Tears and Shadow (kitsune series) Page 7

  Barely unconsciousness, I was aware of myself—of the dream form that was me, only better. Here I was more beautiful, stronger, more confident; almost a creature of fantasy.

  Surrounded by endless darkness, I strolled through white-mist billows, wearing a long, white nightgown like a Victorian heroine in a gothic romance. All that was missing was a big spooky house wrapped in moonlight and shadow. Every now and then, I’d hear something scurrying across my back trail. I resisted the impulse to look fearfully over my shoulder. That’s how the careless are enveloped by their nightmares.

  Soon, flat shapes appeared around me, a forest of full-length mirrors with hand-carved, oval frames. The glass faces were dark, more like doorways than anything else, refusing to give me back my reflection. I tried not to let my eyes rest on them—I didn’t want to go where they’d lead, I had to find Tukka.

  One mirror looked normal, but as I passed, instead of showing my nightgown, I saw myself in a lacy wedding dress with shoulders bare, and white gloves that went several inches past my elbows. I stopped and stared as Shaun in a white tuxedo stepped up to the mirror-me, putting his arm around my image, pulling her into an intimate embrace.

  “To have and to hold…” he said.

  Though I didn’t move, the golden me in the glass turned in his arms for a kiss.

  But Shaun was gone. Fenn stood there in mud-splattered jeans and flip-flops, his black tee ripped and splattered with blood. He held a rusty shovel in one hand, looking like he’d just buried someone in the woods. The shovel became an iron staff with a six-pointed star and crescent moon capping it. Fenn spoke with Torrent’s voice. “You don’t want to marry that guy. He’s mortal. They get old, wrinkly, and die. Where’s the happily-ever-after in that?”

  I hurried on, refusing to listen to what my subconscious was trying to tell me.

  The forest of mirrors became a true forest. Dark trees crowded me, their serpentine branches interlaced overhead to cage me in. Black walnuts rolled underfoot, forcing me to slow down. I needed to get control of this dream and not let it push me around. I thought of Tukka, holding him in my heart, and started sniffing for chocolate. It wouldn’t be the first time such a scent led us to the same location in our sleep.

  And there it was: elusive at first, but growing stronger as I advanced. The forest ended as I came up short in front of a red brick wall with a great, black iron door set in it. The door opened as my fingertips brushed it. The smell of chocolate intensified a hundredfold, overwhelming my nose with its sweetness. Yeah, if Tukka was anywhere, he’d be here, not that eating dream chocolate was the same as the real stuff.

  I went beyond the door and found myself in a two-story space. The walls were red brick at the first story, but then became square-paned windows, as was half the roof. Night had become day. Pale blue sky filled the windows. Sunlight shafted in to back light artfully piled rocks from which a chocolate waterfall fell. A gurgling chocolate river meandered through a garden with candy trees and spun sugar mushrooms. There were candy boulders, one of them cracked open, oozing jam. The river left the factory through a monstrous arch choked with darkness, and through plastic pipes that ran up into the higher levels of the building.

  I stood on a concrete balcony that led to stairs with intricately carved railings. I went down to a landing, made a turn, and took another flight to the lower floor. I was inside a movie I’d seen as a child. Any minute now, I expected the candy man show up singing Pure Imagination.

  My night gown became a red velvet dress with white frosting frills down the front. A pink lacy veil covered the top half of my face. I felt higher and discovered it was attached to a small, round hat perching on my head. Retro-chic. Cool.

  I followed a stone path through sweets-laden trees, heading for the river. Its gurgle grew louder, mixed in with grunts and the sound of scuffling. And in the distance, candy crickets chirped, and midgets sang in deep, manly tones:

  “Oozi woozie whumpa de dee

  Pay no rent, cause boxes are free.

  If you’re hungry it’s not your fault.

  Have some road kill with plenty of salt.”

  Reaching the skuzzy brown river, I found Tukka just off shore, grappling with a smaller figure. Tukka wore a purple and gray suit and a top hat that miraculously stayed in place despite the violence of his motions. His opponent wore black slacks, vest, top hat, and a magenta coat. The man’s face was pasty white, his hair straight and brown, currently dripping with chocolate; he’d been ducked under a time or two.

  I called out, “Tukka! Why are you beating him up on him when there’s so much chocolate to drink?”

  Unsweetened! Tukka cried. He is the Anti-Wonka. He must die!

  Straight Hair shouted, “No, I am the true Wonka. Get the hell outta my dream.”

  Tukka tugged at the man’s face. It came away, a latex mask. The face underneath was exactly the same as the mask that had covered it.

  I suddenly became aware of someone standing beside me, munching a bag of caramel popcorn. “Actually, it’s my dream,” the new-comer said. “There can be only one Candy Man and I’m him.” He held the bag out, offering me some.

  I smiled politely. “No thanks.”

  Straight Hair stumbled and went under again. His hat floated down the river. He came up sputtering and enraged. “That was my best hat, you fiend.” His gloves shredded on his hands. Long, scissor-like fingers grew out, flashing coldly, looking wicked sharp.

  See, Tukka said, he’s a fake!

  Straight Hair sliced with his hands, doing a good impersonation of a horror movie slasher. Tukka pivoted, dodging with amazing speed for someone with his bulk.

  “C’mon, guys,” I called, “can’t we just give it a rest?”

  Tukka grumbled. You never let me have any fun.

  I stared, dumbfounded. “What about what you did to poor Onyx? That was brutal.”

  Tukka snickered. Yeah it was, huh?

  Straight Hair grew still, looking interested. “What did you do?”

  “And why did you do it?” Candy Man asked, about to toss caramel popcorn into his mouth, his pale blue eyes innocent but world-weary at the same time. Both he and I were now surrounded by a dozen little guys in white coveralls with brown shirts, mandarin orange faces, and gamma green hair. Oomfa Zoompaws. They didn’t look happy to see their precious chocolate river being contaminated.

  Tired of all this, I used visualization to add a few elements to the dreamscape. Looking like floating logs with marshmallow teeth, chocolate crocodiles surfaced around Straight Hair and Tukka.

  “Oh, crap,” the anti-Wonka said.

  Okay, Grace, Tukka said, we can go now.

  The arch that swallowed the river spewed its darkness. A tsunami of black swept past us, heavy folds of oblivion replacing the chocolate factory, swallowing even the sound of the chocolate waterfall. I summoned my aura, sheathing myself in a cold, orange haze of flame. I felt like I was floating in a nameless abyss, alone except for Tukka. His teal blue hide shimmered softly, his clothing stripped away, left in the dream we’d just abandoned.

  I know a better dream anyway, Tukka said.

  “No. I want to talk to you. Here’s fine.”

  Grace mad at Tukka?

  “No, but I’m concerned…”

  Tukka concerned, too. Been long time. Need chocolate.

  Tukka drifted closer. He didn’t look good. His lavender eyes were piercing, desperate. His face had a feverish complexion. The blue was faded and the sweat of shock dripped down his clammy face and off his jowls. This alarmed me; dogs sweated through their feet, and panted to regulate heat. Unless fu dogs were drastically different from other dogs, something was very wrong.

  “Tukka, are you sick?”

  He shivered, then growled in annoyance. Keep telling you, Tukka need chocolate. Make him feel good.

  Opening in the blackness and hovering beside me, Taliesina’s eyes appeared as twin, gold moons that stayed the same space apart from each other. Her words vibrat
ed in the darkness for both Tukka and me to hear. Don’t you get it, Grace? He doesn’t just like chocolate. You’ve gotten him addicted to it.

  “What? That can’t be right,” I protested.

  Tukka’s brow wrinkled up. His mind-speech acquired a pleading quality. Please, Grace, need chocolate.

  Taliesina was right. Why hadn’t I seen this before? It made perfect sense; in humans, chocolate released endorphins, stimulating the pleasure centers of the brain. Chocolate was an aphrodisiac, a chemical substitute for love. In fu dogs, it had a narcotic effect. Tukka was suffering withdrawal symptoms—and it’s my fault.

  I blinked back tears, knowing that my sleeping self was crying. “I’m the worst friend ever.”

  Tukka was crowding me now, maw gaping wide, reminding me of a great white shark, about to attack.

  “Uh, easy there, big guy. We’ll get you through this, somehow,” I said.

  His eyes brightened with encroaching madness. Give. Tukka. Chocolate!

  Taliesina’s eyes narrowed, as her alarm welled up in me, making my pulse pound. Grace, maybe we ought to get out of…

  Japanese writing appeared in the void, as though an unseen hand were brushing kanji with white ink. The writing materialized line by line, dropping in vertical columns to cage in Tukka. He swiped with a massive paw. The blow rebounded, doing no damage. With mounting fury, Tukka struck again, with no results. He wheeled about, but by then, the writing enclosed him, also appearing above and below him.

  He spun back to me. Grace, help!

  I reached out to touch the writing, thinking that maybe I could just wipe it away. Through the orange haze of my aura, I felt the bite of silvery energy. It crackled and burned. I yanked back my wounded hand, looking at it. This wasn’t my body, just my dream self, but I was shocked to see missing fingers.

  Magic, Taliesina said. Very strong.

  A shimmer of crimson and ghost-white stars appeared off to the side of Tukka’s cage. The star points swarmed, making a pinkish cloud of light in human form. The cloud condensed into an Asian woman wearing a red skirt and a white blouse. Long black hair cascaded down to her lower back. Sandals clung to her feet.

  She said, “Of course the magic is strong. It’s mine.”

  “Who are you?” I asked. “And what do you want with Tukka?”

  “He is a fine prize. No one I know has their very own fu dog. And when I tire of him, his body can be chopped up for various magical uses. Grinding his bones to powder will produce an aphrodisiac worth thousands of dollars an ounce.”

  I like my bones just like they are, Tukka said.

  I was aghast with horror, and trembling with rage. “Over my dead body!”

  Taliesina said, I don’t think we can do anything now.

  I looked at her drifting eyes and asked, “What about the shadow sword we used on that hell beast last Halloween?”

  Even if the sword works on the cage, the energy backlash would still be dangerous.

  I kept my glare on the Asian woman. “What about using it on her?”

  Tukka lunged at the squiggly writing that held him. There was a flash of blue-white fire. Tukka rumbled out a scream of pain. His substance looked translucent, faded. As I watched, he seemed to crumble to teal blue dust, swirling in confinement. Then the cage and Tukka’s dream self were gone.

  I lunged at the woman. “Bring him back here!”

  She paled to an icy pink vapor that glowed in the darkness, and became a flurry of cherry blossoms stopping me cold. The petals were hard with razor edges. I guarded my face with my forearms. My little hat with its pink veil whirled away into the nothingness. Blood dripped off my arms and splattered the red velvet dress I wore. The flurry ended and I lowered my arms. The woman was gone.

  Taliesina’s thought was bitter as ashes, She’s got him and we don’t know where.

  I thought of him being butchered like a steer and went cold inside. “We’ve got to get him back.”

  When you figure out how, let me know. Her gold-moon eyes, washed out, fading as Tukka had. I floated in darkness, absolutely alone. I don’t know how long I was drenched in despair, but eventually, deeper sleep claimed me and I too faded from the place of dreams.

  NINE

  DISENGAGE: To break contact between

  blades, done by one fencer passing his or

  her blade under the opponent’s blade.

  Braced for impact, I huddled in Ms. Griffin’s office, in a comfy chair, feeling no hint of comfort, my heart still in anguish over Tukka. I’d seen many sides of her: indulgent den-mother, cold-blooded strategist, cavalier fashion plate, inquisitive researcher, and corporate top gun. This was new—scary mad. Standing, she loomed, leaning on her desk, knuckles white as her face. I got the impression she wanted to leap the massive desk and commit violence upon my person, but her voice came out frosty, lacking tension.

  “It was a simple job. You were just supposed to go shoo away a ghost. Not blow up the whole town.”

  “Only one building got blown up. The other two caught fire, but didn’t burn down … that much.”

  “The negative publicity will do serious damage. There could be legal repercussion as well.”

  “And I didn’t cause any of the damage.” My words continued to slide off her without registering, but I wasn’t taking the fall for this. “There ought to be legal repercussions. I’m thinking of suing you myself.”

  She stopped, staring in confusion. “What do you have to sue over?”

  “I’m a minor you sent out on a dangerous job without adult supervision. I could have been killed.”

  “I doubt that. I’ve seen what you did to Prince Onyx, and our laundry room, besides, you had protection.”

  “Protection that slipped its leash, causing all this trouble. You let Torrent and his men come in here and interject themselves into my life … and work.” I’d said all this in a quiet voice. Now, I yelled for effect. “Take responsibility!”

  She blinked and stared some more. I could sense the wheels of her mind spinning faster, dissecting my words, weighing them. A moment later, a wave of relaxation swept through her. She seemed to slump in place, then pull herself together, drawing back, sitting down in her high-backed leather chair. She crossed her legs, inhaled deeply, and slowly released her breath.

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” she said. “Damage control is more important, and the doctors say Onyx is recovering. Damn hard to kill a shadow man, they say.”

  “If that’s an apology, can I get it in writing?”

  “You do need more supervision, your judgment suborned to one far more competent.”

  Her voice contained a danger note of whimsy that scared me more than ever. My heart went cold.

  “You have someone in mind?”

  “I’ve had a request from the PRT. They want you assigned to them to be assessed as a resource—in your mother’s custody, of course. She’ll take the heat for your next screw-up.”

  Griffin meant Cassie, my biological mother. My kitsune mother. I liked her, but didn’t know if I could work up to loving her as much as the human who’d raised me.

  Ms. Griffin uncrossed her legs and swiveled to face the windows behind her desk. They were the only ones I’d seen in the whole building that weren’t tinted. She liked seeing everything clearly. Chances were, they were guarded with mystic barriers of some kind. Her words reached me as if across a vast distance, “I’m going to approve their request. The added bonus is that you won’t be available to be questioned by reporters or state officials. You’ll be out of touch and unreachable.”

  I had visions of Cassie hanging all over, willing me to love her, waiting for me to break down and call her Mom. Just what I needed, more pressure.” I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  Ms. Griffin smiled with an edge of cruelty. “I think you know where the door is. I’d go pack a few things if I were you.”

  Dazed, I got up and went out, softly closing the office door behind me. I stopped beside the
desk of her personal assistant, a thin, small man in a dark gray suit, pale blue shirt, and a loud purple tie with little yellow diamonds on it. He had curly brown hair, a straight blade of a nose, and glasses. He ignored me, fingers flying over keys as he typed. I’d have ignored him if it weren’t for the scent of fear he exuded—an acrid bite in the air reminiscent of wood smoke.

  I saw the cause of that fear sitting in a corner, arms crossed, wearing German shepherd colors—tan and black. A hard glower on his face, he looked like he wanted to snarl at somebody. His long hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. A green leather medicine bag with dangling fringe hung around his throat, resting on his collar bone.

  Fenn sprang up and hurried over, grabbing my arm like a vice. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you had a fiancé?”

  “You’re hurting me,” I said.

  We were suddenly packed close together by the popping in of shadow men; Onyx and his entourage. I glared at Onyx, then back at Fenn. “You took his word for it?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Fenn, I’m disappointed in you.”

  He relaxed his grip.

  I whipped my arm free, pushed him aside, and waded into the shadow men, the never-ending clack of word processing giving clerical ambiance to the scene. The personal assistant was either impervious to distraction, or minded his own business rather well. Onyx’s men melted away from me, letting me cross the room to the elevator. I pushed the call button and waited with my back to everyone.

  The smells from the cafeteria just down the hall kept me company. Hmmm … meatloaf for lunch with sweet potato casserole. I think Ms. Griffin had her office back here so she could raid the kitchen easily when working late. Most of the other offices were upstairs.

  I heard feet approach and smelled the feral earthiness of Fenn. “Grace, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s well and good,” I spoke without turning around, “but how are you going to make this up to me.”