Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series) Read online

  I connected to the internet and tapped a word into the search engine. The screen blinked, changing. An online dictionary site told me Hallowmas was an archaic ecclesiastical term for the feast celebrating All Saints' Day, beginning midnight on Halloween night. I’d suspected that, but was glad to have it confirmed. I had a week until then. One week until ISIS needed me, one week to beat them to the punch.

  I tapped Am-Heh into the dictionary search engine and waited.

  Fran leaned over me, peering intently at the screen. She read aloud, gathering the bare facts: “Egyptian mythology … a minor god of the underworld whose name means ‘Devourer of Millions’.” She looked at me. “So not good.”

  I picked up where she’d left off. “A man with the head of a dog who lives in a lake of fire and has a fondness for sacrifices. Hmmm. He can only be controlled by Ra it says.”

  “Oh, I know that one!” Fran said. “Egyptian Sun god.”

  “Certainly fits in with ISIS. I think that’s an Egyptian goddess.” I typed in another search, wanting to know just what Isis was goddess of since it might give me an insight into my enemies. “Isis … goddess of motherhood, fertility, and magic … brought her husband Osiris back from the dead after he was murdered by Set, whoever that is.”

  Magic … resurrecting zombies… yeah, that’s ISIS alright.

  I heard the door open and assumed it was Madison returning. Leaning back in the chair, I mused, “What do Halloween and an ancient Egyptian monster have in common?”

  “Perhaps, the ultimate trick for trick-or-treat.” It wasn’t Madison’s voice. The words were deep, resonant, as if spoken from the bottom of an open grave. Judging from the way Fran jumped to terrified attention, I knew who it had to be—the Old Man, Van Helsing himself.

  I stood, pushing back the chair, and slowly turned toward the door. The man standing there was old, but far from frail with the weathered, gritty look of an old-time cowboy. His hair was thick and long, reaching his shoulders. He dressed in black like an old-time preacher, a cross glinting on his chest. He had an aura I felt across the room, one that put me on edge, as if crows were hoping all over me. My voice refused to work at first, but I coaxed it out, “Uh, hello.”

  “Good afternoon, young lady. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “I’m a friend of Madison’s,” I said. “She invited me to look over the school.”

  He cocked his head, studying me intently. “Usually such matters are run through me first.”

  “I’m sorry; it’s just that coming here was a last-minute-spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.”

  He strode closer, heels clicking on the hardwood floor until he reached the throw rug between the beds. He held out his hand. I extended mine, and got it mangled in his hellish grip. He said, “You do know what this school’s specialty is, don’t you?”

  I floundered under his fierce stare. “Uh … that is…”

  He grinned like a piranha. “We develop the slayers of the future to kill what needs killin’.” He let my hand go.

  I wiggled my fingers experimentally to bring back circulation. Nothing broken.

  He loomed over me.

  Fran stumbled away.

  Van Helsing kept his eyes on me, sniffing delicately. “There seems to be a hint of fear in the air. You wouldn’t happen to be a creature of the night now, would you?”

  Eek!

  He laughed from the belly.

  Fran paled, shaking a little. I thought she’d pop a blood vessel and die on the spot.

  “You must forgive my errant sense of humor,” Van Helsing said. “I have few opportunities to exorcise it, Miss…?”

  “K., Grace,” my last initial and first name. Not really a lie, really. It’s not my fault if he misunderstands what I want him to.

  “Kay Grace. You’ve got two first names,” he said.

  “Blame my mother,” Either of them.

  He stared at Fran who was at last showing signs of normalcy. “Something wrong,

  Miss Stark? Getting enough roughage in your diet? Malaria perhaps?”

  She spoke a little too fast, “No, I’m fine.”

  “Oh, I thought you might be nervous, hiding a kitsune from me and all.” Van Helsing backed to the door with a smooth glide that made me think of an ice skater, or a ghost. “Please enjoy your brief stay with us, Miss Grace.”

  “Do my best.”

  He entered the hall and pulled the door shut behind him, his grim laugh—abrasive as sandpaper—fading along with his steps in the outer hall.

  Fran let out a long sigh of relief.

  “Vampires must be really awful things to make that out of him,” I said.

  “I blame his ex-wife. She visits for the handoff. They have alternating custody of a Russian wolf hound.”

  I sank back into the chair, needing its support. “The children always suffer most.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Oh, for a back scratcher… An itch I couldn’t get to sent me running to the inside of the closet door. I rubbed my back against the edge of the frame. Something seemed to shift under my skin. There was tenderness there as well.

  Madison entered the room, a sheepish expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Grace, I didn’t want to tell him. Somehow he knew I was hiding something and he kept at me until he wheedled it out. And, uh, what are you doing?”

  “Suffering,” I said.

  “Did you hear me?” Madison asked.

  I left the closet. “Yeah, no harm done.” Strangely enough... I shrugged. “Forget about it.”

  Receiving absolution, she brightened at once. “Great! Listen, Shaun is here…”

  She received the full force of my attention.

  “…and I’ve talked him into teaching a class tonight. You can sit in if you want.”

  “Me want,” I frowned, “But I don’t have anything to wear.” Not even my sports bra, which I need now, more than ever.

  Fran ran for the door, “I’ve got some sweats you can borrow. I’ll change and bring you something back.”

  I moved to the bed and sat on the edge, waiting. Madison went to her closet and stripped down. She pulled on designer sweats that were turquoise and pale gold, with a big M monogrammed left of her heart. A cyan blue scrunchy gathered her hair into a ponytail. She finished up, slipping black sneakers on her feet. She settled at the desk to wait for me.

  By then, Fran was back, wearing charcoal gray sweats, handing me a pair in a lighter, dove gray shade. She took the bed as I went over by the closet. I was used to changing with girls at school for gym and track practice, but this was different. They were dressed so they had nothing else to do but watch me. And I wasn’t me anymore. I felt self-conscious with my new boobs. Still, it couldn’t be helped, not if I wanted to see Shaun, oh, and get some badly needed training. I stripped and hurried to change, turning my back to Fran.

  Madison kept her back to me, taking a few moments to check her e-mails.

  Fran watched me, casually at first, then with peeked interest. “My God! What are those lumps on your back?”

  Sweatpants on, I covered my breasts, turning to answer, “What lumps?”

  The chair scrapped. Madison came over, placing a hand on my bare shoulder. She turned me a little to look at my back. Her other hand touched my skin, poking. “These blisters are huge and … squishy. I …. Oh my Gawd! Something’s moving inside.”

  “Do something!” I yelled.

  A mirror hung on the inside of the closet door. I turned in front of it until I could see what everyone was talking about. The skin over my shoulder blades had swelled into what looked like pus filled pockets. I remembered the wings I’d had Fenn rip away. The wounds had gotten infected. That had to be it.

  Madison left but returned a moment later. She held my katana in her hands.

  “Stand still and this won’t hurt … much.”

  “No,” I screamed. “Don’t—”

  I felt a sharp caress. Pain followed, but it wasn’t too bad, fading quic
kly. I felt liquid gunk trickling down my back. Fran appeared with a towel to blot up the mess. I stared in the mirror as limp, wet tissues unfurled, fanning outward from skin. The stuff air-dried quickly, taking on shape, brightening into Halloween colors: orange panels, black rimmed and veined, flecked with yellow, amber, and brown.

  “Wings,” Madison said.

  “Cute, baby wings!” Fran said.

  “Like the butterfly wings drawn on fairies in kids’ books.” Madison used a dry corner of the towel to wipe the sword.

  I gritted my teeth. “Damn! They’re back.” I was going to have to find a better removal method than self mutilation. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life tearing them off every few days. That would get old fast. It was old now! And painful besides. I’d figure something out later; I needed to finish changing and get over to wherever class was being held.

  “With those wings,” Madison said, “there’s no way you can wear a bra.”

  I sighed. “I know, but what can I do?”

  “Just a sec,” Madison hurried to her dresser and slid a drawer open, “I’ve got just the thing.”

  She came back with elastic bandages and gauze pads. The pads were packed around the base of my wings where damp tatters of skin dangled. Fran and Madison wrapped my torso tightly, bandaging my back and providing support for my breasts. I endured their ministrations, and their cooing over my wings. They finished, and I hastily pulled a sweat shirt on. I slipped my feet back into my sneakers, and bent to tighten the Velcro binding. I had full motion with no pain, a small blessing.

  I picked up my katana and stared at it like I’d never seen it before. “Are we going or what?”

  “You won’t need that for awhile,” Madison said. “Learn to use your body properly, and weapons of every kind become a natural extension of it. That way, you won’t make the mistake of using a weapon as your only weapon, ignoring what the body can do at the same time.”

  Fran said, “Is that cool or what?”

  I put away my sword.

  Madison headed for the door. “This way

  She led us into the hall, down the stairs, and along the lower hall that ran straight back from the front door. As we went, the guys rejoined us, bringing six more I hadn’t met from their wing. They chatted among themselves until Anthony hissed. After that, we moved in disciplined silence, a mood of anticipation setting in.

  We turned left at the end of the corridor, entering a large hall lacking windows. The ceiling was high. Banners covered white walls, displaying pithy slogans: No way as way. Only the empty cup can be filled. Martial arts is an expression of what you are, not what you do. The softest thing cannot be broken. Whatever works…

  Fran nudged me before I finished reading them all. Everyone was taking off their shoes, putting them on shoe racks provided off to the side, near the door. I hurried to do the same. In stocking feet, I let the group eddy around me, pulling me across dull gray mats that were hard yet slightly spongy.

  We spread out and sat on the mats. Everyone began to stretch out in various ways. I watched what Madison did and copied her. I always stretched before running, so this wasn’t altogether unfamiliar, but some of the contortions the girls helped me through were downright grueling. I became a human pretzel for a while, shifting from one miserable pose to another even worse. Occasionally easier ones were tossed in. Toward the end, I lay on my back, padded by wings that felt no discomfort, knees pointing up into the air, my feet up against my butt. My elbows pointed up as well, my hands to either side of my head, palm flat to the mats.

  On her back, to my right, Madison spoke in a whisper as though this were church, “This is called The Bridge. Push with hands and feet and lift your body into the air.”

  Hmmm. Something like inverted push-ups. I struggled and got up, holding myself aloft. Everybody else went up and down regularly. I stayed up, sensing that once I went down, I’d stay there. I thought I was in better shape than this. The torture continued until I felt wrung out, knees and armpits damp with sweat.

  “Take five,” Madison called out. “I’ll let Shaun know we’re ready for him.

  I lay there, eyes closed, gasping for breath, wondering how I’d survive the actual training we’d just warmed up for.

  There was a scurrying. Someone toed me with their foot. I opened my eyes and sat up with a groan. Everyone was falling into two lines so that no one was close enough to touch anyone else. I went to the end of the back line and stood with Fran to my left. A door opened I hadn’t really noticed before. Shaun came out, Madison a few steps behind. Wearing a black silk robe of some kind, tied with a red, dangling sash, he took position in front of the class. To his right, Madison copied his wide-footed stance. His teaching assistant I guessed.

  He put his right fist against his left palm, joining them in front of his heart. He pushed his hands slightly outward, bowing from the waist. Those around me copied the gesture, bowing lower than Shaun. I did the same, a little belatedly. He straightened, and we did too.

  Shaun’s gazed caught me. “Grace, how much martial arts training have you had, and in what style?”

  “Almost none, though I’ve read a few books.” Actually, I’d memorized several books, and had watched Enter the Dragon with Bruce Lee numerous times, not to mention Walker, Texas Ranger. Besides that, I’d grown up playing in the ghost realm, staying off the menu for demons and malignant spirits alike. That and a mind like a steel trap had to count for something.

  He stared at me. “That’s it?”

  I shrugged.

  He turned his head to Madison. “You run the others through some drills. I’ll work with Grace.”

  She nodded, and called out instructions, as Shaun motioned me over. “Let’s begin with one of the most important elements of survival—state of mind. The eye can either focus or not focus. The mind follows the lead of the eye. Two very common errors in martial arts are: one, the belief that you must focus directly on your opponent, and two, think your way through your fight.”

  “And you don’t?”

  He smiled.

  I felt like melting into a puddle.

  He said, “Thinking has its place when you’re learning your art. But when using it, thinking just slows you down, putting you at greater risk.” He held out his hands, holding up single fingers. “If you look at the finger closest to you, the farther one is a blur. Look at the farthest one, and the near finger becomes a blur.”

  I looked from one to the other and nodded. He was right. “So which do I look at?”

  “Neither, the way of the warrior is one of non-focus. Use peripheral vision to see both fingers as a blur, and not just my fingers—all of me—and every possible opponent in the room. Expand your awareness to fill whatever space you’re in, like moonlight falling on the world, seeing nothing specifically, but aware of all things.”

  He snapped out a punch.

  I shifted hips and leaned a few inches away.

  I stared at his fist, hanging inches from my face, aimed over my shoulder. He’d pulled it short so I wouldn’t have been hit by standing still.

  “Good reflexes,” he said, “but you let me startle you into focusing on my fist. All motion is tracked with peripheral vision. Your mind needs to stay aware of the total space, and not get limited to my fist. If an opponent gets you to watch his fist, you could easily miss his foot.”

  I let my stare go unfocused, taking in the whole room.

  He kicked, and I shifted back to where I’d been.

  He stood poised on one foot like a flamingo lawn ornament. Inches from my face, his toes wiggled at me, but I didn’t take the bait, keeping my gaze unfocused.

  “Good girl.” He withdrew his foot and stood naturally. “But in a fight, when your heart is pounding and adrenaline is tweaking your system, habit can take over. You’ve spent your whole life looking at things. It will take awhile for non-focusing to become normal.” He sank to the mats, motioning me to sit facing him. “You’ve been stretching. Keep it up daily, but
when you feel pain, stop. Pain is nature’s way of saying don’t be stupid. You can overdo anything. Now, I’ll teach you an auto-hypnotic method of visualization to build a mental circuit, a switch you can throw to erase the line between the conscious and subconscious.”

  “And then we’ll get to the punching and kicking?”

  He grinned. “Then we get to the punching and kicking.”

  Shaun’s voice soothed and lulled while painting pictures in my head, helping me to ignore the sounds of the rest of the class, hard at work. He had me close my eyes, but raise them, as if to see something high on a far wall. This had something to do with changing my brainwaves, inducing what he called an alpha state. In my mind’s eye, I walked through a park. I smelled the sweet fragrance of grass that was spongy under my feet. Above were the laced branches of cedar and oak, green with leaves. Dapples of sunlight hit my face. A cool wind curled around me and moved on.

  Shaun said, “Let the ground roll downward. Feel the pull of gravity moving you a little faster.

  The decline is growing steeper. You’re moving faster, not quite running. Now you’re out of the trees. The grass becomes sand. You smell water and hear its lapping. The sand catches at your foot, but you press on, moving up to silver-blue mirror of a lake. You take a deep breath, throw out your arms, and throw yourself into the water, drawing it into your lungs like air, breathing it easily.”

  I did as he suggested, imagining myself in a liquid universe that deepened slowly to midnight blue as I sank. The water flowed over my skin, turning me over and over as pressure increased. Up and down became meaningless.

  Shaun’s voice continued to guide me, “You’re falling toward the bottom where a small, gold star shines all by itself. The star calls you, swelling ever larger as you approach. It becomes a sea of fire. Reach out and grasp the fire. Become one with the pyre. Let the glory suffuse your body, your mind, you are a creature of fire, rising through the water, exploding free of its hold. Your mind is an open, empty sky. You do not think, you simply are. Now stand and open your eyes, Grace.”

  I did.