Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  Scotty’s stare lingered over the scantily-clad sluts in the pictures.

  “Guys really go for that?” I asked.

  “Guys like to look at that. They like any girl that will give them a kind word and a pat on the head.”

  I grunted my disgust, following Scotty to the counter. He dug out his wallet and sorted through cash. “Your cheapest tin of rolling tobacco.”

  The clerk looked like he hadn’t shaved that morning. He wore a smile, turban, faded red tee, and jeans. “Need rolling papers?”

  Scotty thought about it a second. “Yeah, better git me some.”

  My glance fell on a selection of chocolate bars near the register. I reached out. Better buy some for Tukka… As I remembered he was dead, my hand froze, then trembled. I pulled back, cursing the stupid impulse to buy chocolate whenever I saw it. That wouldn’t be necessary anymore.

  Distracting myself, I turned away, noticing the hot customer farther down the counter. I could see him better now. He had dark hair and several days of stubble on his cheeks. Didn’t anyone shave anymore? Regardless, he was handsome, in a rough way, with primal appeal, his animal magnetism thick enough to be carved up with a sword—like those on the wall. This was the kinda guy that goes into a bar, beats up all the guys, and walks out with their women.

  As I moved over to Cool Guy, his dark stare flicked my way, then hurried back to the weapons

  “Which one do you like?” I asked.

  A sneer on his face, he answered without looking at me a second time, “This stuff is crap. Most of the blades aren’t sharp, not even full tang. Wouldn’t last thirty seconds in a real fight.” He pointed lower, to a katana set in a felt-lined box. The thing had a simulated ivory, dragon-shaped hilt and a wavy, frosted edge to its blade. “Four-forty steel. That’s the only real sword in here.”

  A jingle at the doors turned my head. My eyes widened. Virgil? How the hell…

  Cool Guy spoke softly, “Father or ex-boyfriend?”

  “Neither.”

  “Cop?”

  “Fed,” I answered. “I’m sorta skipping out on witness protection.”

  ”They don’t like that,” Cool Guy said.

  “Tell me about it,”

  “I’d help you out,” he said, “but I can’t afford to draw attention to myself at this time. Got too many bodies buried in this neck of the woods if you know what I mean.”

  “Sorta kinda. Thanks anyway.”

  Cool Guy let Virgil get behind him, then turned and headed for the door. Virgil never saw his face. I had. I felt privileged, and abandoned, at the same time. Well, what did I expect? That he’d leap the counter, grab the sword from the box, and suddenly turn into the Tasmanian devil?

  “Hey, long time, no see.” Virgil’s gaze slid past me, and rose sharply.

  I felt a presence at my back—one that smelled strongly of mice and mice

  droppings.

  “Ready to go?” Scotty asked.

  “You’d better go without me. I suddenly have other plans. But thanks for the ride. It was … different.”

  “Okay, see you around.” He shambled past Virgil and me and vanished out the door.

  I turned to face the wall of swords, leaning on the glass counter. “Got me bugged again?”

  Let’s just say that spy satellites are a wonderful thing, as are helicopters, and this is the closest stop to the camp.” He joined me in staring at the merchandise.

  “Buying a sword?”

  I pointed at the felt-lined box and dragon-hilt sword. “That one maybe. It’s the only one with a real edge, four-forty steel, and full tang.” Whatever the hell a tang is.

  “You got two hundred and fifty dollars, plus tax?” he asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  Virgil turned and studied me through sunglasses. “I’ll buy it for you if you come back to camp with me.”

  “I can’t do that. Too many people have died protecting me, and now Tukka…”

  “I don’t think I’ve met him.”

  “He was…,” a fu dog, “…my best friend. ISIS got to him to make a point. No one I love will ever be safe until I deal with them.”

  “Alone?”

  “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I’ve been attacked twice now while in protective custody. It’s time to do things my way.”

  He nodded, took off his sunglasses, and handed them to me.

  I took them, staring him in the eyes. “GPS locator built in?”

  He nodded. “If you’re determined to draw our enemy out of hiding with reckless behavior, I have no choice but to take advantage of the situation.”

  I smiled wryly. “I’m not sure yet, but I think I could get to like you.”

  “When this is over,” he said, “we should sit down and talk. I can use someone like you now and then—on missions we don’t have to mention to Cassie. Ever thought about a career in preternatural exterminations?”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” Mentioning Cassie made me remember how I’d left her. “Is she still mad at me?”

  “Yeah, but kinda proud too, if you know what I mean. Well, think about my offer. I’ll be in touch.” Virgil waved the cashier over and dropped a wad of money on the counter. “The sword’s on me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “So I won’t feel so bad if you get yourself killed.”

  “Well, if you’re handing out presents—”

  “Sorry, no,” he smiled cryptically, shaking his head. “’There can be only one.’”

  Turning his back, he left.

  I faced the cashier and pointed at the box. “I’ll take that.”

  He scooped up the money, closed the box, and carried it to the register. A minute later, I had box and receipt in hand and a few bucks in my pocket as I headed for the door. I jingled through, and looked around outside. No indigo station wagon. No Mustang. No mysterious black helicopters in the parking lot. No sign of anyone keeping an eye on me. But I knew they were there. Or up there, in geosynchronous orbit.

  I headed for a café that advertised steak and eggs at a decent price, and puzzled over my next ride. Anticipating violence that hadn’t materialized, I’d let the Mouse Whisperer leave without me. I hadn’t wanted collateral damage. Scotty was too nice a guy to wind up like Tukka. My eyes got teary and I choked up. I swallowed, wiped my eyes, and slid the sunglasses on. I’d keep them. The time might come when my life would depend on having back up. There’s being independent, then there’s being stupid. I knew the difference. Hooking up with Drew and Jill was starting to look like a bad idea. My presence would put them in danger, but where else did I have to go? At least at the Institute, I could keep an eye on Elita. She’d lead me to ISIS if I convinced her I’d had a change of heart and wanted to join up. The rest, I’d have to improvise.

  I pushed open the café door and noticed the place was half filled, mostly by senior citizen types. A hostess with orangey hair and a starched, white apron over her dress showed me to a table. My shades went into a sweater pocket. I set my box in a chair and seated myself. The hostess vanished, replaced by a waitress with a small pad and pencil.

  “Would you like to start with something to drink?” she asked.

  “Just water and the steak and egg special.”

  “White or wheat toast?”

  “Wheat. I want the steak medium, the eggs over hard.”

  “Okay, coming right up.” She scribbled and left.

  My water came along with silverware. I played with the small plastic tubs of assorted jelly, claiming the orange marmalade and blackberry jam. They went on my napkin, neatly stacked on one another. As I finished, the hair on the back of my neck bristled. I felt eyes on me from somewhere close by. Without being too obvious, I scanned the patrons, looking for faces I knew, or anyone out of place. No one in front of me looked suspicious. That left those seated behind me. I decided to visit the restroom, using the action as cover for checking out the rest of the place more thoroughly.

  I stood, sco
oting my seat back, and turned. Near the restrooms, at a corner booth, I saw a group of kids my own age. It took a few seconds to recognize them since they’d shed leathers, wooden knives, and crucifixes for conventional clothing. Three boys eyed me, wary, bodies tense and faces angry. There were two girls with intent expressions, one a straw-colored blonde and the other raven.

  Both girls got up and followed me into the restroom. It was empty … except for the three of us. Raven eased her hand into her open coat.

  A weapon … damn, should have brought the sword.

  Blondie raised her hands, palms toward me, fingers splayed.

  Casting a spell?

  Cold, orange tendrils burst from my fingers, fusing into sheets of flame—armor of a sort. The fire raced up my arms, washed across my shoulders, and dripped down my body to swirl around my legs. I crouched, feeling for the walls of space, ready to twist them to my will. If I couldn’t handle this I’d have no hope against ISIS.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Chill!” Blondie lowered her hands, her voice bouncing off the walls. “We’re not here to hassle you. Virgil suggested we make ourselves useful should our paths cross.”

  “Which they have.” Raven whipped out a black phone with a Celtic cross on it.

  “But first thing’s first—I need a photo for my blog.”

  What the hell!

  Whispery soft despite her excitement, Raven’s voice soothed, “I’m your biggest fan. I probably watch your vid-clip ten times a day. That was so epic!”

  “I wouldn’t,” Blondie said. “You Tube is giving you enough play as it is.”

  Fran scowled. “Madison, you’re supposed to have my back!”

  The blonde shrugged. “Cry me a river.”

  The fire I’d summoned swirled away to nowhere. Squabbling good-naturedly, they didn’t seem like a threat, but I kept hold of the folds of space, ready to cross over as needed. Running away from trouble should always be an option.

  There came a rapping at the door. A male voice called through it, “Everything all right in there?”

  “That’s the guys,” Fran said. “They didn’t want to come in here unless they had to.”

  Madison called to the guys as the door opened a crack, “Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s all good.”

  Fran advanced suddenly, all but shoving the notebook in my hands. “Here.”

  I scribbled on a blank page: To Fran and Madison, my favorite slayers. I signed it with my internet tag—Hot Stuff—and held the book out.

  It was snatched away before second thoughts had a chance to form.

  Madison sauntered over with long strides. Her tall stature, smoldering blue eyes, and long straw-blonde hair gave her a Viking look. She only needed a horned helmet.

  “How are you with a battle ax?” I asked.

  “Pretty fair, I’d say.”

  Fran snorted in a soft, lady-like way. “Fair? She rules Mayhem 101. You should see her in class!”

  Madison nodded. “Yeah, you really should. You should come back to the school with us. It’ll be great.”

  One of the guys opened the door wider. His sandy hair bristled in defiance of any known style. His watery blue eyes opened wide with alarm. He hissed at the girls. “Nix, no way, nada, uh-uh, and hell no! Old Man Van Helsing will stake her personally. You know he’s a fricken terror on anything not exactly human. We’re supposed to stomp-n-maul critters that go bump in the night, not kiss their attractive asses.”

  Attractive … me

  I looked for a mirror and found it over a sink. Oh. My. Gawd. A younger version of Cassie, with a dye job, stared back. My face and lips were fuller, less starved looking. My hair was wavy silk. I had dangerous curves. And boobs! They weren’t ginormous, but anything was better than flat as a board. The wonder of it staggered me. My kitsune nature hadn’t just fought off the mothmen mutagen; it had rebooted my human form with an upgrade thrown in.

  Madison turned toward the speaker. Brittle with cold, her voice had a cutting edge, “When I want your opinion, Chet, I’ll beat it out of you.” She turned back to me with a grin. “Sorry about that. Hey, at least come back to our table and hang out awhile. You were going to eat something anyway, right?”

  “Uh, well, yeah. Sure.” I was starving.

  Madison gripped my arm firmly, steering me to the door. The guys fell back, opening a way for us to pass, never turning their backs on me. I had the feeling that if the girls weren’t running the show, I might have had stake and eggs instead of steak and eggs.

  Madison flicked her fingers at the guys. “You’ve met Chet. The muscle-bound geek is Anthony Hayashi.” Her voice became a stage whisper, “He was a teenage mutant ninja turtle in a past life. The cute one is Winston Raphael Emerson the Third.”

  I nodded, forcing a pleasant smile.

  They continued to watch me carefully, giving no other response. I remembered my first meeting with Drew, Jill, Ryan, and Elita. I have to stop meeting people in restrooms—I never make a really good impression.

  I glanced at my table. My box was gone.

  Fran piped up, “The guys have been watching it for you. It’s at our table.”

  Chet said, “I hope you don’t mind; we looked inside.”

  “Bitchin’ sword,” Anthony said.

  “Uh, yeah, came highly recommended, a gift from Virgil.” I thought it best to remind the guys I was considered valuable bait, not prospective road kill.

  I took a seat at the slayers’ table. Their food had come a while ago, and little remained. Mine arrived as I sat.

  The waitress smiled down on me. “Found some friends, huh?”

  I heard a muffled whack. Chet’s snort turned into a pained grunt. I wondered which of the girls had kicked him under the table.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waitress asked me.

  “I hope not,” Chet muttered, reaching under the table to rub his leg.

  “No, thank you.” I smiled at the waitress, and she hurried off.

  Anthony had my box by his chair, draping the top with an arm, his Asian eyes dark and piercing. “I’ll hang onto this until you’re ready to go—far away.”

  I unrolled my napkin and picked up the fork, using it as a pointer. “Got news for you, slayer-boy, I’m not a creature of the night. It’s broad daylight.”

  “Just a more exotic form of monster. Owww!”

  That kick—judging by the hard stare locked onto his face—had probably come from Fran. Chet and Winston snickered, a momentary lull in the tension.

  I set my fork back down, and stood to shed jacket and sweater. “Getting hot in here.” My shirt rode up, baring my midriff. The material was tight in the chest. I twisted to hang the sweater on the back of my chair. Turning back around, I noticed the guys were staring, no longer wanting to nail me in just a bad way.

  Boobs, gotta love ‘em. I could so get used to this.

  Sitting back down, I tore into breakfast. Somehow, everything tasted better than I remembered. Another side effect of my recent changes? How many more would there be? And would I like the person I was becoming? I thought of Taliesina. Maybe she’s my destiny. The thought was scary. I didn’t want to lose me on the way to becoming her.

  “What’s wrong?” Fran asked.

  I’d stopped eating to stare into infinity. I shook off the fey mood and smiled reassuringly. “Nothing, really. Just felt a shadow dancing on my grave.” I scooped up some egg on toast. They still tasted great.

  “I heard you were kitsune,” Anthony said.

  I just looked at him. Did he only want confirmation to make killing me easier, if he ever got the green light on that?

  He pressed on, “It would make sense, I mean, we had you back at camp, then you went poof!” His hands made a gesture like he was throwing something into the air, shaping a puff of smoke.

  I met his eyes, staying silent.

  “I’d like to know too.” Fran said. “This trip is supposed to be educational.”

 
I sighed, keeping my stare on Anthony to gage his reaction. “Yeah, that secret’s already out. I’m Kitsune.”

  Anthony looked puzzled.

  “Don’t believe me?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re not even Japanese. Seems unlikely.”

  “I’m not lying.” Maybe I should have, inventing something to really give them a thrill.

  “Okay, I’m lost,” Fran said. “Someone want to tell me just what a kitsune is?”

  I kept quiet. This was a subject I was ignorant of, too.

  “Fox spirit,” Anthony said.

  “She looks solid to me,” Madison said.

  I poked the middle of my chest with a finger. “Feels solid too.”

  Chet said, “She is kinda foxy looking: red hair, and that pointy chin.”

  Anthony assumed a lecturer’s tone, “In Japan, spirit doesn’t always mean an actual ghost. A kitsune’s an enlightened fox that lives a long time and has magical powers.”

  Everyone stopped to take a hard look at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “Float off the chair or something,” Madison said.

  “You’ve already seen me burst into flame,” I said. “What more do you want?”

  Anthony continued, “They can walk in our dreams, and create very real illusions—according to legend.”

  Wow, I totally rock. Someone should have told me sooner. Providing an operator’s manual for my body wouldn’t have hurt either.

  Anthony took a sip from his water glass. “Kitsune can also bend time and space, and have a little vampire in them.”

  In them? I thought of Taliesina. Things just get better and better.

  For the first time, Madison looked at me with cold calculation, her hand going up to her throat.

  Fran’s eyes darkened with remembered fear, grim pride lurking in her tone, “My mom got turned into a vamp. Staking her was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

  My jaw hit the table. Your own mother!

  Anthony shook his head. “Kitsune feed on life-force, but are honorable. Get their pledge to leave you alone and you’re safe. According to legend, they must keep their word or lose their power.” His gaze roamed the table, then came back to me, probing. “If she’s the real thing, she could be myobu or nogitsune—a celestial or a wild fox.”