Shadow Dancer (Kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  “Teach at a university?”

  She played with a silver chain sporting a winged pentagram. “I flip burgers and ask people if they want fries with that.” She leaned toward me, holding a raspberry smoothie for me to drink. “Besides, as women, it’s our Goddess-given duty to rule over our men. They’ll do less damage to Mother Gaia that way. We only have one planet, you know?”

  Thinking about what she’d said, I took a sip. Ah, heaven! It hit me then, what they were doing; Come to the dark side, we have cookies. If being nice to me meant they were willing to recruit me instead of killing me, it seemed best to play along. I’d save my defiance for when it might actually do me some good.

  After lunch, I was put in a wheelchair and rolled down a hallway to a drawing room, opulent in décor with a European flavor: antique chairs, paintings, expensive rugs, draperies, and crystal chandeliers. There was a small table holding a vase of lilies next to a marble statue, the replicated work of some long-dead master.

  Waiting to attend me were several gray-haired matrons armed with tape measures, pads and pencils. They descended on me in a feverish rush, pulling me to my feet. A woman stretched out my arm for measurement.

  I pulled it back. “What the hell is going on?”

  “The party’s tonight. We have to get you ready.”

  Halloween already? Where’s Drew, Virgil, and Cassie? Or Van Helsing for that matter. What’s taking so long? Don’t tell me no one’s figured out where I am.

  Several women supported me, leading me into an empty lobby. Something felt wrong about the space, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The far wall seemed to bell a little, like I was looking through a door’s peep hole. The carpet in the middle of the floor looked darker as well, and the more I studied it, the more my eyes were shifted aside.

  Magic? Something in here the witches don’t want me to see. Hmmm.

  I was hurried along to a room painted in warm pastel tones. Sinks and mirrors lined one wall, salon chairs were near them. A small, Asian woman wearing bifocals took over. I let her do what she wanted. There was no choice, really; the guards lounged in folding chairs, under pictures of tropical fish. Worse than that, my nose confirmed Blaire’s pet demon watching from the ghost world. A shiver went through me as I sensed phantom caresses, promises of things to come.

  Not if I can help it. My thoughts went back to the isolation tank. If only Tukka’s return were more than a hallucination…

  ISIS recruited for more than muscle. The Asian woman feathered my hair and darkened the underlying color, leaving the outer layer ember red, adding “fire-streak” highlights.”

  I was used to looking passable. The beautician made me heart-stopping beautiful. I could only stare with fascination as mirrors were held up so I cold see myself front and back. I didn’t understand this outfit’s drive to conquer. If they’d simply open a chain of spas the women of the world would come running, cash in hand. ISIS could make a fortune without getting on anybody’s Terrorist Watch List.

  It occurred to me to wonder for the first time what deep-seated forces drove this group to embrace hell in a hand basket.

  Someone ran into the salon, holding a green dress so dark it might as well have been black, matching my nails and lipstick. The highlighting over my eyes was green as well, but a pale, sea foam shade. I was swarmed by helpful hands I shrugged of. “I can do it myself.”

  The guards ignored me, grabbing my arms, stuffing them into the sleeves of the gown. The bodice laced in front, lifting and slightly squishing my boobs together. They laced them alarmingly tight. Struggling for breath, I was deposited in a dressing room where three mirrors were hinged together so I could see myself from all sides.

  The dress made me even more of a stranger to myself. A Renaissance-style cloak was thrown over my outfit and tied on. And of course, they whipped out emerald slippers and earrings to complete my transformation.

  Dragged across the spa, I managed to grab a handful of chocolate kisses from a glass bowl near the door. My cloak had an inner pocket I used to hold the kisses. Stocking up was a habit from my long association with Tukka. If only I could somehow give them to him...

  We went through the lobby, down a hall, to another that led to a side door. After about a dozen steps, I stopped dead in my tracks and twisted to look back at the structure they’d kept me in. It was an old, red brick hotel, most of the upper windows boarded and dark. Three stories, it loomed, brown vines clinging to the wall in patches, waiting for spring to turn them verdant.

  One of my attendants whipped me back around, but I’d seen what I’d needed to. If photos of this place existed at realtor’s sites, I could definitely find it again for Virgil.

  On my right, winter-pale grass extended to distant hedges. Highway sounds came from beyond. To my left, the dormant lawn stretched to a thicket of tangled trees, a dark two-dimensional mesh, blurred by a light fog. Ahead lay an industrial, prefab building illuminated by small floodlights. The structure adjoined a mission style church with a dry, three tier fountain in front. For Sale signs canted here and there. Probably, one of the ISIS witches owned a local realty office.

  My attention returned to the prefab, to weird geometrical patterns framed by circles rendered in primary colors, lined in black on white walls. They were painted under the eves, recently enough to have fresh runnels underneath. I’d seen similar art on a cable show about Pennsylvania Dutch settlers. These were hex signs.

  Just what I need—more ISIS’ magic.

  A side door opened and a yellow-white light shot out across the ground. Two women came out, passing me, carrying a compound ladder long enough to reach God. They cleared the way, and I went in, taking a single step up and over the threshold.

  The prefab building turned out to be a gymnasium: a basketball court painted on high-polish gloss wooden floors, and a three-story ceiling sheltering an abundance of lighting and steel girders. Forming indecipherable constellations, plastic skulls—with empty sockets and eternal grins—hung from the rafters like lopsided stars. Glowing the usual green, they spun in place as vagrant winds invaded the building. The walls were powder blue and lined with chairs at floor level.

  A crew of women set up buffet tables, covering them with black tablecloths, adding covered platters. One woman dumped Ice into punch bowls as another witch added dark red fruit juice and 7up. Elsewhere, workers intertwined black and orange crepe paper, making spirals to scallop the walls. A delivery truck parked near the main double doors was being unloaded. Workers streamed in and out past racks of plain, white masks: a menagerie of goblins, wolves, goats, swans, dragons, and things I couldn’t place without closer inspection.

  They nudged me across the floor, toward the wall where the scoreboard had been winched up out of the way. In the middle of the floor sat a witch’s cauldron full of dry ice to make it misty. An obviously plastic skeleton sat on the floor, leaning back on the cauldron. A jack-o-lantern with lit candle rested on a hay bale. Adding a gruesome element, a morgue gurney was next in line. A mannequin lay there under a bloody sheet. Or maybe a dead body; ISIS had the will to be authentic.

  I stopped dead, a shiver slid down my spine. Could it be Elita?

  No, surely I was letting my imagination run away with me. Surely I’d smell decomposition, unless magic were involved.

  A guard shoved me into motion again. “Move it. No time for playing mooncalf.”

  I stumbled forward then caught myself, and slowed to a sedate pace. Ahead, a dais waited with fancy chairs that looked like thrones. Armed guards in various costumes waited behind the seats. Blaire occupied the central chair. She wore a black outfit with plenty of black lace. Her elbow-length sleeves were puffy, the design stolen from a fairy tale. Jet beads glittered all over her gown. Her straight hair hung down her back, her widow’s peak concealed by a silver filigree and black opal tiara that lent her both a sinister and a regal air. A sheathed knife was strapped to her left forearm. Her skirt was side-slit, revealing legs in sheer black stockings, a
nd stiletto high heels that my mom would have loved.

  The Queen of Darkness waved me to a seat on her right, her cold stare anything but inviting.

  I stepped onto the dais and stopped before her, folding my arms. “I’d rather not be the guest of honor,” I said.

  She fingered her knife’s garnet-encrusted hilt as if she had murder on her mind. “Sit.”

  I sat.

  I waited.

  And waited some more, as the place cleared out except for those of us on the dais. Blaire’s evil minions were off to dress for the evening, closing the doors behind them so heat could build up.

  “Why are we here so early?” I asked.

  She looked at me. Her crimson smile, wide and threatening, dominated while accentuating her ghostly pallor. She had no need of a mask to be scary, as her edged voice lilted musically, “You’re friends are coming. I’ve arranged things so only a small number of us are guarding you. Your rescuers will be emboldened to strike, seizing the opportunity.”

  “You want me to escape?”

  “I want the rescue attempt over and out of the way. You and I will be busy later, opening the doors of the underworld.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I expected Virgil and his shock troops to come bursting in for me—and was highly disappointed. If they were out in the night, laying in wait—they weren’t taking the bait, namely me. Minutes passed and Blaire’s evil minions returned. I studied them closely for signs my girlfriends might be disguised in their midst, but the costumes defeated my sight and, though my sense of smell had returned, I wasn’t close enough to use it. Most of the women wore jeweled gowns that might have been stolen from some fairy court. Their masks were beaded, jeweled, feathered, and brightly painted, nothing like the white ones near the front door. I supposed the plain ones were loaners to maintain a basic dress code for the party.

  Blair spoke, snapping my attention to her, “You are more resilient than I guessed. I have broken people into tiny pieces with what you’ve gone through.”

  I shrugged.

  She asked, “What are you exactly?”

  “I was raised human. That’s how I feel, most of the time.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m someone who cares about this world. I’m not going to let you run roughshod over it.” I softened my voice. “I will stop you.”

  “I expect you’ll try. Pity, really, that you can’t see we’re the good guys.”

  As a would-be wordsmith, I understood about villains. They never believe they’re evil, just misunderstood. Blaire was no exception. She craved sympathy, and a lot more I wasn’t going to give her.

  I glowered, contempt edging my tone, “So a bright and shiny dream justifies anything? You’re just a magpie with a beak full of tinfoil, lady.”

  “I’m the one who will finally break the Neanderthal grip men have had on women for millennia. Males will learn their place beneath our stiletto heels, or be ground into dust.”

  “Hence, Am-Heh, the dog-faced boy? He’s male. What makes you think he won’t swallow all the guys you throw at him, then start on the women? The thing loves sacrifice on a epic scale. Your matri-topia will crash and burn around your ears.”

  “That’s why I suspended your torture. You are a gatekeeper of sorts whether you know it or not. If he proves uncontrollable, you will thin the walls of space and send him home with his scaly tail between his legs. The timing of the eclipse means I don’t need you after all to bring him here. But to get rid of him without an eclipse, that’s another story.”

  “No way I’m helping you.”

  “Yes, way. I have your puppy.”

  “No, you don’t. You killed him.”

  “I thought I did. Imagine my surprise when the mutt turned up here, snooping around. The creature is strong. If he hadn’t stumbled into a high level conjuring circle, I might not have managed to capture him. Oh, you know all that time you spent being pampered?”

  My eyes narrowed as I peered as her. “Yeah.”

  “That’s when your precious puppy was suffering in your place. I want you to remember that long after you die.”

  She has to be lying. She has to be.

  She smiled, her hand playing with her dagger once more. “Speaking of death; tonight is Hallowmas when the recent dead walk the earth. With Am-Heh’s power added to my own, my daughter will live again, making my victory complete.”

  “She’ll just be another zombie,” I asked.

  With Am-Heh’s help, it will be a full resurrection. No half measure, rotting flesh, or insatiable hunger for brains.”

  “I told you, I’m not helping.”

  “Then you’ll provide my demon many hours of amusement—before he eats you.”

  “But it won’t really be your daughter,” I said. “Her soul’s gone. The lingering ghost you plan on using is only a poor copy, a residue of her mind.”

  Blair’s voice turned bitter cold, “A copy is better than nothing at all.”

  “If you’re a psycho.”

  “I’m not asking your permission for anything.”

  “What a shame.”

  More of Blaire’s coven straggled back in costume. Some of them wore ceremonial robes, red or black, and had stopped near the door to cover their faces with the white masks. One of the robed women, hood thrown back, wore a snarling wolf mask. Her straw-colored hair fanned down her back. Her stride all power and grace. She moved like someone I knew—Madison?

  I shifted my stare to others, not wanting to betray a friend by giving her too much attention. Blaire was already expecting interference from my allies. How had she known? Scrying crystal? Some prophetic dream? Maybe she’d cut up a chicken and read the future in its entrails. Soothsayers did that, right?

  My stare slid back to the entrance. For a moment, I thought I saw Drew and Jill, but masks were on and I lost them in the crowd. I wondered if all the white masks were my friends, or if some were for those unable to afford the fancier gowns.

  Among the woman, a guy looked out of place. He wore a dark suit, size triple X. It barely contained his barrel chest and massive shoulders. I knew him. He was the driver that had tried to abduct me weeks ago when I first got off the bus. Didn’t he know he was on the wrong side in a battle of the sexes? Maybe he liked having women tell him what to do. Thinking can be a terrible burden for those that don’t do it well.

  He approached the dais, cutting across the basketball court. The woman in his way rippled to the side, displaced by the sheer force of his will. His gaze went to Blaire, clinging to her faithfully. As he stepped up on the dais, I recognized the fire in his stare as desire. He was her boy-toy, a submissive. She probably used whips and candles, maybe even chains. She seemed the type. I shook away such thoughts. Not really my business.

  He knelt before Blaire’s throne. His stare flicked to me, then back to her. He remained silent—very well trained.

  I cast about for signs my friends were about to make their move. I prayed they’d be a lot more capable than Blaire expected.

  “You may speak,” Blaire said.

  “The eclipse will be starting soon,” Boy Toy said. “This alignment, combined with Hallowmas, will bring you the Goddess’ full anointing.”

  I rolled my eyes. Oh, please people, get a life!

  Blaire stood. The swirling voices stilled. The crowd faced her. She lifted an arm, palm outward. “My sisters, we have labored for this moment. Victory is at hand. Continue to lend me your hearts, your souls, for we must deal with enemies in our ranks.” She threw her head back and chanted words as brutal as a flint hatchet. I felt surprise the weird language didn’t damage her throat, drowning her in blood.

  The air shivered, bending it in strange ways, as those in the fancy party dresses chanted along.

  The robed ones with white animal masks were in trouble. They clawed at themselves like crazed beasts, making hacking sounds, gagging on screams, mewling in fear. Several fell to their knees, nails scraping the polish
ed floor, contorting. The one with the straw-colored hair, who I thought was Madison, staggered in silence, focusing all her strength on ripping the mask off her face.

  I thrust myself out of the chair, but two of the guards slammed me back in place. Knife Girl placed her field knife under my jaw, against my neck. She leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Uh-uh, baby cakes. Sit tight and enjoy the show.”

  “Like hell!”

  I still sensed Blaire’s pet demon lurking close, but I could no longer let that stop me. The knife pressed in on my throat. I relaxed my body, as if giving in, but pulled the folds of space around me, crossing over. Color shifted to gray as gravity fluttered, lessening in force. A tingle enveloped me in passing, and I was in the ghost world, sliding through my chair. I’d used aura on the knife at my throat to bring it along, ghosting it out of Knife Girl’s hand. I caught the hilt, and gripped it firmly, pulling it away from my own throat.

  The demon growled nearby, and I felt a cold wave of fouled air, so I poured aura into the chair over me pulling it into the ghost realm. Instead of going through, the demon’s claws smacked the chair, rocking it, cracking the wood. Another blow splintered it.

  By then I’d fallen through the floor, into darkness. I white-knuckled the stolen knife, knowing it wouldn’t have saved me if I’d been a second slower.

  No time for the shakes now.

  Going by memory of where everyone and everything was, I used ripples of aura down my body to swim through the building’s concrete foundation. I hadn’t done this often enough to be skilled at it, but I hoped for adequate. That would be enough since I doubted a demon would have learned this at all—there aren’t many things they hide from.

  In my mind, I easily imagined him sticking his arm through the floor where I sank, fishing blindly for me. Better make this fast. Without Tukka guarding my back, I can’t risk staying here long. Tukka … was he alive? No. The witch was probably just pulling my chain, trying to manipulate me. I can’t believe anything she says.