Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series) Read online

  SHADOW DANCER

  © Copyright March 2012 by Morgan Blayde

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  To those who helped along the way: Jane O’Riva, Sally Ann Barnes, Denny Grayson, Scott Smith, Caroline Williams, Dave Murray, Chris Crowe, Steve and Judy Prey, Penny Hill, Michael Gallowglass, Jim Czajkowski, Leo Little, Kathy L’Ecluse, Chris Smith, Jean Colgrove, John Keese,

  And Raquela Perez Mejia.

  PROLOGUE

  Someone slammed into me from behind. My palms caught the glass doors of the convenience store cooler. A nasal whine lashed out, “Geez, get outta the way, will ya?” Over my shoulder, I spotted a wangsta shambling past in white tee shirt and baggy pants. The white gangsta, had a case of beer slung under his arm, and his boxers in evidence. A backwards ball cap completed his look. His scarecrow thinness and pasty skin gave him a sickly look. For artistic effect, I mentally added a snarl to the face I couldn’t see. The type was common: a cruiser who liquefied his brain with too-loud rap music in the hope that street cred would somehow rub off on him.

  I was about to tell the sell-out nothing was wrong with his own culture, when he rounded a display of peppered beef jerky—and I saw the gun.

  “My bad,” I muttered.

  I put the can of ROCK STAR back in the cooler and closed the door. The glass reflected my hunter green dress, gold link belt, and leather jacket. My startled face was sharp, my hair it’s usual windswept mop. I was still waiting for my bust to fill in, and had yet to be kissed—no way did I want to die here. Not quite running, I headed for the front, passing rows of over-priced merchandise.

  An old-timer, leaning on a cane, blocked the front door. He appeared to have a problem deciding between strawberry or peppermint ice cream, all they had in stock.

  I glanced at the store counter. The punk was there, plopping his beer in front of the cashier, a dark, scruffy man with watchful eyes.

  Out of time. Maybe I can at least get this old geezer clear of danger.

  I hustled him toward the front door, muttering what came to mind. “C’mon, Gramps, we gotta go. That stuff will just get you sick anyway with your lactose intolerance. Besides, we’ll be late for armadillo bowling. You know you love rolling them things out into heavy traffic.”

  He stumbled, dug in his heels, and lurched around to stare at me like I was crazy—as well he should. “Young lady, take your hands off me.”

  “Empty the register, now!” The punk swung his gun my way. “You two, down on the floor—move!”

  Gramps stiffened with indignation, blinking rapidly behind thick glasses. “I fought in Viet Nam and I want my ice cream! And why—the Hell—is everyone telling me what to do? This is still a free country … thanks to me.”

  The gun locked onto the senior citizen and his vigorously waving cane.

  The punk’s face turned angry red. “I’m not foolin’ old man!”

  The cashier scooped up a deep blue, aluminum baseball bat.

  The punk’s face went from round-eyed angry to slit-eyed mean, his face tight, hardening.

  The cashier swung with enthusiasm.

  “I’m gonna cap your bony ahh—!”

  The bat smacked the kid a glancing blow across his head. “Crap!” He staggered. His dreadlocks had saved him from real injury, but I thought he’d have a wicked headache for quite a while.

  I shook myself into motion, trying not to waste the time I’d been given. My heart hammered, as I yelled at the old-timer. “Get out of here, now—it’s a hold-up!”

  He stood rooted there. “What, a robbery? Are you sure?”

  The punk had dodged back and was now pointing his weapon at the counter, under which the cashier cowered, hoping to survive a little longer.

  If I broke cover, I could easily escape. But someone else would certainly die. I couldn’t let that happen. Sweat dripped down my face. My hands shook—then burst into cold flames. I flung handfuls of fire at the robber as his gun swung my way again. The barrel trembled, as my phantom fire fluttered past his head, splashing the far wall, fizzling away to nothing without doing damage.

  He went to a two-handed grip.

  My guts contracted. Fear shivered my spine, but this was no time to indulge it

  The flames raced up my arms, spreading across my stomach and chest. I bluffed. “You think bullets can stop me, little man? You are going to make me angry, and I am going to make you a crispy critter.”

  He hesitated, mesmerized as I stared out of a mask of flames.

  The cashier slid across the counter feet first, bat in hand. He landed on his feet swinging and this time, the hood went down in a crumpled heap.

  I needed to bail before awkward questions were asked. I pulled on the folds of space and opened a doorway to elsewhere. My skin tingled. My stomach went queasy. Gravity weakened. Colors shifted to gray. The old man and the cashier stared wildly around the store, no longer able to see me. I’d entered an extension of reality the living couldn’t go—normally.

  Lucky me. Such a freak.

  ONE

  The bus shuddered and rumbled along a narrow road. There were few people aboard, none of them hot guys—deep sigh of regret. Wrapped in heavy silence, no one talked, which suited me fine. I stared out my window at the ever-mysterious darkness. As we passed iron gates, a lamppost appeared; a refuge of light. Beyond, I caught a glimpse of tiny grave markers in a pet cemetery. I imagined some old lady in a straw hat coming here Sundays, laying tinkly bells and catnip mice on some small grassy knoll.

  Road kill should be so lucky.

  Houses soon lined the road. Assorted businesses followed, none of them higher than two-stories. The driver’s voice broke from a speaker, “Deedsville. We’ll only be stopping long enough to let passengers off.”

  He meant me. I gathered up my bags, having kept them near me. Staggering with the weight, I headed forwarded, grabbing the seatbacks for support. As I reached the front, we pulled up to a closed gas station. The driver let me out without a glance. Once I cleared the folding door, it shut. The bus—and the normal life I wanted—pulled away in a noxious cloud.

  I coughed, burying my face in my coat sleeve, breathing shallowly through my mouth. Having a heightened sense of smell meant what irritated others, tortured me, the price of being not quite human. The air cleared as a chill breeze slathered me like an invisible tongue. I brought my arm down, looking for my ride. The people from the Human Potential Institute were supposed to pick me up, but I’d fallen through the cracks. One more thing to be pissed over.

  Deedsville? The place looks more like Dead-ville.

  The gas station offered cold welcome—dusty windows dark, closed sign on the front door, garage door lowered. The surrounding mom-and-pop businesses were also lifeless. Light spilled from street lamps, home windows, and up above, a sliver of moon hanging between dark clouds. Somewhere, battling alley cats yowled.

  I’d wanted to stay on the bus. And ride forever—a soul in transit, doomed to wander until true love came to save me. I looked down at my flat chest and sighed. You’d never know I was sixteen from my bra size. Prince Charming was also slow in coming.

  Sucks being me.

  Leaves scrapped by, tumbled by an autumn wind. At least they had some place to go. Near the curb, my bags huddled for comfort. Then again, I might have been projecting. I sat on the largest suitcase to wait, my breath a white wraith. Good thing I didn’t suffer from the cold like most people, otherwise I’d be an icicle.

  Minutes later, I watched with interest as a black, four-door sedan cruised my way. The vehicle stopped. A powered front window descended. A pale-faced woman with large, dark eyes peered out. Her smooth, expressionless face might as well have been a porcelain mask. Streetl
ight glinted off of a silver earring, a disc with a crescent dangling underneath. Expensive.

  “Grace Kenyon?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Finally, my ride was here. “And you would be…?”

  “Dana Blaire.” She said the name like I ought to know it, then turned her face toward a driver in shadow. She said something to him I didn’t catch.

  Big, built like a heavy-weight boxer, he pried himself out of the car. His biceps and chest strained a triple-X leather jacket. His nose had once been broken, and there was scar tissue around his eyes. He circled the car and gathered up my bags as I stood. Without a word, he hauled the luggage to the trunk and threw it in.

  The woman faced me once more, her voice cracking like a whip, “Get in,”

  I didn’t like her attitude, but I didn’t want to stand around all night either. I opened the rear door, slid in, and slammed the door. I folded my hands in my lap, having nothing for them to do. “So, what do you do at HPI?”

  “No questions.”

  “Huh?”

  The back doors locked with a double click. My right hand went to where the stem should have been. There was just a hole. They meant to trap me.

  The big guy came around and settled behind the wheel. His eyes flashed at me in the rearview mirror. “Take it easy, kid. We don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Unless we have to,” the woman said. “Or I get bored.”

  I’ve seen real evil, up-close and personal. Thugs don’t compare. Still my hands trembled. My mouth went dry, as the vehicle surged away, pressing me back into the seat. I forced out a calm tone, “You guys aren’t from HPI.”

  “Right the first time,” the driver said.

  “I said ‘no questions.’” Blaire drew a blue-steeled 9mm automatic from hiding, and held it up so I could see it over her shoulder. She thumbed off the safety.

  Excuse me! That was a statement, not a question.

  “We’re being followed,” she said.

  The driver checked his mirrors.

  I shifted in the seat and stared out the back window. A silver Lexus surged closer in our wake.

  “They were supposed to be delayed longer than this,” the woman muttered.

  “Want me to lose them?” the driver asked.

  “No, let them follow. We’ve got sufficient back-up ahead to handle them.”

  That others might get hurt because of me meant I couldn’t wait for an ideal moment. I had to escape now. With an extra sense I couldn’t name, I felt the magnetic field around me, an invisible tapestry prickling my skin. I twisted the folds with my will, slipping into a side dimension that few people imagined touched ours. The car remained around me, but shifted to gray. An eerie quiet blotted out the engine sound. Over my skin, my aura became visible as a ghostly orange haze of flame, the only source of color at the moment. Gravity and inertia loosened their grips. I sank into the back seat, passing through it like a ghost, into the trunk.

  I grabbed my stuff, bleeding energy into the suitcases so they were pulled across the veil to me. I slipped out the back of the car, letting it silently zoom on without me. Out of phase with the real world, I rolled to a stop. The weak forces of gravity and inertia made this a piece of cake. Without crossing over, I could easily have broken some bones.

  Released, my luggage escaped the shadow realm, becoming visible in the street. I picked myself up, wondering how long it would take my abductors to realize I’d vanished from the car.

  The silver Lexus braked near the haphazard pile of luggage, swerving to a stop. On the side of the vehicle, I saw the corporate logo of the Human Potential Institute. These were the people I’d been expecting.

  I pulled at the veil. The electric tingle passed. My aura turned invisible as I popped into view next to my stuff, and calmly waited.

  The dull, murky colors of night returned. The mercury vapor streetlight burned Champagne. Sound snapped back on. The Lexus softly rumbled with annoyance, having missed its prey. Its headlights slashed across the road, into the dark green depths of a pine forest. The doors of the silver car flew open.

  A brunette rushed over, wearing an expensive café au lait business suit, with a white scarf of raw silk. Her bespectacled face looked anxious as she grabbed my arms, peering closely at my face. The tang of her fear seeped through the lavender perfume she wore.

  “Grace, you’re not hurt are you?”

  “No I’m…”

  “How did you get out of that vehicle,” she looked at my bags, “luggage and all?”

  The driver reached me next. He wore a suit the way a soldier wears a uniform. He had a military haircut and hard, chiseled features. A nearby streetlight brought dull brown tones out of his suit, creamy sandalwood from his tie, and sandy coloring from his bristling hair. A bulge in his jacket told me he was wearing a shoulder holster. Ex-military, corporate muscle, I assumed. HPI had government contracts demanding top-notch security.

  He gave me the once over and, reassured, turned away to speak on his phone. I got the idea that a retaliatory force was being set on my kidnappers. He passed the car’s license plate along. I added what details I had about my abductors, as the woman mothering me blathered on. Really, adults were so fragile, shocked by the smallest of things.

  I raised a hand to staunch the flow of words.

  The woman blinked at the abrupt gesture and fell silent.

  “I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but don’t you think it would be a good idea to get me in the car and out of here?”

  The guy was already grabbing the bigger cases. I snagged the small one, leaving number four for the lady. They went into the trunk with the spare tire.

  “Shotgun,” I called, running around to claim the front passenger seat. I slid into the seat and shut the door, the driver took his place. The woman slid in behind me. “You guys got names?” I asked.

  “Hammer,” the guy said. “Special Projects, security.” He executed a high-speed 180° and we tore back toward town.

  “Tamara Griffin,” the lady said. “I look after the children in our program.”

  “Den mother?” I looked over the seat at her.

  She smiled. “Something like that.”

  The driver snorted, and I knew Ms. Griffin had a lot more pull than suggested.

  “How many PhD’s do you have?” I asked.

  A long, silence passed. “Three.”

  “Uhmmm.” Now she was hoarding words. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to know she’s the white-coat putting us rats through our paces. “I don’t do mazes. Cages don’t work either.”

  “So we’ve seen,” Hammer said. “Just how did you get out of that car?”

  Time for my usual evasion. “After being rocketed to earth from a dying planet, I was bitten by a radioactive ninja.”

  Hammer gave me a side-long glance. “I almost believe you.” His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. His eyes narrowed. “The hound has become the fox.”

  “They’ve come after us?” Ms. Griffin shifted on the leather seat to see out the back window.

  “I’d keep my head down.” I sank lower in my seat, following my own advice.

  “They’re likely to take a few potshots.”

  There was a spark as my side mirror was clipped. If that was a warning, Lady Sinister was good. If she were aiming for the tires; not so much. Next shot would tell.

  Coming from ahead, twin sets of headlights speared to either side of our car. Two silver Lexuses roared to meet us. We passed between them. I caught a quick glimpse of passengers sticking handguns out of windows. Our pursuer had best sing a few bars of Nearer My God to Thee. I heard the crack of gunfire and the squeal of tires, but lost track of the battle. As Hammer stomped the gas pedal almost through the floor, blurring everything along the side of the car.

  “What’s the rush?” I asked.

  “Advantages can be fleeting. We’re exposed, vulnerable until we know what else can be sent our way,” Hammer said. “No one gets a second chance to surprise me, ever.”
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  Wanna bet?

  “Grace?” Ms. Griffin leaned forward, her head just behind mine, and to the side.

  “Hmmmm?”

  “Why did you go with them? Did they have HPI identification?”

  “No. Blaire called me by name; knew who I was. I was waiting for a ride and no one else showed up.” I shrugged. “I was tired, riding that bus all day. I assumed…”

  The woman spoke to Hammer. “You were right: the eighteen-wheeler nosed into the ditch, blocking the intersection earlier…”

  Hammer nodded. “No accident. We’ve got an in-house leak tipping off the bad guys.”

  “Great,” I said, “that means Blaire can get to me again.”

  “Not on my watch,” Ms. Griffin said. “Wait, she gave you her name?”

  Hammer snorted. “Probably an alias.”

  I sighed. If my parents weren’t taking a Mediterranean cruise to work on their failing marriage, I could just go home. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have let the Institute have me if they’d known mysterious forces were going to turn me into a chew toy. I had a feeling things were going to get bad. Not as bad as having to live with my exotic dancer sister maybe, but bad all the same. Being raised by wolves would be kinder.

  Ms. Griffin touched my shoulder.

  I looked at her.

  “Try not to worry,” she said. “We will deal with this.”

  “I never worry,” I told her. “That would be disloyal to my own abilities.”

  “You can’t handle everything,” she said.

  “Doing all right so far.” I looked forward, watching the road ahead for surprises.

  My life was too valuable to trust to anyone else’s hands.

  “Speaking of abilities…,” Ms. Griffin said.

  I crossed my arms. “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m good at mysteries,” she said.

  “Watch out I don’t find the ghost in your closet,” I said.

  “Funny, how you put that,” she said. “Ghost, not skeleton.”