It's the survival of the fittest.

****

Maya's hands were cold and her mind felt numb. It was like those times, when a man would often find himself unable to keep his thoughts running, giving in to the strange insensate taste. It was a state of blank page. And sometimes, this numbness was required.

Raktim Das. The son of Rudrapratap Das. A zamindar of the Das family.

And Raktim Roy, the doctor of Khatra.

What can be the connection between these two figures? And is there really a connection? It must have been there, or else Kalikacharan Babu wouldn't have intentionally avoided the name of his grandfather.

The doctor was averse to the Das family and didn't seem to care about the murder of their son. His concerns lay with the souls of the little girls who died. He was a good man, at least that was how it was going till now.

"He thinks the creamy zamindars, even after being filthy rich, are incapable of paying his fees. That same man is named after an ancestor of the despicable Das family. It wasn't his choice to be named as such upon birth. So why was he given this name?"

This could be a little clue, maybe even an engaging distraction, but it was worth the investigation, Maya felt.

Maya climbed down the stairs and was heading towards her room when she met Mrinjay. He smiled affably upon seeing her. "Sleep not coming?"

She chuckled. "It isn't. And I have found that I like to explore this house."

"Well, a good past time. I also did this as a kid." He scratched his thick moustache. "But since some of the rooms are not clean and have been subjected to year-long ignorance, I suggest you keep away from the dirty parts of the mansion. Maintaining such a huge property can be problematic."

"Oh, I understand." Such a subtle and sweet way to warn me. "Well, I won't keep you waiting. I just have one question."

"Not unhappy to serve a beautiful lady. Tell me, what is it that you want to know?"

"Did your father, Kalikacharan Babu, have a sister?"

He raised a brow. "Not that I have heard of. I think he may have had a sister but she died as an infant. There's no record of her. Why though?"

"Oh, you cannot possibly cross question a detective!"

Mrinjay shrugged. "I don't understand how this might be related to the death of my brother. Anyways, just find the killer before he kills any one of us."

"I wonder if I am in danger too," Maya said with a sly smile.

Mrinjay smirked. "To be associating with the zamindars of Khatra is a challenge in itself. But you had told me, I remember, having felt the presence of Kalika. If that's so, no harm should befall on you." His eyes twinkled. "Yet then and now, the demons rise and conquer. The infallible too makes the mistake of stepping in on the wrong tile, and unlocks a tremendous pile of curses. We all do get tempted."

"Kalika won't be tempted."

"But her pawns may."

"Tell me, what should such a pawn do if they indeed get tempted?"

"Give in to it. There's nothing wrong in being wrong. Time is eternal and you may enjoy it as you see fit."

"Time may be eternal in your hands, but not in mine, Mrinjay. I have to be cautious."

Mrinjay's pupils enlarged. He found his gaze frozen on the petite detective. The shadows that danced between them created a misty veil which kept at bay the intensity of emotions on his youthful face. But in that moment, he knew he was facing someone extraordinary in her own right. "I see. Good night, Maya."

Maya's grin resounded in the silent mansion. Mrinjay left as quietly as a snake, slithering back in the burrow of his room. Maya, having confirmed the information of Kalikacharan's sister, decided to visit the portraits again.

****

Returning back, Maya suddenly found the temperature to have dropped. Was it a common occurrence in a vampire's house? Not that she was afraid of visiting this part of the mansion alone at night, with the pictures of the dead all around her, the embodiments of the living dead...

And the more she took their names, they became alive.

She pulled her night coat closer to her body, wishing that it merged with her skin. The flame of the candle swayed to the sudden intruding breeze. From where did it come, she didn't know.

Maya's fingers curled inward. She gulped and then exhaled. The chord of fear had been struck, ever so slightly, by what seemed to be an omnipresent inhabitant. The portraits waited to be explored, yet again. The more she saw them, the more she discovered. Like that there was a Raktim in this household too.

"Let me see the destroyed portrait of the lady."

There she was, sitting amidst the other shining and eminent personalities like a black sheep. She was unwanted. She was cursed to be forgotten, her existence removed from history. If she wasn't the sister of Kalikacharan Babu, the immediate answer was that she was his wife. His late wife.

"But did he not love her?"

Having four children with a woman wasn't a matter of joke, but only to a woman. To a man, it could be mere duty, a fantasy woven out of lust, the craze to extinguish the fire between his legs that would otherwise set him ablaze. It could be anything but love. And in Kalikacharan's world, where women were supposed to reside behind partitions, keep mum, endure the merciless torture of her brothers and husband, it would be a childish, naive dream to think of loving someone inferior. The suppressed could only be cared for, in a rather pompous display of benevolence that was hollow. The women could only be praised when they submitted without protest and shut their lips with the wax of blood and tears. It was what made her a woman in the eyes of such venomous patriarchal men.

With quivering fingers, Maya touched the shredded portrait. It was warm, as if the fresh ichor of life still coursed through the painted limbs of the woman. Maya breathed against her fibre, seeing if she could find the name of this lady on the frame. She brought the candle closer, careful to not set the canvas on fire. Her finger traced the wooden frame and stopped at what seemed to be an inscription. Yes, she had found it, and with a victorious smile she proceeded to read it.

Radha Devi.

"Ah, so that was her name. Radha De–"

A clamorous wail send shivers down Maya's spine. She turned swiftly and looked around her. "Who is there?"

She could hear drops of water falling down on a metallic surface– a clinking routine. She turned around, suddenly finding wet imprints of a hand over the portrait of Radha Devi. Those were not the signs of her palm. And by the looks of it, they appeared too dark. Maya stared at her open palm. She had not dipped her fingers in ink, so what was that she was seeing?

Or is that blood?

"I can't be hallucinating."

The sound of her own breath could be heard as distinctly as the muffled sobs. Someone was crying. It was the pain of a woman.

"I-I need to go down and check–" Maya took a wrong move– stepping on the ends of her coat, she tripped. The candle fell from her grip and the flame snuffed out. Water glided down her fingers– cold, icy water, straight out of the glacier, and doused the candle. She looked up to see if something was leaking. But the ceiling was intact.

She touched her palm. The water was true. The crying was true. She could feel and hear. She wasn't going insane. She couldn't.

"Maya..."

Chills ran through her body. She yellowed a shade deeper in fear. Turning back, she faced the portrait of Benoy Das. The ground beneath her feet began slipping away.

Tears of blood trickled down the eyes of Benoy Das. And a little far from it, a voice spoke in an unintelligible language, from within the portrait of Radha Devi. It was she who was crying and he joined in her mourning.

Maya rubbed her eyes. "Is this really happening?" Her voice was croaked. She clamped her mouth, trying hard to look away from the bleeding man's eyes. But he wanted to talk, didn't he?

"We are all killers. We kill to survive. We spare none, not even our own blood!"

"Are you alive?" Maya muttered.

He didn't care to reply. "Once upon a time, for power we used to sacrifice, and now after the mistake my son did, we all must suffer tenfold. We are losing the game, Maya. The killer of the killer comes..."

Maya wanted to know more, but perhaps both her fear and his reluctance to share knowledge won the moment. She hurried down the stairs and went in whichever direction her eyes took her.

She stopped to take a breath. No one had seen her panting. And she couldn't possibly tell anyone what she saw. They would call her mad. But she knew in her heart that Benoy Das spoke to her, and–

"Shut up, Mrinmoyee!"

The raspy voice was booming with anger. It caught Maya's attention. She realised she was outside the room of the couple.

"I-I was just saying. What if it's a girl?" Mrinmoyee murmured.

A loud shriek followed. It was a slap. The noise of things being thrown here and there could be heard. Maya's heartbeats raced.

"You will get another smack if you don't shut up. Don't you know what happens to girls in our family?"

"I am sorry, but it's not in my hands. I may give birth to a son or a daughter."

"You are going to live really long, Mrino. You will give me children till I am not satisfied. After all, you aren't as fragile as a human." Sound of glass breaking interrupted. "That detective knows who we are, Mrino."

"It was inevitable. She would have known who we are one day."

"I don't have a problem!" He scoffed. "But she should know how to respect our rules. She is here to find the killer of my brother, not anything else. If I do find her engaging in other affairs, I am going to suck on her blood. It's not like I get to hunt everyday..."

"I trust she will find the culprit."

"She better does. Anything which is capable of killing a vampire–" Mrinjay paused. "Who is outside?"

He quickly opened the door. Nothing. No one was there.

He heaved a sigh. "Maya will find who killed Abhinoy. And if not, I am going to feast on her." He grinned wickedly, showing his crooked fangs. "On a holy night, with a fresh unopened gift of nature, and my lips to kiss."