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  tiger'due south quest

past COLLEEN HOUCK

An Imprint of Sterling Publishing

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New York, NY 10016

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SPLINTER and the distinctive Splinter logo are trademarks of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

© 2011 by Colleen Houck

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any course or past any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.

ISBN 978-i-4027-8404-0 (print format)

ISBN 978-1-4027-8486-half dozen (ebook)

Designed by Katrina Damkoehler.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Houck, Colleen.

Tiger's quest / past Colleen Houck.

p. cm. -- (Tiger's curse)

Summary: Kelsey returns domicile to Oregon, where Mr. Kadam has enrolled her in college, but danger sends her back to India to begin some other quest, this time with Kishan, to try to break the expletive that forces Kishan and his brother Ren to alive every bit tigers.

ISBN 978-1-4027-8404-0

[ane. Tigers--Fiction. two. Approval and cursing--Fiction. 3. Colleges and universities--Fiction.

4. Dating (Social customs)--Fiction. 5. Immortality--Fiction. 6. Orphans--Fiction.

7. Oregon--Fiction. 8. India--Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.H81143Tiq 2011

[Fic]--dc22

2010049270

For data about custom editions, special sales, and premium and corporate purchases, please contact Sterling Special Sales at 800-805-5489 or [email protected]

Lot #:

2 4 half-dozen 8 x 9 vii v 3 1

04/xi

Some of the terms included in the book may be trademarks or registered trademarks. Employ of such terms does not imply any clan with or endorsement past such trademark owners and no association or endorsement is intended or should exist inferred. This book is non authorized past, and neither the Author nor the Publisher is affiliated with the owners of the trademarks referred to in the book.

For my married man, Brad—proof that

there really are guys like that out in that location.

Contents

Prologue Going Home

Chapter 1 WOU

Affiliate 2 Wushu

Chapter 3 Dating

Chapter iv A Christmas Present

Affiliate 5 Return

Chapter 6 Choices

Affiliate 7 Back to School

Chapter 8 Jealousy

Chapter 9 Kishan

Chapter 10 Hired Guns

Chapter 11 Render to India

Chapter 12 Of Prophecies and Practicing

Chapter thirteen Vatsala Durga Temple

Chapter 14 The Friendship Highway

Affiliate 15 Yin/Yang

Affiliate 16 The Sea Instructor

Chapter 17 Spirit Gate

Chapter xviii Skilful Things

Chapter xix Bad Things

Affiliate 20 The Tests of the Four Houses

Chapter 21 The Divine Weaver's Scarf

Chapter 22 Exit

Chapter 23 Going Dwelling

Affiliate 24 Confessions

Chapter 25 Saving Ren

Chapter 26 Baiga

Chapter 27 War Stories

Chapter 28 Worst Birthday Ever

Epilogue Unloved

the loom of time

Author Unknown

Man'south life is laid in the loom of time

To a blueprint he does non encounter,

While the weavers work and the shuttles fly

Till the dawn of eternity.

Some shuttles are filled with silvery threads

And some with threads of gold,

While oftentimes only the darker hues

Are all that they may concur.

Simply the weaver watches with skillful eye

Each shuttle fly to and fro,

And sees the pattern and so deftly wrought

Every bit the loom moves sure and tedious.

God surely planned the blueprint:

Each thread, the night and off-white,

Is called past His master skill

And placed in the web with intendance.

He only knows its dazzler,

And guides the shuttles which hold

The threads and then unattractive,

Likewise as the threads of gold.

Non till each loom is silent,

And the shuttles end to fly,

Shall God reveal the pattern

And explain the reason why

The dark threads were every bit needful

In the weaver's skillful hand

As the threads of gold and argent

For the pattern which He planned.

Prologue

Going Home

I clung to the leather seat and felt my heart fall as the private plane rose into the heaven, streaking away from India. If I took off my seatbelt, I was sure I would sink correct through the floor and driblet thousands of feet, freefalling to the jungles below. But then would I experience right again. I had left my heart in Republic of india; I could experience information technology missing. All that was left of me was a hollowed-out beat, numb and empty.

The worst part was . . . I did this to myself.

How was it possible that I had fallen in love? And with someone so . . . complicated? The past few months had flown by. Somehow, I had gone from working at a circus to traveling to India with a tiger—who turned out to exist an Indian prince—to battling immortal creatures to trying to piece together a lost prophecy. Now, my adventure was all over, and I was lonely.

Information technology was difficult to believe simply a few minutes agone I had said good-bye to Mr. Kadam. He hadn't said much. He had just gently patted my back every bit I'd hugged him difficult, not letting go. Finally, Mr. Kadam pried my arms from the vise I'd locked him in, muttered some reassurances, and turned me over to his dandy-keen-great granddaughter, Nilima.

Thankfully, Nilima left me alone on the plane. I didn't want anyone'due south company. She brought lunch, only I couldn't fifty-fifty call back about eating. I'm sure it was delicious, just I felt like I was skirting the edge of a pit of quicksand. Any second, I could be sucked down into an abyss of despair. The last matter I wanted was nutrient. I felt spent and lifeless, like crumpled-up wrapping paper afterwards Christmas.

Nilima removed the meal and tried to tempt me with my favorite drink—ice-cold lemon water, but I left it on the table. I stared at the glass for who knows how long, watching the wet bead on the outside and slowly dribble downwardly, pooling around the bottom.

I tried to sleep, to forget about everything for at least a few hours— but the dark, peaceful oblivion eluded me. Thoughts of my white tiger and the centuries-sometime curse that trapped him raced through my heed equally I stared into space. I looked at Mr. Kadam'south empty seat across from me, glanced out the window, or watched a blinking lite on the wall. I gazed at my hand now and then, tracing over the spot where Phet's henna pattern lay unseen.

Nilima returned with an MP3 player full of thousands of songs. Several were by Indian musicians, but most of them were by Americans. I scrolled through to notice the saddest breakup songs on it. Putting the plugs in my ears, I selected PLAY.

I unzipped my backpack to call back my grandmother'south quilt, only so remembering that I had wrapped Fanindra within information technology. Pulling back the edges of the quilt, I spied the gold serpent, a gift from the goddess Durga herself, and ready it next to me on the armrest. The enchanted slice of jewelry was in a roll, resting: or at least I assumed she was. Rubbing her smooth, aureate head, I whispered, "You're all I've got at present."

Spreading the quilt over my legs, I leaned back in the reclined chair, stared at the ceiling of the airplane, and listened to a song called "One La

st Cry." Keeping the volume soft and low, I placed Fanindra on my lap and stroked her gleaming coils. The light-green glow of the ophidian's jeweled eyes softly illuminated the plane'due south cabin and comforted me as the music filled the empty place in my soul.

1

WOU

The aeroplane finally landed several mind-numbing hours later at the airport in Portland, Oregon. When my feet striking the tarmac, I shifted my gaze from the last to the gray, overcast heaven. I closed my eyes and let the cool cakewalk accident over me. It carried the smell of the forest. A soft, dewy sprinkle settled on my bare arms from what must take been a contempo rain. It felt adept to be home.

Taking a deep breath, I felt Oregon center me. I was a part of this identify, and it was a part of me. I belonged here. It was where I grew upward and spent my whole life. My roots were hither. My parents and grandma were buried here. Oregon welcomed me like a beloved child, enfolded me in her absurd arms, shushed my turbulent thoughts, and promised peace through her whispering pines.

Nilima had followed me down the steps and waited quietly while I absorbed the familiar environment. I heard the hum of a fast engine, and a cobalt blue convertible pulled around the corner. The sleek sports car was the exact color of his optics.

Mr. Kadam must have arranged for the auto. I rolled my eyes at his expensive gustatory modality. Mr. Kadam thought of every last particular—and he e'er did it in fashion. At least the car's a rental, I mused.

I stowed my bags in the trunk and read the name on the back: Porsche Boxster RS 60 Spyder. I shook my head and muttered, "Holy cow, Mr. Kadam, I would accept been merely as happy to accept the shuttle dorsum to Salem."

"What?" Nilima asked politely.

"Nothing. I'yard just glad to be home."

I closed the trunk and sank down into the 2-toned blueish and gray leather seat. Nosotros drove in silence. Nilima knew exactly where she was going, so I didn't even bother giving her directions. I merely leaned my head dorsum and watched the sky and the dark-green landscape zip by.

Cars full of teenage boys passed us. They whistled, admiring either Nilima's exotic beauty and long, dark hair flying in the current of air or the nice car. I'm non sure which inspired the catcalls, just I knew they weren't for me. I wore my standard T-shirt, lawn tennis shoes, and jeans. Wisps of my gilt-brown hair tangled most my loose braid and whipped at my brown, carmine-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face. Older men cruised past u.s.a. slowly likewise. They didn't whistle, but they definitely enjoyed the view. Nilima simply ignored them, and I tuned them out, thinking, I must look as atrocious every bit I feel.

When we entered downtown Salem, nosotros passed the Marion Street Bridge that would take taken us over the Willamette River and onto Highway 22 heading for the farmlands of Monmouth and Dallas. I tried to tell Nilima she missed a turn, but she merely shrugged and said we were taking a short cut.

"Sure," I said sarcastically, "what's another few minutes on a trip that has lasted for days?"

Nilima tossed her beautiful hair, smiled at me, and kept driving, maneuvering into the traffic headed for South Salem. I'd never been this way before. It was definitely the long style to Dallas.

Nilima drove toward a large colina that was covered with wood. We wound our way slowly up the beautiful tree-lined road for several miles. I saw clay roads leading into the trees. Houses poked through the forest here and there, simply the area was largely untouched. I was surprised that the city hadn't annexed information technology and started building in that location. It was quite lovely.

Slowing down, Nilima turned onto a private road and followed information technology even higher up the hill. Although we passed a few other winding driveways, I didn't see any houses. At the terminate of the route, we stopped in forepart of a duplex that was nestled in the eye of the pine forest.

Both sides of the duplex were mirror images of each other. Each had 2 floors with a garage and a minor, shared courtyard. Each had a large bay window that looked out over the copse. The wood siding was painted cedar brown and midnight green, and the roof was covered with grayish-green shingles. In a mode, it resembled a ski cabin.

Nilima glided smoothly into the garage and stopped the automobile. "We're home," she announced.

"Dwelling house? What do y'all hateful? Aren't we going to my foster parents' house?" I asked, even more dislocated than I already was.

Nilima smiled understandingly. She told me gently, "No. This is your house."

"My house? What are you talking about? I live in Dallas. Who lives here?"

"Y'all practise. Come up within and I'll explain."

We walked through a laundry room into the kitchen, which was pocket-sized merely had lemon-yellowish curtains, make new stainless-steel appliances, and walls decorated with lemon stencils. Nilima grabbed a couple of bottles of nutrition cola from the fridge.

I plopped my backpack down and said, "Okay, Nilima, now tell me what'southward going on."

She ignored my question. Instead, she offered me a soda, which I declined, and so told me to follow her.

Sighing, I slipped off my tennis shoes so I wouldn't mess upwardly the duplex's plush carpeting and followed her to the small just cute living room. We saturday on a beautiful chestnut leather sofa. A alpine library chiffonier full of classic hardbound books that probably cost a fortune beckoned invitingly from the corner, while a sunny window and a big, flat-screen television mounted above a polished chiffonier also vied for my attention.

Nilima began rifling through papers left on a coffee table.

"Kelsey," she began. "This house is yours. It's function of the payment for your work in India this summertime."

"It's not like I was actually working, Nilima."

"What yous did was the most vital work of all. You accomplished much more than than any of us fifty-fifty hoped. We all owe you a nifty debt, and this is a small way to advantage your efforts. You've overcome tremendous obstacles and virtually lost your life. We are all very grateful."

Embarrassed, I teased, "Well, at present that you lot put information technology that manner—wait! You said this business firm is part of my payment? You lot mean there'southward more?"

With a nod of her head, Nilima said, "Yes."

"No. I actually tin't take this gift. An entire firm is mode too much—never heed anything else. It'due south much more than we agreed on. I only wanted some money to pay for books for school. He shouldn't do this."

"Kelsey, he insisted."

"Well, he volition accept to un-insist. This is likewise much, Nilima. Really."

She sighed and looked at my face, which was set with steely determination. "He really wants you to have it, Kelsey. It volition make him happy."

"Well, information technology's impractical! How does he expect me to catch the autobus to school from here? I program to enroll in college now that I'm back home, and this location isn't exactly close to whatever bus routes."

Nilima gave me a puzzled expression. "What practise you mean take hold of the bus? I guess if you really want to ride the passenger vehicle, you could bulldoze down to the bus station."

"Drive down to the bus station? That doesn't brand any sense."

"Well, you aren't making any sense. Why don't you just drive your car to school?"

"My car? What car?"

"The one in the garage, of class."

"The ane in the. . . . Oh, no. You have got to be kidding me!"

"No. I'm not kidding. The Porsche is for yous."

"Oh, no, it'south not! Do y'all know how much that car costs? No manner!"

I pulled out my cell phone and searched for Mr. Kadam'due south phone number. Right before I pressed Ship, I thought of something that stopped me in my tracks. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Nilima winced. "Well . . . he also took the liberty of signing you up at Western Oregon University. Your classes and books have already been paid for. Your books are on the counter side by side to your listing of classes, a Western Wolf sweatshirt, and a map of the campus."

"He signed me up for WOU?" I asked, incredulous. "I'd been planning on attention the local community college and working—not attending WOU."

"He must have thought a university would exist

more to your liking. You kickoff classes side by side week. As far as working goes, you may if you wish, but it will be unnecessary. He has as well set upwardly a bank account for you. Your new bank card is on the counter. Don't forget to endorse it on the dorsum."

I swallowed. "And . . . uh . . . exactly how much money is in that bank account?"

Nilima shrugged. "I have no idea, but I'g sure information technology'south enough to cover your living expenses. Of form, none of your bills will exist sent here. Everything will be mailed straight to an auditor. The house and the car are paid for, as well as all of your higher expenses."

She slid a whole agglomeration of paperwork my way and then sat dorsum and sipped her nutrition soda.

Shocked, I sabbatum motionless for a minute and then remembered my resolve to call Mr. Kadam. I opened my telephone and searched for his number.

Nilima interrupted, "Are you lot sure yous want to give everything dorsum, Miss Kelsey? I know that he feels very strongly about this. He wants yous to take these things."

"Well, Mr. Kadam should know that I don't need his charity. I'll just explicate that customs college is more acceptable, and I really don't listen staying in the dorm and taking the bus."

Nilima leaned forward. "Only, Kelsey, information technology wasn't Mr. Kadam who arranged all of this."

"What? If information technology wasn't Mr. Kadam, and so who. . . . Oh!" I snapped my phone shut. There was no mode I was going to telephone call him, no matter what. "So he feels strongly about this, does he?"

Nilima's arched eyebrows drew together in pretty defoliation, "Yes, I would say he does."

Information technology near tore my heart to shreds to exit him. He was 7,196.25 miles abroad in India, and nonetheless somehow he still manages to take a hold on me.

Nether my breath, I grumbled, "Fine. He always gets what he wants anyway. There is no point in trying to give it back. He'll just engineer some other over the top gift that will only serve to complicate our human relationship even further."

A car honked outside in the driveway.

"Well, that's my ride back to the aerodrome," Nilima rose and said. "Oh! I virtually forgot. This is for you too." She pressed a brand-new cell phone in my hand, deftly switching it with my old phone, and hugged me quickly before walking to the front door.

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