Tears and Shadow (kitsune series) Read online

  I blinked. “Well, now that you mention it…”

  TWO

  COB’S TRAVERSE: indefinite retreat, running

  away. Though there are really only eight, this is

  sometimes called the “ninth” parry.

  “I am Torrent, the Voice and Eyes of your father, sent to evaluate how you may best serve our interests.”

  “I thought I’d already been married off.” Like I’d let that happen.

  “Prince Onyx has the right to court you—not possess you; it was enough of a concession for us to gain a strong alliance. Though a stranger to our ways, you are already serving your clan. It is your father’s wish that I instruct you in your … darker … heritage and that you come to him in time so he can know the heart of his long-lost daughter.”

  “I’ve got a choice?”

  The envoy shrugged, once more back to leaning on his iron staff. “You’ve time. Use it well.”

  I shrugged in return. “Then I suppose I’ll think about it.” I turned to go.

  “Princess…?”

  I stopped and called over my shoulder. “I’m not a princess; not unless I want to be, and I have a name. It’s Grace.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to see a man about a sword.”

  “We shall accompany you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “My duties include keeping you safe.”

  “Easier said than done.” I thought of the hell I’d endured last Halloween at the hands of ISIS, of Ryan kidnapping me to turn me into a mothman mate for himself, of the shadow beast and its pet cemetery zombie puppets… Safe wasn’t something I was used to

  I focused on my feet and pulled in my aura. This caused me to slide into the ground like it was super-fast quicksand. Submerged, holding a deep breath, I dove forward, using just enough aura around my legs to turn the soil into a squeezing fist. Blind, I shot through the roots, stones, and soil of the forest, skimming below the surface. My nerves strained as I thought how wrong all this could go. In the ghost realm, it was possible to drown in a sea of land, but I only had to travel a short distance, then I could surface with a screen of trees between me and my wanna-be-entourage.

  There was no way I could drag them over to Shaun’s and get him to let us all in. Chances were, he wouldn’t even see me.

  I knifed up into the gray light of the ghost realm. Surrounded by trees, I leaped up to a medium-sized branch that would have splintered under my weight back in the so-called real world. That branch served as a springboard into the higher tangled limbs. I let them pass right through me until I reached the trunk of a black oak. Aura, bleeding from my body, let me hang onto the tree and get my breath, listening for movement below.

  Nothing. I mentally patted my self on the back with enthusiastic abandon.

  Staying high in the forest, I sprang from trunk to trunk, avoiding the pine where possible in favor of oak, and cottonwood, which didn’t betray my passage with swaying branches. It took awhile for the muscular tension between my shoulder blades to dissipate. It felt like I had a target on my back.

  The woods thinned, making room for a side road off the highway. I slowed, stopped, and scanned for any sign of unnatural movement. Reassured by the stillness, I hopped across the road, heading into a cluster of two-story homes where construction had been abandoned due to the economy. Only a few structures were finished and occupied. The rest would probably never be completed.

  I ghosted through the houses in my way, taking a shortcut. My route took me to a back lot bigger than most, where a three-story mansion dominated the lesser dwellings. It was all gray brick, double-paned designer windows, and blue-tiled roof with heavy beams that gave it a pagoda look, sorta East-meets-West. The place enthralled me first time I saw it, and not just because Shaun lived here. Yeah, I admit it; I’ve been stalking him. The heart wants what it wants.

  Padding past the glossy, black Jag in the driveway, I shot along the side of the house, and wound up in back, where grape trellises partially screened a rice-paper-walled dojo with a wrap-around, wooden deck. The little structure looked like it would have been far more at home in feudal Japan. Beyond the dojo, a little bathhouse waited. Beside the dojo lay a koi pond where mottled fish rubbed each other for comfort and reassurance.

  Then again, maybe I was projecting.

  I took advantage of the ghost realm to work on my training, figuring what Shaun didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. I needed the best instruction around, and from what I’d seen—this guy was it. Tukka couldn’t always bail me out of trouble. If I ever went face-to-snout with some god-awful devil thing out to drink the blood from my still-beating heart, what I learned here could make the difference between dying or not. And to not see Shaun, ever again… I couldn’t face that.

  Strung overhead, paper lanterns with electric bulbs paled the backyard. I passed under them without casting a shadow, and climbed onto the outer deck of the dojo. I walked under its sheltering roof, along rice paper panels braced with bamboo struts. Near the closed, main door, a doll hung from a peg. This had been added only a week ago. The hand-sized figure—rags bundled in cloth, tied shut with a red ribbon around its neck—looked like a ghost. The face was hand painted, something a child might have done.

  Jill had looked the thing up for me online. It was a weather priest—a teru-teru bozu. Pointing the monk’s bald “shiny” head up brought sunshine. Dangling it head down, so it cried, produced rain. Smiling, I reached out to rub the cute little guy’s forehead and felt a tingle as it swung away from me. The doll stayed unlit, absorbing none of my aura, already possessing a charge. Someone had obviously poured their heart into making the figure for Sensei. Does he know?

  I went through a closed, sliding door that didn’t tremble, glowing just a second. Inside, more lanterns burned with a pearlescent shine. My eyes were drawn to movement. As much gymnast as warrior, my unsuspecting Sensei flowed effortlessly through the dance-like movements of his kata. The katana in his hand caught light, as did his collar-length, burnished hair. Eyes like pale agates were unfocused, absorbing everything. His bare chest and wash-board abs were jeweled with sweat. With liquid grace, he engaged imaginary attackers, finishing them left and right, fore and aft. Sweat slicked his muscular torso.

  Oh, so scrumptious...

  Yellow eyes glimmered open in the back shadows of my mind as Taliesina finally checked in with me. Wanting what you can’t have will only hurt you. To him, you’re just jailbait.

  I know that, damn it, but don’t mess with my dreams. They’re all I got.

  Supple, powerful, and incredibly fast, he finished one dance and started another, sword in hand, slashing the air with tranquil efficiency. His sword was not a thing he used, but an extention of his body, the true weapon.

  I bowed to him in deepest respect and padded closer to watch. The custom made me feel a little less like a thief.

  I walked into his attack, synchronizing to his movements, filling the safe spaces around his body as he moved. The weakened gravity this side of the veil helped me dance lightly on my feet. It also helped I’d memorized his katas. The first time I’d tried this, he’d left me with a shallow cut. That’s how I discovered his blade conducted ki, his soul’s energy. His sword could kill me, if I were careless.

  Fortunately, my objective wasn’t to fight, just survive.

  I became his shadow, a complement, not a threat—as much an extension of him as his sword. I thrilled to the response of my muscles, as his movements pushed me to levels I’d never have reached on my own. I forgot everything but the dance, losing myself in the joy of it, until Shaun entered the final flourishes that indicated the end of this routine. I spun from his path, slid to the floor, and froze in a posture with arms fanned like crane wings, inviting applause.

  I almost fell over as applause erupted. Someone had watched me, someone this side of the veil. That meant a ghost—if I was lucky.

  The clapping stopped. A shape emerged from a patch of sha
dow, a Japanese middle-schooler, a couple years younger than me. She wore a navy blue sailor suit uniform with long white socks and brown shoes. Her hair hung on the sides in banana-shaped pigtails. Though her eyes weren’t round and huge and her hair wasn’t some weird pastel shade, everything else screamed “refugee from an anime!”

  She approached, stopped, and posed for me, hands on hips.

  Well, if the dojo was brought from overseas, then it was possible a ghost had hitched a ride. Only, this ghost wasn’t typical—most phantoms were blobs of light on this side. For this one to hang so strongly onto her self-image, she had to be a high-class spirit—or drawing energy from a notable outside source—either way, the young girl was dangerous.

  It puzzled me why I hadn’t seen her until now; I’d been coming here for two weeks. Do ghosts take extra long naps? Maybe she’d been on vacation. I decided not to ask. I didn’t want her to know how many times I’d broken into her home. That might rile her up. For once, I’d rein in my mouth and not provoke a situation.

  I flowed to a vertical posture and bowed, acknowledging the applause. My gracefulness was spoiled as Sensei moved through the place I was trying to occupy. His blue-white aura slammed me aside like a heavy static charge. I bit off a curse and staggered like a drunken bear.

  Ghost Girl giggled.

  Sensei paused, swiveling to scan the dojo. His eyes slid across me without recognition, but he seemed to sense something, some elusive hint of presence. After a moment, he continued.

  I scowled at the laughter, but then joined in.

  Ghost Girl’s words fluttered over me, “You’re not a ghost at all, are you?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m just visiting the ghost realm.”

  “That can be dangerous … for the living.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You should let Nii-san know you’re here. He’d help you. He has a kind heart.”

  “Nii-san...? Isn’t that some kind of car?”

  Ghost Girl rolled her eyes, sighing like one who is put upon to the very limit of endurance. “It means Older Brother.”

  I turned to watch Sensei toweling the sweat from his face, a half drained bottle of water in another hand, his sword sheathed at his side. He didn’t look a bit Japanese. “He’s your brother?”

  “My honorary brother. Shaun-san trained with my father for many years, and was always kind to me, even when I was a bother.”

  “That explains this place I guess.”

  Ghost Girl sighed, again, with great drama. “Poor Shaun-san, one of you westerners that try too hard to be Japanese...” She shot me a sudden hard stare, her eyes flashing violet fire. “You like him, don’t you?” The discharge of her eyes eased back and a sly smile appeared, as I to lull me into a confession. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

  The small hairs at the nape of my neck were standing up. The air in the dojo had acquired a building charge like you’d feel with an electrical storm on the way. Something warned me I was on thin, cracking ice, about to plunge through.

  But I don’t like lying. “Yeah, I do. I just wish I had a chance with him.”

  For a moment, dangerous, pale violet energies crackled around Ghost Girl, fuzzing her edges. But she smiled with real warmth this time and the cold fire dispersed. “Well, I suppose it’s all right, as long as you know your place, Kunoichi.”

  I frowned. “What did you call me?”

  “Kunoichi; a female ninja, one who spies from the shadows.”

  The would-be writer in me filed the new term away, hoarding it, as I protested, “Hey, I have a name.”

  She waved off my words. “Not important. You can call me Michiko.”

  I tried it out, “Michi … ko.”

  She upped the wattage on her smile. “It means child of beauty—appropriate, no?”

  Hooboy, somebody’s sure stuck on herself. I kept a friendly smile in place. “Uh, yeah, I suppose.”

  My gaze went back to Shaun. He’d stiffened, head pivoting, eyes searching the mats—locking onto his cell phone. Carefully, he set down his bottle and towel, drawing himself up into a crouch, hand on his sword hilt. Poised on the balls of his feet, he had the look of someone who knew trouble was coming on fast. His features hardened like a stone mask.

  What had triggered this transformation? Funny response to getting a phone call.

  Swords in hand, a torrent of dark-clad women burst through the walls, shredding rice paper and breaking bamboo struts. They were supermodel pretty, sheathed in skintight cat suits that were a few shades short of midnight blue. Over this, various pieces of matte black, Kevlar armor had been strapped on, along with assorted cutting weapons. From ponytails to steel-toed boots, these were “soldier of fortune” pin-up girls.

  Was this the martial arts equivalent of war games? If so, I was happy to have a ringside seat. This was going to be good.

  I saw mouths gaping wide as multiple screams erupted from the attackers. The lead warrior was different; calling out words—a challenge, an order to surrender? I didn’t know. As a dark wave, the women closed in on Shaun. Their swords became flashing bars of light reflecting the glow of the indoor lanterns.

  Sensei drew his katana slowly, without concern, as if he had all the time in the world. Only then did he explode toward the closest opponent. At the last instant, he swirled away from her, taking out two different targets. Blood—like black ink—splattered the mats. Shaun’s sword wore a wet coat.

  Horror pinned me like a butterfly fresh from a killing jar. This wasn’t Hollywood special effects. This was real. I watched as blades slithered off each other. Shaun added punches, kicks, elbows, knees, whatever he needed to keep himself alive. His fighting looked very different from the katas I’d memorized.

  Dead warriors piled up, bodies sprawling without dignity. Translucent copies of the dead stood looking down at themselves—freed souls confronting their mortality.

  Back home, when Grandmother died, I’d snuck in to see her after being banished from the room by the adults. I’d seen her body, diminished by death, and her spirit standing apart, a younger version no longer ravaged by time. She’d smiled lovingly at me as a door opened in space, highlighting her in gold. Androgynous figures with silver-fire wings and soothing, crystal voices appeared in the spilling light.

  They’d drawn Grandmother away.

  I’d held my tears until she was gone.

  No such angelic visitors came now. Instead, reavers blasted in from nowhere like black winds given malevolent will. Shadow wings fluttered furiously as their obsidian talons wrenched the outcast souls into the air, bearing them away. Some of those snatched bled pale blobs of blue light. This energy would form ghosts who’d linger unless chased away by Michiko—or eaten by her. The stronger ghosts sometimes cannibalized weak ones for strength.

  My attention returned to the living. Despite their losses, there didn’t seem to be an end to the warriors breaking into the dojo. Caution only slowed them close to Shaun. Worry gnawed my stomach lining, trying to burst out. Shaun was more than good, but he was one against many. He’d be overwhelmed in time.

  Unseen except by me, Michiko appeared among the fighters. Enemy blades sliced, rippling her substance, doing no harm. Her waving hands erected walls of sparkling air that turned savage blows away from Shaun, saving him time and again. To the enemy, Shaun’s continued survival had to seem a major miracle.

  Then again … Shaun pivoted into a kick combo that should have taken out several of the women, but one foot deflected off of one of Michiko’s barriers. Off balance, he had to work twice as hard not to get skewered and slashed.

  Ghost Girl glared my way. “What are you waiting for? Help out here!”

  THREE

  JUST DISTANCE: the distance or measure

  where, if you are close enough to hit your

  opponent, they are close enough to hit you

  I’d never killed anything before—except for an Egyptian hell beast bent on eating the world for breakfast—and I’d h
ad help there. Here, I was fighting in the human world where I’d be hella vulnerable, but I ran forward all the same.

  I could have scooped up the sword lying next to a gutted woman with glassy, dead eyes—eeewww!—but decided to stick with what I knew best: evasion and acrobatic attacks. Only this time I’d have to do more than dance—I’d have to open a jumbo can of whoop-ass to be served carpaccio; sliced thin, served raw.

  I leaped in the anemic gravity of the ghost realm, turned midair, and planted my feet on an overhead beam. The wood glowed orange as I touched it. Times like this, I was glad Taliesina slept as much as she did; I didn’t need added distraction. Shoving off, I plunged earthward, becoming a human pinball.

  At the last instant, I crossed back across the veil. Gravity clicked in full force. My sense of smell went into overdrive. The acrid scent of sweat and the sweet iron tang of too much blood gagged me as I dropped knee-first into one woman’s chest, sending her slamming into two others. I hit the floor with little momentum remaining.

  Screams of pain and rage were all around, no longer just mouthed. I heard moans and whimpering as well. Color had snapped back into the world; the mats were brown, except for spots where bright arterial blood had pooled and splattered, intensifying the iron smell. The indoor lanterns were now pale gold. As I rolled to get my feet under me, the thicker light made me feel like I was moving in molten amber, insulated from time.

  A cluster of warriors oriented on me, swords tracking, pointing me out as prey. The opponents that concerned me most pulled shurikens out of wrist and ankle cuffs, both star and spike styles. At least there were no guns to deal with—though my analytical side wondered why the hell not.

  Still in a ball, I crossed over and my feet thrust hard against the floor. This launched me high in the air, in a casual flip. Shuriken buried themselves where I’d been, creating a hazard in the matting. I rebounded off a rafter that brightened momentarily at my touch, and shot just under the ceiling, to a beam near Shaun.