Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  Ms. Griffin said, “Check your cameras. They will have caught Ryan’s transforming from mothman to human. Having him here dispenses with one charge of murder against Grace. As for Elita, once Ryan starts talking, I expect a great number of secrets to come to light. She’s not the innocent victim of this drama.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Cassie held up a folded bundle of papers. “I’ve a faxed copy of the warrant I need. Grace is coming with me for her own protection. With Elita neutralized, those behind her are going to strike harder, more directly.”

  “I can protect her,” Ms. Griffin said.

  “No,” Hammer said. “It pains me to admit it, but Cassie’s right. Grace needs a safe house warded against preternatural detection and threats. That’s out of our area of expertise. Let the PRT do its job. You’ve got the rest of this place to worry about. Elita might not be the only one suborned by the bad guys. We should look at everyone—except Ryan. Someone give him a coat so he can cover up. Boy’s turning blue from the cold.”

  I looked at him, sitting with his knees pulled up against his chest, shivering. Bruises covered every part of him. He cradled his bad arm against his chest, starring at me, oblivious to all else. There wasn’t even a sign of modesty. His mind seemed a lot slower coming back to humanity than his body. “Ryan should come too,” I decided. “He’s just as much a target now as me.” I didn’t want to go, but the next time, instead of conjured imps, it could be something worse. Violence could spill over. If Drew or Jill were injured because of me … I couldn’t take that chance.

  “I’ll want Grace back when this is all over,” Ms. Griffin said. “Ryan too.”

  “Sure,” Cassie came around behind me and put her hands on my shoulders.

  “Nothing would please me more.”

  Somehow, I didn’t believe her.

  A soft chu-chu-chu-chu sound intruded. I looked up at a black helicopter running in quiet mode, descending toward the big H on the roof. The vehicle landed on skids, washing us with gusts from the rotors.

  Hammer didn’t bat an eye. Obviously, this was expected.

  “Our ride is here,” Cassie said.

  I headed for the copter, jerking my head toward it as I passed Ryan. “C’mon, we’ll stop to get you a dozen happy meals on the way.” One of my favorite books was The Little Prince. Seeing Ryan, I remembered the line where the fox tells the little boy that he is responsible for what he tames. I’d tamed Ryan. He was my thrall, my responsibility. For now at least, we were in this together.

  Cassie opened the hatch for us. We climbed in and got settled. Moments later, we were lifting into the night, destination unknown. I had a window seat. My nose pressed the glass. I stared down at everyone, as someone burst onto the roof, shoving toward the chopper. It was Fenn. He stopped and glowered up at the helicopter, as if by sheer force of will, he could bring me back.

  “’Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince.’”

  Ryan said, “Huh?”

  Hmmm. Quick on the uptake. “Old quote. I sometimes borrow words.” I turned toward him. He looked like hell warmed over, served on a dirty plate. “Why don’t you pass out or something? I want to quietly wallow in my emotions for a while.”

  ELEVEN

  Outside of the three-story lodge where I’d been stashed, the autumn wind shredded my white breath. My black leather half-gloves made me feel like punching back in retaliation. A fanny pack cinched my waist. I pulled my hood up as the chill worked deeper, biting through my hunter green hoodie, matching sweatpants, and tee. The cold didn’t bother me, but I dressed against it to maximize muscle performance.

  A week already; it seemed like forever. I wasn’t too happy about playing Campfire Girl, but at least I’d returned to physical perfection. Running is my life, sigh. I wished for my iPod, but I wasn’t totally dependent on it. Lending moral support, Superchick’s Rock What You Got burst from memory.

  I set my feet to thudding the dust in the tempo of the music in my head. Cassie shadowed me, wearing black sweats and a blue, quilted, down-filled vest with yellow trim. Sometimes, she paced beside me and tried to talk. I didn’t encourage her so those occasions grew less frequent. She may have wanted to act all buddy-buddy, but I knew watching me was just a temp job she’d taken on. Besides, I took my training seriously, and needed my wind for running.

  I huffed up a steep bank, breath clouding my face. Matted leaves clung to my cross-trainers. My awareness unfurled. I smelled the cotton fabrics I wore, as well as the leather. The earthiness of the embankment and the sharp, dank smell of rotting detritus from the nearby woods fed my senses. The wind tasted of wood smoke, sweeping across the hardwood forest. The pines, oaks, hickories, maples, and elms each exuded a distinctive scent. Less abundant were the dogwood, redbud, and azalea.

  Surprisingly, we hadn’t gone more than a few hours away in our relocation, flying into a closed-down youth camp formerly owned by some church group. The wood sign hanging over the front gate said: Spirit Ranch, and had a dove’s outline branded on it.

  As long as I stayed on the property, and didn’t cross any of the protective wards, I was allowed to run. Though anxious to prove his devotion, Ryan was still recovering so I didn’t let him come along. He’d need a few more days of rest and stuffing his face before he’d be his old self again.

  Oh, glorious! Not far enough away, a skunk had recently cut loose. I pulled my hood across my poor, abused nose. Having a hyper-developed sense of smell could be a nuisance—one more reason to feel like a freak. Deep sigh of resignation.

  Over the crest lay the beginning of a flagstone path. Like a curved scar across the shadowed woodland. The woods closed ranks with a don’t-bother-me feel to them. They didn’t want company. I wondered if this feeling came from the magical wards. Magic. Something else I had to accept. Ms. Griffin used it. The bad guys used it. Even Cassie. I’d heard she was the one who’d placed the barrier around the property.

  The radio she wore on her fanny pack chattered now and then, picking up comments from the Federal Marshals Cassie had enlisted to help guard me. One guy—freezing his family jewels off—wanted to know if coffee was coming around any time soon. I hoped so. These guys were watching out for me; they needed to stay sharp.

  I loped along, covering miles, barely seeing the woods that blurred to either side. Cassie kept up, a relentless machine. I doubted I’d ever run her into the ground, though part of me wanted to push myself and try. Our course took us past dozens of small cabins, and along a ridge overlooking a flinty expanse carved by a long vanished river. Black char marked the site of previous bonfires. The burn marks hadn’t been evident the night we’d flown in.

  Taliesina; my mind returned to the name Cassie had first called me. Did I have a double out there, someone that had meant a lot to Cassie? Sometimes—when she looked at me—I saw thinly veiled pain spilling from her eyes. If I were the touchy-feely type, I’d be tempted to hug her at such times. As it was, I just ran away. It’s what I’m good at.

  I left the ridge, heading back under the trees toward the main building. The leg back was hardest, mostly uphill, but good for my wind. Returning to the flagstone path, I charged past silent cabins, each large enough for a dozen people. Only spiders and shadows used them now. My calves ached as we broke from the woods.

  Before us, the three-story log building showed signs of life. Dark shapes moved inside, past the windows. There was smoke from a chimney where a fire burned in the mess hall adjoining the kitchen.

  Soldiers-of-fortune types in camouflage, helmets, and assorted weaponry casually leaned against the wood posts of the front porch. Unlike the Federal Marshals scattered on the property, these guys weren’t even supposed to exist. I’d asked if they had initials. One of them said he couldn’t tell me without giving me a double-tap to the head. He didn’t say it like a joke.

  I plodded past a glossy, black Jag in the driveway, admiring the silver jungle cat hood ornament. The license plates said: SENSEI. We had a visitor.

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nbsp; “Shaun!” Cassie cried. She shot past me with a burst of speed, not even breathing hard.

  Dammit.

  I followed her inside the community center, past the Admin Offices and several unmarked doors. Cassie entered the kitchen. I heard excited chatter, and smelled sizzling sausage, pancakes, and coffee before turning the corner and seeing him—Captain Awesome! My pulse quickened. I stopped, rooted to the threshold, as if I’d hit one of Cassie’s invisible wards.

  A chest-stretched black tee gave a casual touch to his thousand dollar Italian suit. The hard, clean planes of his face were softened by a slight curve of the lips, a suggestion of humor never far away. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, he towered well over six feet, maybe twenty-five years old. A swirl of platinum highlighting graced pale brown hair.

  So hot. So totally hot!

  Cassie had wasted no time, flying into his arms. Dammit. “Aren’t you a little old to be doing that?” I suggested.

  She ignored me.

  Shaun held her off her feet a few seconds more, and set her down. His face turned fully my way. His eyes were a blend of blue and gray, a color common to storm clouds. His smile didn’t waver, as he evaluated my threat potential. I guess that I-can-see-to-your-soul gaze went with being a sensei. I wondered which martial art he taught … and if I could still get private lessons. I understood totally why Elita was hung up on this guy. It wouldn’t take much encouragement from him to… No. I’d been on the receiving end with Ryan. Just because I was a teenager, didn’t mean I had to be hormone-driven. I did have to get some private time with Shaun, however. I needed to find out just what he knew about Elita and the people using her.

  His smile widened, and an electric thrill went through me that had nothing to do with crossing over. “I’m Shaun Cameron. You’d be Grace, right.”

  “Yeah.” I held out my hand. See, I’m an adult. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Same here.” His large hand, strong but gentle, briefly enfolded mine. “I understand you’re in need of training?”

  Yes.

  I went for nonchalant, leaning against the top, back of a kitchen chair. It moved with my weight, pulling me off balance. I took a tottering step, releasing the chair.

  “Smooth,” Cassie mumbled, smiling.

  Bee-atch.

  “Good instincts,” Shaun said. “Direct recovery, no wasted motion. That’s heart and soul of true martial arts excellence; being natural without pesky things like thought and focus getting in the way.”

  I felt intrigue. “I can learn martial arts without using my brain?”

  “We start like a child, doing everything naturally, then absorb techniques and principles. We learn structure, becoming skilled, but rigid. To achieve mastery, we take what’s learned, coming full circle, returning to that first natural state without losing anything from the journey.”

  “The master becomes the novice once more. I’ve heard of that.” The voice startled me. I’d been so locked into Shaun and Cassie, I hadn’t really paid attention to who else was in the room. I looked over to the sink where a man rinsed his coffee cup. Leather-faced, tan, he looked thirty-five, wearing a tawny jacket with sheep-skin lining. His long legs were encased in brown denim. I couldn’t see his shoes but he seemed the kinda guy who’d have an old pair of hiking boots on.

  I’ve always believed the coffee cup a person chooses tells you a lot about them. The upside-down cup he put on a towel to dry had a grumpy face on it, mean eyes, and a protruding nub of a nose. He saw my interest and rotated the cup so I could read the slogan on the other side: Make my day, make my coffee. Reading upside down isn’t hard if you keep in practice. I can chew gum, pat my head, and rub my stomach at the same time too.

  I smiled.

  He smiled.

  Just like that, we bonded.

  “I’m Grace Kenyon.”

  “Joshua Kent.” He tapped the silver, encircled star on his chest. “On loan from the Texas Rangers, and no—before you ask—I don’t do karate like Chuck Norris.”

  “Have a seat,” Shaun said. He and Cassie took adjoining chairs.

  Why is she staying so close? Give the man some breathing room.

  “I always have coffee before a work out,” Shaun said.

  Cassie gave me a mock-ferocious glare. “Don’t ask him why.”

  I looked at Shaun. “Why?”

  Cassie groaned.

  Shaun ignored her, focusing on me. “Caffeine directly targets muscles. A recent study found that drinking two and a half cups a few hours before anaerobic activities increases performance time by nine percent over those who go without. Harvard researchers found that coffee drinkers have a thirty percent lower risk of Parkinson’s disease as well.”

  Yay, coffee!

  Cassie slouched in her chair. “I sometimes think Folgers has him on their payroll.”

  Shaun shrugged. “To be honest, I do have a habit of rambling on, once in a while.”

  The stare Cassie and Joshua exchanged let me know this was an understatement.

  “That’s all right,” Cassie said, “we forgive you.”

  Joshua dropped his hand on Shaun’s shoulder in passing. “Nobody else I’d rather have at my back with a katana when the fur flies.”

  It hit me then. “You three work together regularly?”

  Shaun pointed at Cassie and Joshua. “They work regularly. I freelance, but have been known to help out the PRT on occasion.”

  Cassie grinned. “When I twist your arm.”

  That made sense. I’d wondered how a martial arts instructor had the pull to get into a high-security safe house like this.

  “So when do we get started?” I asked.

  Shaun jerked a thumb at the coffeemaker where a fresh pot waited. “Two and a half cups. My musings are always relevant.”

  “Okay, but I’ll need milk and sugar.”

  Shaun nodded. “Then make it three cups.”

  “You’re a tyrant!” I said.

  “You have no idea.” He stared me in the eyes like I was a hell-beast in need of killing. The blue-gray of his eyes became pale steel. A thin veneer slipped away, and I saw something dangerous, something indomitable and lethal in him. The world stopped and held its breath, then carefully went on as his affable manner returned.

  Cassie gasped, clawing her shirt. Her eyes went distant, staring across infinity.

  The radio on Josh’s belt squawked. An excited voice joined our conversation, “This is sector one at the main gate. Condition Red. We have intruders, I repeat, we have intrud—” The voice died in a scream, smothered by gunfire.

  Cassie unhooked her radio, recovering. “The barriers are breached. Magic-users are hitting us, high level ones. Josh and I’ll try to hold them. The guards can handle the cannon-fodder that will also be sweeping through.” She tossed the radio to Shaun.

  My heart raced. I felt off balance, as the shadows in the back of my mind stirred.

  Joshua’s gun appeared in his hand as he lunged out the kitchen door.

  Following him, Cassie paused in the doorway, her gaze burning a hole in Shaun, “Keep Grace safe.”

  He stood relaxed by his chair, his voice untroubled, “Go, they won’t get her.”

  Cassie flashed out the door.

  I pushed back from the table, chair legs scraping the wood floor. Standing, I reached for the veil, but didn’t cross over. I just wanted the electric tingle on my skin for comfort.

  TWELVE

  “Anyone else in the building being protected?” Shaun clipped the radio to his belt.

  “There’s Ryan. He’s upstairs.”

  Shaun took hold of my upper arm and guided me firmly out of the kitchen, over to the landing of the stairs. “Call him down. I’ll be right back.”

  I bellowed upward, “Ryan, get yer butt down here! We got trouble.”

  His voice descended, high pitched and irritated. “I know. My moth senses are tingling. Give me a moment to get some pants on.”

  Oh, please do.


  Shaun ran out the front door, leaving it ajar. His feet silently on the outside porch and steps, his passage was only betrayed by the faint groan and creak of wood. I heard a slam and knew he’d gotten something from the Jag. A rocket launcher I hoped.

  Ryan appeared at the top of the stairs. He had jeans on, sneakers with dangling laces, and a moss green tee shirt. He pulled on an ochre sweater, as his feet clomped down the stairs. His head reappeared and he frowned. “What’s going on?” His stare shifted across the deserted lounge and out the windows, to the empty porch. “Where are the guards?”

  “Never mind that,” I said. “Run out back to the tool shed and get anything that looks like a weapon.”

  Used to obeying Elita, he never questioned my order, hustling past me, taking the hall past the kitchen to the rear door.

  The wood out front protested again, then Shaun filled the doorway, a blue-steel handgun poking out of his waistband and a katana in his left hand. The Japanese sword rested in a black lacquer sheath with a rippling, gold dragon painted on it. There were straps so it could be worn on the back. They flopped as Shaun crossed to me. He wore a small leather case on his belt, the size of his palm. He popped the snap and checked the contents. I saw five or six throwing stars inside, matte black with razor edges. “We need to hole up where we can maintain a clear line of retreat into the surrounding woods. This room is too exposed.”

  “Then how about the kitchen?” I said. “It has an outside door.”

  Ryan burst in from out back, a shovel in one hand and a rake in the other. He’d wisely left the weed-whacker behind.

  Shaun had kept a hand near the gun he wore. At the sudden arrival, he whipped it out, holding it steadily—pointed at Ryan’s head.

  So fast. My mouth dropped open.

  A heartbeat from dying, Ryan froze.

  Shaun tilted the muzzle up, sighing. “Making sudden moves at a time like this is not very bright. And is this any time for gardening?”

  “Uh, sorry.” Ryan looked down to see if he’d pissed his pants. Reassured he hadn’t embarrassed himself, he came on with the tools.