The Ninja Daughter

by Tori Eldridge

  Mia followed the trolley tracks that ran through the center of the boardwalk, turned left at Gilmore Lane, and stopped just past the corner. Since this appeared to be the rendezvous point, I backed up behind a potted palm where I could watch. I had just taken out phone to open the camera app when I got a call. “Hey, Ma. What’s up?”

  “Just calling to say hello. You left so early last night.”

  “Right. Sorry about that. I was kind of burned out.” I was talking to Ma, but most of my attention was on Mia, who was waiting anxiously on the street corner.

  “From the heat?”

  “Sure. The heat.”

  Mia’s gaze shifted from one end of the street to the other. I checked the time. One minute to go. I hoped, for her sake, Freddy was punctual.

  “Lily?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you go?”

  “Go where, Ma?”

  “Out with Daniel.”

  “Wait. What?”

  Mia rose up on her toes as if she couldn’t otherwise see the white car driving toward her on the empty street.

  “Gotta go, Ma.”

  “But you didn’t answer.”

  “Sure. Whatever. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  I hung up before she could respond and switched to camera mode in time to snap a wide shot of the Lexus. I zoomed in on the plate and waited for the car to stop, but it continued down the street. Poor Mia was left on the sidewalk with her hopes crushed and spine sagging in her cheery buttercup dress.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The man I thought of as a second father launched a punch straight at my nose, and I loved him all the more because of it.

  While Mia had gone back to the Farmer’s Market to dowse her sorrows in powdered sugar, I had gone to Sensei’s new house in Los Feliz, where he had built a home dojo in place of a living room. My morning had frustrated the heck out of me, and nothing rid my mind of frustration like a good fight. If I didn’t get my face broken in the next two seconds, I’d feel as clear as a summer sky.

  I shifted my weight from the front foot to the back and rode out the energy of Sensei’s attack. His was not the quick punch of a boxer, but a deceptively reaching strike he launched from his gut. I cross-stepped backward, wanting to stay out of his reach yet close enough to tempt another attack.

  His next punch came harder and deeper to compensate for my retreat.

  I evaded it by sinking and stepping backward with a longer, lower stride—a fluid Ichimonji no Kamae. This fighting posture and corresponding water element allowed me to absorb my teacher’s attack while at the same time drawing energy for my own. Having taught me this technique, Sensei knew exactly what I was doing. He also knew I couldn’t stay in this kamae for long.

  His third punch drove me into an even deeper and longer retreat.

  I could have veered off to a safer position, but where was the fun in that? We were playing a game of cat and mouse, and it was time for me to take control. When his punch fell short, I smirked. It was a cocky thing to do. I knew it. He knew it. And I did it anyway. I even opened my arms and flattened out my torso into Hira Ichimonji no Kamae to give him an irresistible path to my gut.

  Sensei took the bait and launched a stomp kick right to my solar plexus, the same spot the Ukrainian had hit with his knotted rope. While the rope strike had taken my breath, Sensei’s kick—if I allowed it to connect—would break my sternum.

  I shifted left, to avoid his kick and position my hip, while at the same time raised my hand to intercept his face.

  Everything seemed to be going as planned. Victory should have been mine. But instead of taking my teacher gracefully to the floor and securing his face beneath my knee and his arm in a painful lock, Sensei shifted his hip—ever so slightly—and reversed the throw.

  My legs flew into the air, the room turned upside down, and I hit the mat with stunning force. His thumb dug into a kyusho pressure point under my jaw and pinned me to the floor, rendering me helpless. One point. One thumb. Such was Sensei’s skill. Then the pressure released and nausea filled the void.

  “Breathe, Lily-chan,” he said.

  I did as he suggested and tried not to vomit. Funny how the release of pain could feel worse than the pain itself.

  “Better?”

  “Hai,” I said—the Japanese word was easier to grunt than yes—and crawled my way into a formal Seiza no Kamae seated position. Not only did I feel too deferential to sprawl, but kneeling with my heels under my butt kept my spine straight and helped me to breathe.

  As Sensei walked across the mat to open a window, I marveled at his fluid grace. He was close to seventy, short, and stocky; yet he could jump to surprising heights, roll like a playful chimp, and bend as supplely as grass. I hoped to be like him one day, but after getting slammed on the mat, that goal seemed unreachable.

  I’d asked him, twice, why he had taken me on as a student: once when I was fifteen and realized that he was teaching me secrets he didn’t share with his other students, and again when I was eighteen and had committed myself to the path of a warrior protector. The first time I’d asked, he distracted me with a cool technique. The second time, I paid attention.

  “I teach you seriously because you are a serious person, Lily-chan.” Sadness had crept onto his face, but he banished it with hard resolve. “Partial learning leads to partial success. Now that you are committed to this path, I won’t have your death on my soul.”

  He hadn’t told me the whole truth, but I hoped, if I trained with him long enough, he someday would.

  “What went wrong?”

  I shook my head, not knowing where to begin. “Everything? I don’t know. I thought I had control of the fight.”

  “And against a less skilled opponent, you would have.”

  “So where did I mess up?”

  He breathed in the fresh air; I did the same. Then he turned to face me and spoke with quiet deliberation. “We must start with what you did right. You rode my energy close enough to keep you safe and me hooked. You manipulated my emotions and made me believe that if I extended just a little more, I would have you. And then, you belittled me with your smirk and teased me with your open posture. Everything you did would have worked against a hot-tempered assailant. But one in control of his or her emotions?” He let the question hang unanswered.

  I sighed. “He wouldn’t have fallen for it.”

  Sensei’s almond eyes grew a touch rounder. “He?”

  I nodded.

  He considered this a moment. “And this man threatens you?”

  “Not me. One of my charges.”

  “Ah. I see. Then you must be better than good or this man will defeat you and harm the one you protect.”

  I shrugged. “I’m afraid so.”

  He pulled back and squinched his face with disapproval. “It isn’t like you to be afraid, Lily-chan. Hold your center, and remember your training.”

  “But that’s the problem, Sensei: this man disrupts my center.”

  “Ah. Well, that’s a different problem. Why do you think this is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He turned his back and returned to the window. “Maybe you should find out.”

  He had given me privacy because he wanted me to journey to the quiet place where I hid secrets from my conscious mind. So I closed my eyes and enacted the Goshinbo rituals to purify negative karma and protect my body and spirit from harm. Once I felt calm and safe, I invited my inner wisdom to provide me with the answers I had been too afraid to ask.

  Those answers came in the form of a vision.

  I saw J Tran standing in a field, staring in my general direction at something in the distance. He seemed relaxed, as though he knew whatever he waited for would inevitably come his way.

  Next, I saw him on a hill, wind blowing streams of dark hair away from his stern face. His chest was bare and he wore drawstring gi pants, the kind made for martial arts uniforms
only of softer material that clung and fluttered with the breeze. I could see the cuts and shadows of his chest, stomach, and thighs. My hands wanted to feel. Instead, I kept my fingers entwined in my mudra and went through the motions of shielding my spirit once again.

  The third vision brought us so close I could see my reflection in his cold, dark eyes.

  My pulse raced. My breathing grew shallow. I chanted the mantra of protection, surrounded myself in empowering light, and waited for its brightness to burn away Tran’s image. Then I took a series of deep breaths and focused on the training mat beneath my shins. When I felt sufficiently anchored to reality, I opened my eyes.

  Sensei sat in front of me, a sword’s length away.

  “Did you find your answer?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  He waited long enough for me to explain. When I didn’t, he placed his hands on the mat and offered a slight bow. I beat him to it and held mine longer. When I returned to an upright position, he had moved closer.

  “Take care of yourself, Lily-chan. And remember to guard your center.” He drew a circle in the air in front of my torso. “Here.” Then he touched my solar plexus, the seat of my emotions, and gave it a firm tap. “And here.”

  I bowed my head in acknowledgment. “I will,” I said, and hoped it would be true.

  Chapter Twenty

  I arrived home during the peach and aqua prelude to a gorgeous SoCal sunset. The restaurant signboard and neighboring buildings walled in the sight from my apartment, but that didn’t matter: my favorite viewing spot was on the roof.

  So much of what I did as a modern-day kunoichi—a female ninja, who in my case, protected other women like Kateryna and Mia—involved me scaling buildings, swinging from high places, or otherwise getting from one point to another regardless of the obstacles. Those skills did not magically appear. They had to be developed and maintained. Our building and the ones surrounding it served as my outside dojo.

  Whether climbing, leaping, rolling, or fighting, movement was movement—and the ninja way of moving transformed the ordinary into magic. It might look odd or feel awkward to an untrained observer or novice practitioner, but once mastered, Taihenjutsu felt natural and effortless. Usually, I trained on my roof at night in the shadows cast by urban glow. Today, I simply enjoyed the sunset.

  I stretched out on the white gravel, pretended it was sand, and let my mind wander where it would. That direction turned out to be Mia Mikkelsen.

  I had learned quite a bit about her this morning. She had grown up in a trailer park in Las Vegas with her mom, tried and failed to become a showgirl, moved to Los Angeles to become an actress, and tried and failed again. She waitressed at a club, got involved with a married man, and lived in an apartment I doubted she could afford. Classic Hollywood tale.

  But what did any of this have to do with J Tran?

  Had Mia been looking to upgrade from a married sugar daddy to a bachelor hunk? Possibly. From the quality of Tran’s clothes and his confident demeanor, Mia would have assumed he had money. But while I no longer believed Tran meant to kill her, I also couldn’t imagine him feeling emotional enough to terrorize her. So why had he done it?

  Unless this had something to do with Freddy.

  I had witnessed Mia’s desperation as she cajoled her lover into meeting her. What if she had taken it a step farther and threatened to expose their affair? Was Freddy the kind of man who would hire a killer to stop her? The obvious course of action was to ask Mia, but since she had already lied to me about not dating anyone, I couldn’t trust her. Better to track down Freddy on my own.

  I was pondering the best way to do this, when my cellphone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. Could it be Kateryna calling from a train station on her way to freedom? I could hope.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Lily. It’s Daniel.” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Daniel Kwok?”

  “Right, of course.” I tried to conceal my disappointment. “What’s up?”

  “Well, your mom called and told me you might be interested in going out on a date.”

  “Huh.” When the hell had I agreed to a date? And then I remembered. Ma had been babbling on the phone when I was at The Grove watching the white Lexus approach Mia. In my hurry to end the call, I must have agreed to go out with Daniel.

  “I hope that’s okay. I’d love to take you to dinner. I was thinking tonight? If you’re free.”

  “Uh, sure. I could eat.” My taste buds were primed for sunset-inspired lavender-lemon and strawberry-balsamic gelato, but I could adjust. “What did you have in mind?”

  “République. Have you been there? It’s a foodie paradise.”

  “Really? Sounds like my kind of place.”

  “Great. I’ve got an eight o’clock reservation, so how ’bout I pick you up around seven thirty?”

  “Wait. You already made a reservation?”

  “Well, sure. I figured I could always cancel if you didn’t like the place or changed your mind about the date.”

  It sounded like something I would have done. But he didn’t need to know that. Instead, I honed in on the last part. “You thought I’d change my mind?”

  “Let’s just say I considered the possibility.”

  I smiled. Daniel had just earned some serious brownie points. I liked a man who didn’t take me for granted. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The armholes of my black dress cut around my deltoids, the waistline hugged my abs, and the hem stopped just below the bruises on my quads to display chiseled calves—I looked like a freaking fitness advertisement.

  But would I impress a date? Maybe I should break out the bra. My reflection shrugged. Apparently, she didn’t know any more about dating than I did.

  The bra in question was a sexy padded number from Victoria’s Secret. Ma had gotten it for me during a rare shopping expedition a few years back. The adventure had begun well enough with lunch at a Beverly Hills bistro, sprinkled with a hefty amount of Arcadia gossip. “Did you hear that Joy Ching won Miss Kowloon?”

  I remembered feeling annoyed. “And how would I have heard? Her family moved back to Hong Kong when I was still in high school.”

  Ma continued, unperturbed. “Well, I’m telling you now. She’s going to run for Miss Hong Kong next. Her parents are very proud.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  “You know, you could have done something similar. You’re really very pretty, Lily. You just need to present yourself better.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She sighed. “Don’t be obtuse. It’s in the way you stand, talk, dress.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  “Don’t be flippant. This is exactly what I’m talking about. Everything about you is so…casual.” She delivered the last word as though stamping me with some embarrassing degradation.

  “What’s wrong with casual?”

  Her eyes closed and her face moved ever so slightly as if to gently dislodge any unappealing notions. “Nothing. Except you can’t be that way all the time. Not if you want to get ahead.”

  “Who says I want to get ahead?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lily. And stop being so resistant. I’m trying to help.” She tapped her lacquered nails on the table, caught herself, and reached for a glass of chardonnay. “Part of this is my fault. I shouldn’t have let you take Wushu at such a young age.”

  I gaped. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. Deep stances lead to big thighs, and big thighs shorten the line of the leg. And I’m sure twirling all those heavy staves and spears contributed to your excess upper body muscle, which undoubtedly stunted your development.”

  “My development? Oh my God, Ma. Are you saying I’m flat?”

  “Don’t be crass. Of course not. Your breasts may not be as big as mine or my mother’s, but they exist. You just need the right lingerie. But
I do think Wushu had something to do with it.” She took another sip of wine. “I should have put you in ballet.”

  “Right. Because ballet dancers have such big breasts.”

  “No. Because they’re feminine. Look at you. You have more muscles than a boy.”

  My mother’s words echoed in my mind as I inspected my reflection. Nothing I saw looked boyish to me. Instead, I saw a strong, athletic woman. So what if my breasts weren’t huge? They filled out my dress and balanced my hips. And if my legs didn’t start at my armpits, they were long enough to leap over obstacles and run across town. I really didn’t see a problem.

  Except for the shoes.

  I stepped out of the black pumps—another item purchased during that infamous shopping expedition which, like the padded bra, had remained buried in my closet. While I liked the length they added to my calves, they made me feel trapped. I preferred shoes that allowed me to run, climb, and fight—not that I was expecting to do any of that tonight, but I’d feel more at ease to know I could.

  I returned the stilettos to their home, put the box in the closet next to the unopened Victoria’s Secret bag, and brought out a pair of low-heeled, ankle-high boots. Between these, the bike shorts I wore under my dress, and the stretchy faux-leather jacket, I could do anything I might need to do. To finish my ensemble, I strapped the karambit to my thigh and hung the phurba necklace around my neck. While I didn’t expect to need the three-sided ceremonial dagger against a physical attack, it might come in handy to pierce through delusions—this was, after all, a date.

  I headed down the stairs, chuckling as I went. Daniel Kwok had no idea who he’d be taking to dinner.

  He watched from the entryway of our restaurant as I wove through the tables. He looked as handsome as a Hong Kong fashion model in his brown pants, V-neck shirt, and slim-cut brown jacket. Like a delicious chocolate bar. “You look stunning,” he said.