Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  Shaun turned to me, a realistic look of surprise on his face.

  My hand came between us, palm toward him. I summoned an exploding fireball that dazzled him, bathing him in fading streamers of light. He threw himself backward as if my fire had acquired a lethal potency. He hit hard and lay in an awkward sprawl, as if blasted into unconsciousness. I was impressed with his acting.

  Showtime.

  I faced the class, an imperious look on my face. My finger, as if borrowed from Fate, locked unerringly upon my target. I put steel in my voice, “Elita, thrall of ISIS, prepare to pay for your sins!”

  She went goggle-eyed, as her mouth fell open. “You!”

  “Know my true form, mortal. I am Taliesina, princess to the fey and heir to the Court of Winter.” Yeah and Tinkerbell’s my fairy godmother. “Thou hast offended in allying thyself with the friend-slayers and thus must pay with tears of blood and pain. My cold flame shall wither and quench the feeble light of your miserable soul.” I held a hand aloft, letting fire engulf it.

  The guards at the back of the room had their guns muzzle up, a few inches in front of their faces. They’d run forward at my appearance and were shoving through the students.

  The guard on the right barked, “Everyone, down! We’ll handle this.”

  Winston and Madison shoved back, blocking them. Madison’s voice was edged with menace, “The hell you will. We’re slayers and this is our school. If anyone takes down the psycho bitch, it will be us.”

  Ouch! Psycho bitch? Madison’s really getting into this.

  At the eye of the storm, Elita stayed rooted as I flung fireballs across the kwoon. Lightly grazed, some of the students went down. Those still on their feet leaped my way. My raised hand slashed down and across, trailing icy flames. The students hit the flame and fell back, clutching themselves. Fran screamed quite piercingly, buckling to the mats like I’d just ripped her heart out. The other students did the same.

  Chet, however, couldn’t resist hamming it up. He staggered, dropped to his knee, and in a stricken voice said, “So cold…” He toppled onto his face, writhed a moment with convulsions, and finally lay still. Fortunately, there was enough going on to distract Elita from his heartfelt performance, as well as Madison and Winston taking the two guards out with tasers. Their job done, the slayers played opossum, as though they’d caught stray fireballs.

  I advanced.

  Elita backed away and nearly fell, stumbling over prone bodies. “I’m not afraid of you!”

  I’d have believed her if it weren’t for the waver in her voice. Still, she wasn’t scared enough, not yet. But I could fix that.

  I smiled coldly, crouched, and crossed over. She stared where I’d been, as I launched myself across the gray toned room in a high arc. Elita spun wildly, trying to spot me. I landed beside her, unseen in the ghost realm. She was sweating now, laboring for breath as adrenaline cranked her system into overdrive.

  Her nerve broke, and she ran for the door.

  I took a shortcut, emerging farther down the hall from her, a sword in my hand that I’d plucked off the wall while going through. I crossed over, reappearing with the sword held out in front of me, like a vengeful ghost.

  She skidded to a stop, almost impaling herself on my blade.

  “I need a mask for Halloween,” I told her. “Your face will do nicely, once I slice it off your corpse.”

  She threw herself backwards, one arm extended to ward me off. “Wait, we can talk about this.”

  “Aren’t you even going to put up a fight? What about all those martial arts trophies? Did you get them for just showing up? I’ve got some killer new moves I want to try out.”

  She shook her head in denial. “You’re not human. I can’t fight something that’s not human.” She hurriedly backed away and slammed into the end of the hall.

  I slowly stalked her, letting cold fire sweep down the blade, dripping onto the floor, my impersonation of an avenging angel.

  “I haven’t done anything to you—not lately.”

  I paused to answer, “That’s true, but I can’t get to ISIS, so I have to take my anger out on someone, right?”

  She flung herself at the door to the kwoon, ignoring the fallen guards. A frustrated gasp escaped her as the doors refused to open. She probably thought they were stuck. According to plan, the slayers had locked them from the inside.

  I took another slow step, releasing a maniacal laugh. She was close to breaking. Just a little more…

  I lifted the sword.

  A voice rang out behind me, “Stop right there, hell-beast.”

  I shifted and glared over my shoulder. It was Anthony, balanced on one foot and a crutch, his bandaged foot held off the ground. I hadn’t seen him since he went off to the infirmary. He hadn’t been involved in this operation, and apparently, no one had filled him in on things. His eyes flashed as his jaw muscles knotted. “No one threatens the girl I love, and gets away with it.”

  “Love? Tell me you got better taste than that!”

  He pointed an antique crossbow at me, one with two miniature bows, both cocked, ready to fire wooden bolts with steel tips. The hand that held the weapon didn’t waver. “I wanted my first kill to be a vampire, but you’ll do.”

  Elita returned to the middle of the hall. I tracked her motion with peripheral vision. Voice triumphantly shrill, she screamed, “What are you waiting for? Kill her!”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Anthony’s hand tightened on the crossbow. The bolt sped too fast to see.

  But my power hadn’t waited for conscious direction. My skin tingled and I flickered—crossing over and back in an instant.

  Too late to help, my reflexes turned me, backing me toward the wall. I felt my chest. The bolt had passed through without touching me. My gaze went to Anthony, drawn by the horror on his face. I followed his gaze … to Elita … to the bolt deep in her heart, only a nub poking out. She stood, blinking rapidly, as her brain refused to process her dying.

  She crumpled, sprawling on the carpet. Her fingers twitched. A low moan—her last breath—escaped, and she took on the perfect immobility of the dead. Her eyes grew flat, somehow losing depth.

  I should have felt sorry for her, but I didn’t. I saved my regret for the person she could have been, before her life choices killed that possible self.

  Vaulting precariously on his crutch, Anthony lunged past me on the way to Elita. He sank to his knees beside her. He dropped his crutch. Gently, he laid his crossbow aside, as if it would break from careless handling. Unencumbered, he felt her neck for a pulse.

  Too late.

  Unsatisfied, he checked her breath by touching her lips—as if taking a final kiss. He held that pose a moment, then gathered her into his arms, shuddering with silent sobs.

  I reached out, but didn’t quite dare place a sympathetic hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Anthony, I know this is a bad time and all, but I need to know—”

  “Get away from me, you bitch. You killed her.” He eased her back to the carpet. He pulled a knee off the floor and spun on the other to face me, his face pale as a corpse’s, only his dark eyes alive, glittering. “That bolt was meant for you.”

  “I know, I was there.” I hardened my voice, “Listen, a lot of lives are at stake. That thing ISIS wants to bring into the world…”

  Drained of passion, his voice softened, barely emerging, “I’m going to wait as long as it takes for you find something to love with your whole heart, then I’m going to kill it … slowly … right in front of you, as you beg me not to.”

  “You’re boring me,” I said.

  The fallen guards stirred, and I crossed over, moving well away so I wouldn’t take a jolt from someone’s aura. The guards retrieved their weapons, tracking for a target, stopping on Anthony. He ignored them.

  They rose. One guard mouthed words I wished I could hear.

  Anthony ignored that too.

  The other guard reached out and captured the crossbow, drawing it well away from
Anthony. They holstered their guns and wrenched Anthony from Elita’s body, pinning him face down to the floor, slipping on cuffs.

  My attention went to Elita’s body. A hazy copy stood over her, her departed soul, mouthing the word no over and over.

  When my Grandmother died, I’d been banished from the room by the adults. I’d used the ghost realm to sneak back in and see her. Her body lay in bed, diminished by death, her spirit standing apart, no longer ravaged by time. Her soul had smiled lovingly at me, as a door in space opened, highlighting her in searing gold. Androgynous figures with silver-fire wings and soothing, crystal voices appeared in the spilling light.

  They’d drawn Grandmother away.

  I’d held my tears until she was gone. The door closed.

  No angelic visitors came now. Instead, black winds blasted in, passing through the walls and ceilings. An aura of malevolence filled the hall. The dark blurs formed themselves into bestial shapes with shadow wings that fluttered furiously. Reavers, the dark harvesters. They screeched hideously, obsidian eyes scanning for prey. I’d seen these things before, coming to claim souls unworthy of the Light.

  Closing in on Elita, the creatures used razor sharp talons, wrenching her soul into the air. Blue light bled from the wounded soul. Her shrill screams were coffin nails in my heart. Then they all vanished, and I felt pity at last.

  Residual energy wobbled in the air like giant soap bubbles. As I watched, they swarmed, combining, taking on human shape. Elita’s newborn ghost looked down at her body as her soul had. A haze of confusion kept her face free of emotion—until she remembered I was there, and she hated me. She came at me, shrieking in fury, hands becoming claws.

  I raised my hands, pooling my fire between them. The flames leaped to the ghost’s face. Her head splattered into a pale blue nebula, then reformed. Weakened from the attack, her phantom body flickered with static, softening along the edges. She wavered on feet that didn’t quite touch the carpet.

  I had better things to do than dance with ghosts. I went through the wall, into the kwoon. The guards inside the room were still on the mats, out cold. Shaun and the slayers were collected in a knot. Crossing back, popping out of nowhere, I caught their attention. They turned toward me, eyes bright with interest.

  “It’s a total bust, guys,” I said.

  Elita didn’t break?” Shaun asked.

  “Oh, she broke alright, in a really bad way. She’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Fran echoed.

  “Very,” I said.

  Shaun took several steps toward me. “What happened?”

  Winston and Madison followed him.

  I shrugged. “She and Anthony apparently had something going on. When I threatened her, he tried to take me out, and got Elita instead.”

  “You’re screwed then.” Chet said.

  Taliesina’s gold fire eyes opened in the back shadows of my mind. Elevator music spun out of my memory: something saccharine and sappy that should have stayed buried. Before I could mentally yell at her, the soundtrack faded. Like me, Taliesina was distracted by a cloud of icy malice in the air.

  Cold fingers dug at my throat, an unseen presence trying to strangle me. Elita’s ghost was new, burning through what small strength she had, and would soon have to dematerialize to rest up.

  I ignored her, answering Chet, “Maybe not

  The guards in the hall banged on the door, demanding entrance. The pocketed phone of a sprawled guard played a ring tone: Inner Circle’s Bad Boys. The outside guards were calling for a report.

  Shaun hurried toward the door.

  I felt the malignant ghost drawing away from me as well, giving up on murder—at least for now.

  I caught Madison’s gaze. “I’m going to make myself scarce for a while.”

  “Okay, but, Grace, it wasn’t your fault. You were only scaring her.”

  “I know.” But still, it’s like part of my heart has turned to ice. I ought to feel bad for Elita. I want to. I just … can‘t.

  I twisted space, stepping into gray tones with a tingle. Gravity loosened its hold. My stomach kicked a bit. And there was the ghost. “Your hate doesn’t give you the right to waste my time,” I said.

  She glared with eyes that were swirling orbs of silver mist. “You’re going to die!”

  I threw a fireball at her feet and watched her reel back. “ISIS may have worse than that planned for me, but that’s not going to help you.” I took a moment to entertain a thought. “Of course, if you want to tell me where they are, that will give them their shot at me.”

  She stared. “I’m dead, not stupid. What do I care about their plans now? What can they do to me? They may want you, but I’m first in line.”

  I didn’t think it would work.

  “Have to catch me then.” I wheeled about and ran past Shaun’s office, through a wall, a private dressing room, and a shower, continuing with a burst into the open.

  A light rain ghosted through me, splattering the grass. I used only enough energy to keep the ground firm underfoot, moving in bounds between hedges where charcoal thorns and leaves guarded pale roses dripping rain, bobbing in a wind I couldn’t feel. I went higher, launching off a marble fountain, reaching the roof of a garden shed.

  I shot a glance back. No sign of Elita. Maybe she couldn’t follow me. Some ghosts get trapped in the immediate area where their bodies died and their souls departed. Not all could roam freely. Still, better not linger. A jump got me to the lip of the school’s roof. I grabbed it and pulled myself up, rolling to my feet, resuming my run with little loss of motion.

  I stumbled along, balancing precariously at times. The same aura that let me feel the shingles under my feet also solidified the rain flowing over them. I slipped and had to firm up enough of the roof to keep me from sinking entirely through. Moving slower after that, I reached the front of the building and dropped down to the garage.

  Feet first, I drifted into the building; through an outer roof, an inner ceiling, into a large space. I settled onto a parked van—maybe the same one I’d come in—and skated down the front windshield and hood to the cement floor.

  There was enough light for me to see at least five matching vehicles waiting for use. The garage walls were lined with power tools and a few work benches. I looked around carefully for a board with car keys on it. I could run to the Human Potential Institute from here, but I had a feeling speed was important.

  A door opened and Van Helsing came in from another room. He threw a switch and the lighting increased. His lips moved. Was he looking for me? Had he figured I’d come here to borrow a vehicle?

  I crossed over, appearing before him.

  “Seems I was right,” he said. “The kitsune way is to run from trouble.”

  “Can you blame me

  “No, but is it the best thing to do? Trouble has a way of moving faster than those looking over their shoulders.”

  “I’m not just running,” I put my hands on my hips, “I have a plan.”

  He jingled a key ring in his hand, tossed the keys into the air, and caught them again. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s something I thought of when I saw Madison’s laptop. It has a built in camera for internet vid calls. Elita’s laptop may have used an encrypted program to contact ISIS the same way. There may be files on it I need, something to get me closer to the witches.”

  “Without a top-notch hacker, the data could self-destruct.”

  I thought of Jill, her high-powered hardware, and smiled. “I know just the person to help me out.”

  Van Helsing moved closer, heels clicking on concrete. “So you just need to get to Elita’s room before her stuff is removed by HPI security, or confiscated by the feds.” He tossed the key ring again. It smacked into his hand, which closed in a fist. “I’ll do the driving.”

  “You’re going to help me?”

  “I don’t think martial arts and Anthony were Elita’s only reasons for coming to my school. I need to know how badly I’ve been comprom
ised.”

  “So the enemy of my enemy is my friend?” I asked.

  He gave me a cold stare. “For now. Let’s go.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  I climbed into the front passenger’s seat, slammed my door, and strapped in.

  Van Helsing buckled into the driver’s seat with a grimace of distaste—one of those that resent society forcing them to be safe. His door slammed. The engine kicked over. Like an amp cranked to overdrive, alternative rock music blared. He hastily switched off the radio, looking like he’d have preferred to stake it.

  He opened the garage door with a remote from the dashboard, and backed the vehicle into the rain. We turned around, and started the long drive downhill to the front gate. Obscuring the scent of roadside garlic beds, the rain also needled the windshield between wiper swipes. The drizzle made a steady patter on top of the vehicle and, with the low rumble of the motor, prevented total silence from setting in.

  The gate’s security cameras swiveled, locking onto Van Helsing. He glared at them. The gate opened hastily, and we roared out, turning onto the highway, heading for the Human Potential Institute. The slick road stretched out before us, fairly empty. Most people had better things to do than get in our way. We rolled past the drive-in, Shaun’s house, a daycare center, and soon reached our turn off, a blacktop drive that led up to a metal gate in a gray brick wall.

  An arm’s length away, a post at the side of the road held a keypad sheltered from the rain.

  I remembered my first time coming here, the number Hammer punched to get us in. I rattled the digits off.

  Van Helsing looked at me a moment, then punched the numbers onto the pad. The steel gate moved out of our way. We drove through. “If you were a student at my school,” he said, “that would have earned you extra-credit for resourcefulness and detention because no good deed must ever go unpunished.”

  I assumed he was joking, but couldn’t be sure. “You’d actually have me in your school?”