the real from the false.

What had happened to Elif was real. Evidently so: the blood was real blood, the agony unfeigned. And then Elif was dead.

Her secret killed her.

And she, Melda, shared the secret.

The lala gestured for her to seat herself. When he smiled, did he smile with his eyes, or only move the muscles around his mouth? It was hard to tell from behind the mask she wore.

The engine was terrible enough. Perhaps there were other engines that he had prepared. Other systems.

The caique shot forward, over the gray water.