Zero Foxes Given

by Nix Whittaker

  As he struggled to release his blade, she charged him. Going in low, she dropped the naginata to wrap her arms around his hips. Startling him enough, he dropped his own blade, still wedged into the side of the naginata. Lifting him, she pivoted his body on the metal bar of the walkway and flipped him into the water.

  With a satisfying splash, he hit the water in the gorge. She glanced over the railing as he flailed to stay afloat. The brackish water would likely ruin his leather jacket. Pity, it was a nice jacket. The slice into her shoulder ruined her own jacket so it only seemed fair to her.

  Victoria was fairly mild, weather wise, so he was unlikely to die from hypothermia, not that she cared. The guy had tried to kill her. Her arm fiery with pain, reminded her of that as the adrenaline slowly wore off.

  He screamed, “Thief. Give it back. It doesn’t belong to you.”

  Still in the eye of the storm of her emotions and reaction to the fight, she ignored him. Reaching down, she picked up the naginata. It had saved her life, so there was no way she’d leave it lying on the wooden planks of a well-trafficked bridge in the middle of a city. The move had her head spinning. Fat drops of blood trickled off the ends of her fingers.

  Holding the staff with her injured arm, she struggled to close her fist in a tight enough grip it wouldn’t slip when she pulled the katana free. She wrenched the katana with her good hand. Leaving a scar on the wood right through a silver kanji. Kiera almost threw the katana in the water with the leather-clad thug, but the elegant blade spoke to her.

  Holding it up to the light of the setting sun, she admired the etchings of a flock of birds that meandered down the blade. Flicking it, the blade shivered in response but stayed true.

  This was no reproduction to sit on the wall of some nerd’s den.

  Tilting it, she studied the tang and handle. There was nothing there that screamed ancient or authentic. If she had seen this in its sheath, she would have said it was a trinket picked up at a comic con.

  Shifting the naginata to her good hand, she pressed the katana parallel against the shaft. This way she could carry them together without worrying about cutting herself. With the sheath missing, she was forced to keep the blade live.

  The thug snarled something in Japanese, but she was sure she didn’t want the translation. “Oh, shut your trap, jerk. I didn’t…”

  An orange blur hit her, knocking her off her feet and silencing her sentence. The weapons in her hands skittered against the wooden planks. Trying to catch herself, the pain and the surprise turned her reactions to molasses, contacting the bridge with her face instead of a much more reasonable part of her body. White lightning stabbed through her head as she hit in the same spot the bird had connected.

  Stunned, she dragged everything inside her to roll to the side as she knew from the other attack, there was probably someone else with another katana, ready to kill her.

  Instead of a man with another blade, teeth buried into her collarbone. Scraping across bone, teeth tore at her flesh. The scream of pain burned up through her throat. Blind with pain, she shoved at the creature.

  It backed up before she could truly push it off, and all she gained was the fleeting touch of fur. It attacked again. Teeth buried to the bone, sending sharp glass agony up her arm. She gritted her teeth as she turned to reach for a weapon as the creature again retreated.

  The katana had skittered too far out of her reach, but the naginata staff was angled towards her. She scrambled for it, but the creature—fox most likely from the colour and size—dashed in, aiming for her arm straining for the naginata.

  She yanked her arm back, and his teeth snapped air.

  Her thoughts were mostly on survival and pain at this stage, so she went back to her plan and reached for the naginata.

  The silver lettering on the shaft of the naginata flashed bright for a second before it flew and slapped into her palm. Power surged through her, pushing away the pain for a moment, before it crashed back down on her. It was enough for her to move to a sitting position and lift the naginata up to defend herself.

  Using the blunt end, she jabbed at the fox. Dancing back out of reach, it made a distressed sound reminiscent of a child crying. Crouched low to the ground, paws tucked in under its chin, the fox didn’t seem like it was planning to attack her again.

  She tightened her grip on the staff in anticipation of a renewed volley, except the fox had surrendered. It whined at her, and she swore it was apologising.

  Her muscles wobbled in fatigue. She couldn’t hold herself up any longer and dropped back. Her head hit the walkway harder than she had planned.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, taking stock of her injuries. Her face hurt the most, but she knew it was the least of her injuries. The wet puddle of blood gathering under her was more alarming. The more she thought about her injuries, the more they pushed aside the adrenaline that had protected her.

  Until an inferno of pain throbbed with the beat of her heart from her shoulder to her fingers. Flickering her eyelids, she saw the fox had left. She closed her eyes again. In a moment, she told herself, she would get to her feet in a moment and look for help.

  A shadow moved between the sun and her face. She opened her eyes in alarm. A Japanese man in a tailored black suit peered down at her. He had the classic black hair and features. And thankfully, he wasn’t wielding a katana. Though for a moment, she did consider whether he was in league with the thug. His dress though reassured her this man was way too classy to be hanging around with a sword-wielding maniac.

  His voice was warm with concern, “Are you all right? What happened?” He glanced towards the railing where the thug had gone over. He had probably seen the end of the fight and the fox attacking her.

  She tried to lever herself up with the naginata, but it collapsed down to the size of a pencil, making her flop to the side inelegantly. She stared at the pencil, stunned at the sudden transformation. It was the pencil she had assumed was a scimitar or glaive. The silver writing glowed before it returned to a completely mundane appearance.

  She frowned at the miniature naginata. Bringing her attention back to her rescue when the man crouched by her. He swayed a little as he found his balance. His fingers went to touch her cheek which had her flinching away. Muttering an apology, he curled his hand in against his body.

  He glanced back at the railing where she could still hear the swearing thug. The thug’s voice was further away so hopefully he was swimming for the shore.

  Her rescuer asked again, “What happened?”

  Relieved that someone was here to look after her she answered. “Some jerk attacked me with a katana.” She left out that he was trying to kill her. Or the strange coincidence of a fox attacking her right afterwards.

  The Japanese man considered the cut on her arm with a twist of his head and stated, “He says you are a thief.” She assumed the string of Japanese words said a heck of a lot more.

  Snorting at the thought, Kiera defended herself. “The only thing I’ve ever stolen is sugar packets from a café.” And she often left a bigger tip if she did that.

  She slipped the naginata pencil into her pocket. That item would need a closer look when she wasn’t bleeding all over the ground. There was only one of the miniature katana pencils left in her pocket to nestle in next to the naginata. The other pencils were scattered over the boardwalk.

  Her rescuer noticed her attention on the escaped stationery and collected them and offered them to her silently. She thanked him in a mumble and shoved them awkwardly back into her pocket.

  With her energy flagging, she knew if she didn’t get help soon, she was likely to pass out. She gestured with a hand to the Japanese man. “Can you get me some help?”

  He shifted his feet, still crouching, and asked, “May I touch you?” She nodded weakly and closed her eyes. There was no way she would get to some medical help without someone carrying her as darkness already threatened the edges of her vision. He slipped his arms under her and lifted her ag
ainst his chest.

  She wasn’t a light girl. People called her many names but none of them were complimentary regarding her weight. Buff was the term that annoyed her the most. Not that she was massive. She just had more to her. Adding to the weight was her bag, which contained everything she owned. The man didn’t even grunt as he straightened. Sure he was capable of carrying her to safety, she closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest.

  She groaned as he applied pressure to the cut. Her wounded arm now pressed up against his body. Inappropriately, she wondered just how much this would all cost. The man carrying her was someone of wealth as the suit was just that shade nicer than the ones taken off the rack. Her blood would ruin whatever he was wearing. That would make a dent in her savings. The doctor’s bills alone would wipe her out.

  Chapter Two

  When Kiera opened her eyes, she was off the walkway and in true suburbia. She must have blacked out as she didn’t remember leaving the walkway. Double-storey buildings lined the quiet street. Lights flickered on as the sun finally extinguished in the horizon.

  “Where are we?” Only now worried a stranger was carrying her and that he might take her off to some random shed to chop her up to feed his dogs. She hadn’t pulled a newbie move like this in years and at least four countries ago.

  His voice rumbled from his chest, “My sister is pre-med.” That had her settling back against his warmth, reaffirming that there really were good people in the world. It would also help her wallet as a pre-med sister sounded a lot cheaper than a gleaming hospital.

  “Do you want to tell me where you got the pencils?” he asked. She could do with a distraction as the pain left her nauseated. He must also be curious about the transformation of the pencil to naginata and then back into a pencil. She certainly was.

  “A lady outside the museum.” Kiera focused on her answer as much as the pain allowed and wondered if the woman realised the pencil hid a magic naginata. Even thinking that had hysterical humour bubbling just behind her breastbone. Magical weapons shouldn’t be real. Katana-wielding madmen shouldn’t be real either. At least if they were real, they were hopped on magic mushrooms and back in New Zealand where they were safely serving their sentence.

  “Was she Japanese?” his voice faded in and out though that was most likely on her side of the communication rather than him modulating his voice.

  “Mmm, maybe. She had black hair. I thought she was a bit odd. She was dressed like a businesswoman and everyone else there were hippies.” Frowning, she rarely gave out information without filtering first. “I think I’m in shock.”

  His voice was deep, and she could feel it as it purred through her. “Most likely.”

  He didn’t sound distressed, so he clearly didn’t think she was about to die in his arms.

  Her whole body shivered, and her teeth ached with the need to clack together. “I threw a man into the water.”

  “Yes. How did you do that?” his voice amused and curious. She didn’t come across as someone who could outmanoeuvre a sword-wielding maniac, but she didn’t appreciate the teasing tone.

  Jutting her chin in pride. “Physics. He was against the railing, and I used it to pivot him over. Went in low and just lifted him up. Pop. I’m never been fantastic at fighting. I worry too much about getting hurt, but I didn’t want to die. He tried to kill me. Made a nice splash though.” Opening her eyes to gaze up at the bottom of his chin. His dark eyes stared into the distance, allowing her to study him.

  “You’re cute. Not like GQ ad cute but more like that guy off Criminal Minds cute.” She knew the observations were out of character. Shock.

  “I think I’m in shock.”

  He ignored her observation. “You’re safe now. It’s all right, the tengu isn’t here anymore.” He reassured her in a soothing voice that had her tucking her head in against his shoulder. His presence was solid and comforting.

  “Tengu? Was that a kitsune as well?” She slurred the S sound in kitsune. She liked stories about yokai. Yokai had been turned into something chased around like Pokémon in modern years. But she liked the older stories of shape-changing creatures that would get drunk in bars or marrying unsuspecting farmers. Strangely, she didn’t think he was joking. Amazing what shock could do to the brain, she’d believe anything in this state.

  “Yes. Sorry about that. I thought you were a thief.” His words made little sense, but he was turning to walk up to a house, so she left her questions for later.

  The door opened before they approached, and a young woman rushed out. In a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, she didn’t look pre-med. Her eyes snapped between Kiera and the man carrying her.

  “What have you done?” she demanded of them.

  Kiera said helpfully, “A kitsune and a tengu attacked me.” She giggled at the ridiculousness of it. The reality wasn’t any weirder. First attacked by a man with a katana and then by a wild fox.

  “She’s injured.” Her rescuer didn’t slow his pace and closed the gap between them.

  “I can see that.” Her words sharp. Staying out of the argument, Kiera closed her eyes.

  Her rescuer pushed past the girl into the house. Modern and clean, she didn’t get much of a feel of the owners from the neat styling. Taking Kiera to a large bathroom, he set her down in the bath. Probably a good idea. There was a lot of blood. When he stepped back, she could see her blood had soaked through his top, turning the pristine white to a morbid crimson. Yeah nah, that shirt would be expensive to replace.

  The sister, with a large first aid kit, pushed him aside and glared at him. He backed up and closed the door of the bathroom as he left. The teenage façade of the girl disappeared as she opened the case on the sink and said, “I hope you don’t like that jacket.”

  Kiera’s clothes were a mess. Blood stained her jacket and shredded shirt. The shoulder flapping like gaggling seagulls at the beach wasn’t a good sign. Even with a good clean, her clothes were unrecoverable. She felt a little sadness over the jacket as she liked all the pockets, and it hadn’t been cheap. Kiera though was used to the ephemeral nature of objects.

  The girl probably was thinking of cutting it off her as they did in dramas on TV. “It’s cut up already, another snip isn’t going to ruin it anymore,” Kiera said with a sanguine tone. The cool surface of the bath had taken her shaking to proper shivering. Though her teeth still resisted chattering.

  The girl glanced at her; her eyes shadowed with confusion. Kiera recognised the look so she explained, “You’re going to cut it off me, aren’t you? I just jumped ahead in the conversation.”

  “I see why Haku likes you.” How Kiera’s strange conversational skills translated into evidence towards affection was beyond her shock-addled brain. To avoid the sister shipping her, while she lay in a pool of her own blood, she headed her off.

  “He just found me. I would’ve bled to death if he hadn’t been there at that moment. We weren’t planning a wedding. Though I told him he was cute.” The sister approached with a pair of large shears. Kiera flinched back from the cold steel as they pressed against her skin and tucked under the edge of her clothes. The sister ignored her reaction and cut with more regard to speed than comfort.

  “He likes you,” the sister stated as a fact. Kiera didn’t know how she had come to that conclusion, but Kiera was more concerned that she would attack her with the scissors if she didn’t agree with her, so she briefly nodded her head.

  The sister returned her focus to cutting Kiera’s clothes off her and hopefully patching her up. Relieved, Kiera lay back and closed her eyes.

  Her scissor-wielding medic asked, “How are you with pain?”

  “Terrible,” Kiera answered honestly. She wasn’t the hero type and if this girl had drugs to numb the pain, she wasn’t going to say no. A towel landed on her chest, and Kiera opened her eyes.

  “Put this over you. I’m getting Haku.” The sister strode out of the bathroom.

  Kiera was only wearing her bra and even that had been
half cut away, so she awkwardly worked with one arm to unfold the towel to cover any important bits. She avoided looking at her arm as much as she could. The bite on her forearm looked more like minced meat that twisted her stomach when she stopped to study it. Her collarbone probably looked similar, but she couldn’t bend her neck enough to see.

  The cut from the katana was clean in comparison, and a large flap of skin hung from her arm. That would probably need surgery or stitches. The pain dulled her horror at her injuries. Tucking the towel under her arm, she lay back, panting with the effort.

  Covered enough for her low level of modesty, Kiera closed her eyes. Footsteps announced the return of the Japanese man, the sister had called him Haku. It was familiar and niggled at the back of her head, but most of her brain power was on diligently not thinking about the pain. Her eyelids heavy, she attempted to observe her rescuer as he returned to the bathroom.

  He had taken off his soiled shirt, but he hadn’t had a chance to do more as there were smears of her blood contrasted against his pale skin. His muscled chest explained why he could carry her with ease. She caught herself admiring the smooth skin. She’d always liked the way Japanese men didn’t tend to be hairy. Flushing, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as nausea from the pain rolled through her.

  The woman said, “Haku is going to take the pain away. Are you ready?” That was a stupid question, so Kiera just nodded her head. Unsure what he would do to take away the pain, she watched as he laid a light hand on her cheek. Thankfully, on the side that wasn’t throbbing with a growing bruise. Her heart took a beat and then stuttered before continuing. At that moment, the pain went, forcing her to let out a breath in surprise.

  Kiera tried to move to find a more comfortable position, but the woman hissed and said, “Don’t move.” Freezing Kiera in an awkward position. “He has to keep contact for it to work.” Returning the pain was the last thing she wanted. His hand pressed a little harder onto her cheek, and she took that as a sign she could move. Cautiously, she eased herself into a more comfortable repose.