Tears and Shadow (kitsune series) Page 3

  Using my arms, to protect my head and deflect off the glowing wood, I angled toward the floor, spinning into an aerial crouch. I shifted back into view just before my feet caught a woman in the face, spinning her violently.

  I dropped to the mat, having lost inertia. Since I was low to the ground, I pivoted a leg into a sweep, taking one opponent down with my heel and calf. Another warrior, with better reflexes, kicked into my sweep, trapping my leg like a crane stepping on a carp. Bending at the waist, I snatched up a glittering shuriken someone had dropped and threw the thing as I pulled it in. The star-shaped knife wobbled past the face of the warrior looming over me. It didn’t come very close, but she pulled back a little, expecting me to be better than I was. This let me jerk my leg free, delaying the downward stab of her katana.

  I rolled away, seeking distance. From the corner of my eye, I saw Shaun in a blur, fighting multiple threats. In the general confusion, I prayed he wouldn’t skewer me. It had to help I wasn’t wearing a dark blue uniform like the other dancing shadows.

  Close to my new position, two kunoichi flipped themselves off the floor, onto their feet, turning murderous gazes my way.

  Damn, zigged when I should have zagged.

  My stomach clenched, as one of the kunoichi stabbed with her sword. The other lashed out in a kick that blinded me a moment as it grazed my head. My body acted on its own, rolling me backwards. Something smacked my side, as I crossed over into gray-toned silence.

  Two blades passed through my torso, doing no damage. Their swords weren’t soul-charged like Shaun’s—they couldn’t hurt me this side of the veil. That left me indescribably happy—until pain kicked in. I touched my side and found tattered cloth ... and wetness. I pulled my hand before my face and stared at a black smear. Blood. There wasn’t a lot of it. Best I could make out—from the lack of pain—I’d only taken a scratch before crossing over.

  Thoughts of how much worse it might have been made me lightheaded. My legs shook. I crumpled. My heart raced, my pulse thundering in my ears. Mental haze morphed into panic. Get a hold of yourself, Grace. Freak out when the fighting’s over. Shaun needs you!

  He’d rallied with the distractions I’d provided, and had whittled the opposition down to two. My heart leaped in my chest as a steel bolt on a long chain wrapped around his sword hand, jerking him off balance, making him vulnerable. Michiko plunged toward the woman using the chain. The other attacker clutched batons with little curved blades on the end. Seeing her chance, she pounced toward Shaun.

  I crossed back and appeared in front of him.

  He grunted as my shoulder sank into his midsection. Like a linebacker sacking a quarterback, I took him down to safety, away from the oncoming weapons. Another cross over kept Shaun from automatically smashing my face with an elbow strike, but his ghost realm aura shocked me skyward like electric current. Oblivious to my presence, the sticks with their little blades carved through me, doing no damage. Cat-like in the air, I turned my lower half to the ground, then my upper body, landing beside the woman as she realigned on Shaun.

  Briefly, I flickered into view next to her.

  She lashed my way, as a reviving lady warrior lunged up from a sprawl to seize me from behind. The iron bar of her arm crossed my throat, choking me viciously. I vanished, breathing in pain as her aura shocked me away. The one who’d been crushing my throat me caught both curved blades in her chest. Cut off from battle sounds within the veil, I could only imagine the meaty thu-thunk. Queasy, I reminded myself that these gals had come for blood—they’d earned this. Overshadowing the ice of fear in my guts, a thrill set in—I’d actually been able to save the guy I lusted after.

  The fallen kunoichi were tough, not staying down despite their injuries. They grabbed their fallen comrades and retreated nearly quickly as they’d come.

  Lingering over the dead, their unsecure souls bobbed in the air, waiting to be gathered like the last batch. That was something I’d rather not watch again. Now the fight was over, I needed to high-tail it out of here. The reavers had never menaced me, but their hungry red-eyed glares disturbed many of my dreams.

  Speaking of reavers, a fresh flight swept into the dojo for another harvest.

  I avoided them, reaching the sliding doors which were still intact, but I couldn’t go through; they were charged, solid. Michiko faded in, blocking my escape. I looked where the lady warriors had left gaping holes in the rice paper, and headed for the closest one.

  Ghost Girl slid into my path without a change to her body, like there were wheels on her feet and a helpful wind gusting her about. She stared icily. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home.”

  “That would be terribly rude. Nii-san has seen you now. You owe him an explanation, and the opportunity to tell you not to come back.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Her outline fuzzed as cold violet fire danced around her limbs, building toward a lethal discharge. “Very.”

  I was trapped and knew it. If I didn’t do what Michiko wanted, there was no way she’d let me come back. I sighed, and met her steely gaze with one even harder. “All right, I’ll do it. But if he lets me train here, you have to put up with it too.”

  The spectral fire died around her, and my own orange aura provided the only relief from the many shades of gray. She nodded. “Fine, if Nii-san says so.”

  One down, one-to-go. The reavers were gone with their prizes. I headed straight to where Shaun talked on his phone, stepping over bodies, and knelt before him, invisible to his eyes. The glow where my legs touched the mat paled and flickered with uncertainty, weakening. Multiple crossings so close together had taken their toll. I wondered how much time I had before being expelled from the ghost realm. I’d soon be locked out of the ghost realm for hours, as my strength rebuilt.

  Michiko hovered behind me, a silent threat offering encouragement.

  Shaun closed his phone.

  I crossed back, head bowed to the floor, hands stretched out in front of me. I’d seen Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai and knew how these things were done.

  Shaun’s sword scraped free of its scabbard and flashed between us, the point nearly thrust into my face.

  I kept very still, but my thoughts whirled, bleeding into one another like frogs in a blender.

  “It’s you.” He pulled the katana back from me. “Thanks for the help.”

  I tried to answer, ready to take advantage of his gratitude, but my voice came out as a tortured squeak. I tried again, peering hopefully upward. “Please, accept me ... as your student.”

  He shook his head once, a sharp gesture. “I’m sorry, but—”

  Something was wrong. I felt weak. I shook. A damp sweat covered my forehead. Pain stole my breath. My side burned. I came up on my knees, lifted my head, and felt inside my torn hoodie. My fingers found wetness. I was still bleeding? Maybe it wasn’t just a scratch after all. As darkness closed in, my eyes sought the hard planes of Shaun’s face.

  A hunk to die for—and maybe I had.

  I awoke on the dojo floor, covered by a blanket, my feet elevated on something that I hoped wasn’t a corpse. A bustle surrounded me as men in gray coveralls dragged bodies away. With silent efficiency, they replaced blood stained mats with new ones. Soon, no one would know a fierce battle had just ended. Apparently, good help wasn’t hard to find after all.

  The workers were cleaning up the crime scene without preserving evidence, which smelled of cover-up.

  Seeing the dead—humans, not monsters—knowing I was responsible for some of them, had bile rising up my throat. I closed my eyes and struggled not to be sick. When I thought I had a handle on myself, I opened my eyes again.

  “Shisou Ninja,” Shaun said. “It’s been so long, I thought they were finally going to leave me alone.”

  A polished male voice answered, “Women scorned can never rest until the man responsible is just as miserable.”

  I know that sardonically nasal voice. Virgil.

 
; “It’s not really me they want,” Shaun said. “They think I have Worochi-no-Aramasa.”

  “Oh, dear, I hope it’s not catching,” Virgil said.

  Shaun shook his head no. “It’s the legendary sword of the Shinto storm god Susanoo. The family that trained me was rumored to be its guardian, but I never saw it.”

  Sitting up a few inches, I froze, suddenly aware of a field bandage taped to my side. Apparently, I wasn’t going to need surgery. Or I’d already had it. Disturbing thought.

  Shaun came over, knelt, and guided me back to the mat, his hands on my shoulders. “Easy there. We need a few answers before you take off.”

  I stayed put—content to stare into his eyes, a gentle mix of blue and gray, borrowed from storm clouds. A marvelous color. His scent intoxicated as well; a mixture of man-sweat, raspberry body wash, shampoo, and sandalwood aftershave. His hair had seemed burnished in the ghost world. Now, the color was pale brown, ordinary—until he moved just right and a platinum gloss swept through.

  He looked past me.

  I followed his gaze, shifting to see a starved-looking man in a dark suit with a blood red tie. Designer sunglasses hid his eyes. His hands were encased in black gloves. Yep, I’d been right. It was Virgil, Mr. Sunglasses himself. A smile stretched his thin lips. There was something slightly practiced about the gesture. He reminded me of a wolf eyeing a terrorized rabbit, waiting to see which way it jumped.

  I guess that made me the rabbit.

  I wasn’t good at staring contests. My gaze dropped. His coat bulged from a gun and shoulder holster. He had a license to kill; one of the big wheels involved in the policing the preternatural community. Cassie, my biological mother, worked for this guy. Shaun too, on and off. I wondered when he’d start recruiting me.

  “You just happen to be here when a fem-brigade of ninja attack. Quite convenient,” Virgil said. “Or do you have a source?”

  I went for wide-eyed innocence. “You know me; I’m always in the right place at the wrong time.”

  “So, you didn’t know this was going down.” One of Virgil’s thin arms angled, hand going to his hip. The other arm hung straight. His pose reminded me of a Project Runway model poised at the end of a catwalk. His inquisitive stare stabbed at me, as his dangling hand floated up. His fingers flicked away phantom lint from his jacket.

  “Honest,” I said.

  Virgil nodded. “I believe you.”

  “Because we have history, and you know in your heart of hearts I’m one of the good guys?”

  “Uh-uh.” Virgil shook his head no and slid his hands into his pockets. “I know what it means to be kitsune. If you were to lie, you’d lose your powers.”

  I wondered if that old Japanese folk tale was true; after all, I’m only half kitsune. Still, it might explain why I tended to play with words and shades of meaning, but never an outright lie.

  Shaun wagged a finger, in lecture-mode, “By the way, a little combat advice: when shock of an injury sets in, just folding up is bad. Such a habit can take you out—permanently.”

  “A little late with that helpful tidbit,” I smiled, “but thanks.”

  He offered me a grin by way of saying you’re welcome.

  “The problem is,” Virgil droned, “We can’t have you spying on us randomly. You need a new hobby.”

  “Who’s spying on you? Paranoid much?”

  I felt gratitude; these guys had patched me up. That didn’t mean I needed them play Dr. Phil and fix my life. I needed to bail, if I could. I hoped I had the energy to cross over.

  “Thanks guys.” I offered them a Cheshire cat smile, pulled the veil around me, and bounced up into the air. Sure enough, a moment later the guys were feeling the space I’d just occupied, confirming the emptiness their eyes reported. I landed several feet away. The mat shimmered raggedly, but at least I wasn’t sinking through the floor—yet.

  The guys shot stares across the dojo, searching for me.

  Standing out of the way, I looked around to see what ghosts might still be around. There weren’t any. Michiko had either chased off the others, or turned them into breakfast. I didn’t want to know what ghost tastes like.

  I watched Shaun for a long moment, imprinting his thoughtful wariness into memory. All phases of Shaun were wonderful. With tremendous effort, I turned and walked away. The smart thing would be to stay gone. Forever. Could I do it? Probably not. The heart’s a tyrant. Damn, I felt like writing a country song.

  FOUR

  RED CARD: A card from the referee signifying

  a penalty hit has been charged against a fencer

  for a rules violation.

  I ghosted through a new rice paper panel and jumped off the outer deck to the dying grass. I hurried across the backyard, toward the house, passing under dim lanterns strung high above, swaying in the wind. The surrounding gray tones in the yard were brighter with the sun ascending.

  I skirted the three-story house and ran past a number of parked vans at the curb. Magnetic signs on the vehicles claimed they were from Mom’s Cleaning Service. There were no signs of nosy neighbors, one advantage to most of the homes in this housing development being abandoned during construction.

  With each step I sank a little more into the ground. Losing traction slowed me. I knew I’d have to get out of sight soon, before energy depletion forced me from the ghost realm. I was wading knee deep in the ground by the time I rounded the house across the street, making it safe to reappear. I let the familiar electric tingle sweep through me, giving my aura a brief charge that popped me out of the ground. Color came back to the world as I fell, my orange aura turning invisible, my golden skin going back to pale white. The sound of early birds, after their worms, registered. I landed in a sideways sprawl on spongy grass, in the grip of returning gravity. The jar stunned me, a feeling of almost being knocked out of my body. A few seconds later, I carefully got to my feet, thankful they were still attached.

  Tired, I forced myself to a ground-eating stride, jogging straight for home. My clothes clung, damp with sweat. I needed to shower and change. And grab some food. Drew and Jill would be wondering where I was by now. They might be kept wondering since I’d have to use the front gate to get in. That meant dealing with irate security guards that actually expected me to stay inside the facility where I was theoretically safe. And if Security Chief Hammer were around, forget about making the cafeteria in time to see anyone but the workers with their fishnet-covered hair and starchy white uniforms.

  I reached the high wall of the compound and started following it. I was winded, feeling half-ready to drop—and no longer alone. Shadows under the autumn-fired canopy followed me, dark ripples washing over the detritus, skimming up tree trunks, swamping bare shrubbery in passing—all of it heading for me. My back pressed the wall, I considered a piercing scream for help, but knew it would never get here in time. If only Tukka wasn’t keeping a low profile… Hey, Taliesina, wake up!

  Nothing.

  I had to be born under the unluckiest star.

  The weak sunlight was devoured by gloom which spiked at intervals into a half-ring of black-mist pillars, hemming me in. The pillars drew themselves higher, breaking apart at their bases. Each pillar paled, taking human form. The one immediately in front of me leaned on a familiar iron staff with a crescent moon and star motif. Torrent grinned.

  “Did you think we didn’t know where you lived?”

  “So, I’m a glass-half-full kinda gal. I thought I told you guys I don’t need babysitting.”

  He looked at the rip in my shirt, under the flap of my vest, and probably spotted the white bandage. His smile faded. His voice went Darth Vader deep, “You’ve been injured.”

  “Just a scratch. You should see the other girls.”

  “Your father does not approve of the poor care we’ve taken of you.”

  The other shadow men kept quiet, but shot each other looks crammed with fear, like someone had asked them to donate internal organs—from the wrong end of a chainsaw.


  I had a fix for all the drama. “Don’t tell him.”

  “I am his eyes and voice. What I see, he sees. You and I are going to have some ground rules here, for your own good.”

  For your own good never means anything good. If I only had the strength to crossover; I’d be through this wall so fast… Hey, that smell…sharp, musty like burning sage … Fenn.

  He dropped down the wall, landing beside me, holding an aggressive slouch. His hands had morphed into claws. I didn’t have to look into his face to know his eyes had shifted from amber to incandescent gold, and to snow white, pointy teeth were bared in a vicious smile. He wore tan cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a black sweater with sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Doing better now,” I said.

  Torrent straightened, taking his staff in both hands, holding it horizontally. He raked Fenn with a cold stare. “I know you, I think.”

  “No,” Fenn said, “you don’t, or you’d be running for your life.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes. Fenn was cool and all, but such a poser, not that he couldn’t back it up. He’d fought zombie dogs for me, mothmen, and had even stood up to his old man—the Trickster—for me. And he wanted me as badly as I wanted Shaun. We’re all Love’s bitch one way or another.

  “We’re going to do our job,” Torrent said, “with your help or not. You might consider making it easy on yourself.”

  I snorted. “Do I look like a reasonable person to you?”

  Fenn slid between me and the wall, making me take a step forward. He slapped my butt with stinging force. “Nice padding.”

  I spun in indignation, ready to belt him, and noticed him hunched forward, hands cupped into a stirrup. He looked at me, hard, like I needed to catch up to him in a hurry. I suddenly understood. I put my right foot into his hands, caught him by the shoulders, and let him use preternatural strength to hurl me up into the sky.