Tears and Shadow (kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  “Uh, guys, there’s something I have to tell you—in case they pop out of the woodwork.”

  “Yeah?” Madison kept her stare on the road.

  “You guys know what a shadow man is, right?”

  A shudder went through Madison. “Yeah, tough sons of guns. I saw one killed once. It wasn’t easy.”

  My ears perked up. “You know a way to kill them?”

  “Laser,” Fran muttered. “It cuts right through their physical form, and keeps their shadow shape from becoming solid enough to hurt you.”

  “Right,” Madison said. “So, Grace, why are you bringing them up?”

  “Seems I’m related to some of them, on my father’s side of the family. And there are some in the woods, following alongside us.”

  The van swerved.

  Fran laughed.

  Madison brought us back in line. “That would have been nice to know when I was loading the van with weapons.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Madison’s voice went icy and hard, “Don’t let it happen again. Sins of omission can get a lot of people very dead.”

  “She said she was sorry.” Fran unfolded her arms and opened the purse in her lap. She drew out a silver cylinder that looked like a fancy pen. “I got a laser pointer right here, specially modified so the beam stays on if dropped so it can be located in the dark. These things drive cats crazy.”

  “Crazier,” Madison’s voice thawed. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Okay, Grace, are they likely to attack? What do they want?”

  “To run my life. Hopefully, they’ll just watch from a distance.”

  Madison relaxed slightly. “We’re coming up on the town, I need that address again.”

  Absently, I read it off from memory. Watching the pet cemetery as we sped past, a tremor went through me. I remembered the zombie animals raised from here that were sent after me and my friends by the witches of ISIS. I was glad to close that chapter of my life, though it had brought me and Shaun together.

  A sign said Deedsville. Deadville would have been more accurate. Sleepy houses lined the main road. Assorted businesses appeared next; none of the buildings higher than two-stories. The place couldn’t have more than five hundred residents. The only sign of life I saw was at the service station we passed, and the White Swan Café which offered ham and eggs for $4.99.

  Madison pulled up to the address we wanted. We stared in amused disbelief at a flying hog. Made of plastic, it hung near the front door. The sign on the door read The Flying Sow Bar-B-Q. The place was closed, waiting for lunchtime to open.

  “How’d I miss this place,” Madison said.

  “Oh, yeah, we’re supposed to go around back and meet the owner,” I said.

  “Fine.” Madison killed the engine and we piled out. The air was cold, and thick with the old scent of simmered pork and potato salad. We walked past outdoor tables and benches. Around back, a man in jeans and a sweater dumped trash in a dumpster. He turned to wave at us. His thick mustache—like an enraged caterpillar at full bristle—writhed as he smiled.

  “I’ve been expecting you folks. My name’s Kenny.” He eyed Madison’s shotgun but didn’t comment on it. “Come right this way. We can talk inside.”

  We entered the kitchen, a place where steel appliances and counters were spotless, and several pots were slowly simmering pork. A hood over the stove whirred softly, an exhaust fan sucking up the rich aroma, spreading it over the neighborhood. A gap in the wall let us move up to the service counter. We rounded it, streaming into the main dinning room.

  The big room was pioneer chic with red and white tablecloths over picnic benches. The tables held various intensities of special bar-b-q sauce in plastic squeeze bottles—mild, hot, and omigawd-I’m-on-fire! Oil barrel trash cans added to the rustic look as did the wagon wheel-lantern chandeliers. There were plastic pigs—smaller versions of the one outside—with angel wings and fake halos. They dangled from ceiling fans that would send them soaring in speedy orbits once turned on. On another wall were painted steer skulls, reminding me of an old Eagles album my dad liked to play … way too often.

  “So,” I asked, “where’s this evil spirit of yours?”

  A butcher knife flew past my nose, just missing, burying its point in a far wall.

  Fran drew out a large wooden cross. It separated in two pieces, revealing a hidden blade. She shook out her long raven tresses and loosened her shoulders with a circular shrug. “Kitchen,” she said.

  “Kitchen,” I agreed.

  SIX

  LAY OUT IN LAVENDER: lavender branches were once

  used to beat fragrance into stream-washed clothes; also,

  an attack that chastises harshly by “laying” someone out.

  “I got this, guys,” I said.

  I knew the ghost couldn’t manifest visibly in the human world during daylight, so Fran and Madison had little chance to home in on it. I’d have to go one-on-one with the pest in the ghost realm. I pulled the veil-between-worlds past me, feeling its electric tingle like a kiss over my whole body, turning it golden. As usual, my stomach protested the shift, threatening to flip over as gravity dropped and most colors shifted to graphite gray. An orange froth of cold flame now sheathed me. I rolled my fingers to get tight, hard fists, and pooled my aura so that my foxfire leaped, blazing brighter—more intimidating that way.

  Kenny stepped toward me, sweeping his hand ahead of him as if he’d gone blind. From his perspective, it would seem like I’d vanished into thin air right in front of him. He’d never look at me as “normal” ever again. Yeah, it’s not your eyes; I am a freak.

  I got out of his way before his aura—now visible to me as a yellow-amber swirl—could jar my incorporeal form. Fran and Madison were taking it in stride, but then, they’d seen stranger things than me in their training as slayers. A few low-gravity bounces took me to the counter, over it, and into the kitchen. I saw Mister Ghost, shimmering with lavender light, juggling knives without quite touching them. He smiled brightly, his pale locks swaying in a phantom wind, his lean hard body in jeans, tee, and a biker’s leather vest. Eye-candy, yum, but still no Shaun.

  “Sorry about the knife,” he said. “It got away from me.”

  “Yeah, right, and it just happened to fly around the corner to get out of the kitchen.”

  “Okay, so I wanted to get the attention of a beautiful girl. Can you blame me?” His smile widened, revved into high gear. He was trying to be charming, but there was a coldness to his stare that dehumanized, turning a woman into just another piece of meat. Though hostilities didn’t seem impending, I couldn’t drop my guard. I did simulate it though by leaning back against a counter and unclenched my fists. I let the heavy wag of my aura-eating flame die down to a light orange haze, knowing its full force would answer any call I made.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “Why haunt a nice guy like Kenny?”

  “I heard about you on the ghostly grapevine, darlin’. I tried getting in to see you, but that compound of yours is sealed up tight with high-grade protective wards. I’d have to be a shadow man to get in there.”

  As if summoned by name, heavy shadow slithered under the kitchen door, surging up like a tsunami seeking prey. The shadow stream thickened, separating into swirling columns that solidified into Torrent’s soldiers. They leaped en masse, and Ghost Guy went down under the pile, staring dumbfounded. While my bodyguards had him pinned, they inflicted little damage, getting in each other’s way. Of course, ghosts don’t have to stay solid. The few punches and stomps that reached him went through his body, landing on the floor.

  Golden eyes opened in the back shadows of my mind as Taliesina stirred to sleepy life. Her low-key thoughts merged with mine. Shadows to the rescue!

  I growled low in my throat. I don’t need guys to do my heavy lifting! I’m awesome, remember?

  It’s natural they want to protect you. They’re … guys. Let them do their thing. You wanted the ghost’s butt kick
ed, right?

  Yeah, but I wanted to do the kicking.

  Too late now.

  I studied the writhing dog pile. I could no longer see the ghost on the bottom; he’d gone incorporeal—then corporeal again beside me, his arms crossed, copying my posture by leaning back against the same counter.

  “Who invited these guys?” he asked.

  “They’re shadow men. They invited themselves,” I said.

  Taliesina blinked inside my head. Where’s Torrent?

  Yeah, where is Torrent?

  The kitchen door jamb shattered as the door was kicked in, giving me my answer. He filled the doorway, shoving that iron rod of his inside the building. The crescent-star cap darkened, welling with blackest shadow.

  Uh-oh. I threw myself out of the way, making myself solid with a flow of aura so I wouldn’t go through the floor with my sprawl. I hit a trashcan, setting it aglow, knocking it over.

  The staff spun off a blast of whirling dark energy. Apparently, Torrent didn’t need to be in the ghost realm to find a ghostly target.

  Ghost guy shrieked and howled, as if pit bulls were chopping on the family jewels. His substance thinned, fragmenting, curling like ashes in a smoky updraft. And he was gone. For awhile at least. But Torrent didn’t seem to know that, turning his weapon toward the overturned trash can—and me!

  I shifted the veil, letting its electric shimmer sluice over my body. Full color and sound returned to the world, regular gravity made me feel sluggish. The staff pointed at my head, but no shadow blast pounded me.

  Summoned by Torrent’s explosive entry, Fran and Madison leaped into the now very crowded kitchen. Fran held a protective stance in front of me, her cross-knife put away in favor of her four-inch laser pointer. She posed with it gripped like a Jedi lightsaber. Madison went on offense, all but shoving her shotgun’s muzzle down Torrent’s throat. I understood why she’d assume Mr. Dark-and-Menacing needed to be put down. Before I could call her off, the shotgun boomed.

  Looking past Fran’s legs, I saw that Torrent had moved enough to keep his head from disintegrating in a gory red mist. Still, a chunk of shoulder was turned into bloody, raw meatloaf. He crumpled, sprawling. His iron staff made a hell of a racket.

  The untangled shadow men were on their feet again, orienting on Fran and Madison.

  I yelled, “Cease fire, everyone!”

  Of course, they ignored me.

  A hail of throwing stars spun past Fran as she stumbled over me, dropping into my lap. The laser pointer went spinning away, its slashing red pencil-beam cutting the soles off of the shadow men’s boots. The beam went on to dig into Torrent’s wounded shoulder, missing his head, but taking a slice off the length of his body. His face went white with agony and shock that seized him so hard he couldn’t even screech.

  There were no shadows to crawl into, but he dragged himself—detached parts and all—into the ghost realm where a small amount of effort could lift him high above the floor. This was good because the pointer wasn’t done spinning, coming around for another fillet of shadow man. Torrent’s squad also crossed over to escape the beam. I wondered if they really had, or if coherent light could pierce the veil. I was definitely going to have to get me one of those things and find out.

  All targets had vanished, but Madison didn’t relax, spinning, looking for a threat to materialize.

  “Uh, you can get off my lap now,” I told Fran.

  “Oh, sorry.” She scrambled off, crawling to her pointer, snatching it up.

  The shadow men, bled into the human side of the veil, dropping into visibility around Madison, capturing her arms, wrenching at the shotgun. It went off, sending a discharge back behind the stove. Torrent dropped in next, his shoulder and the rest of him repaired and functional. He stood in front of Madison, his staff lifted, its butt-end aimed at her. He was about a second away from slamming her in the head.

  I tried again, “Stop right now. I mean it!”

  Torrent looked at me, staying his attack.

  But by then, Fran had lunged across the room, tackling him around the waist. She probably expected him to go down. He stood there, looking at her as she hugged him. A bemused and skeptical smile twitched his lips. He failed to budge a fraction of an inch. A swell of shadow belled from the crest of his staff. Fran was picked up and blasted out of the kitchen, over the dining room counter, and dumped in the floor where I could no longer see her. I heard her groan and mouth a couple phrases that ladies weren’t supposed to use.

  I also heard Kenny on his phone, calling the police. He no longer seemed to have much faith in the girls and me. I didn’t blame him, but was pissed anyway.

  I saw a squirt bottle of omigawd-I’m-on-fire sauce on a counter. I latched onto it and swung the thing to point at Torrent. “This ends now, or I end you,” I promised. “Don’t think I won’t use this.”

  I saw incomprehension on his face as he stared down the tiny muzzle of the plastic bottle. Deciding against finding out what sort of weapon I held, he nodded, letting the butt of the iron staff ground on the tiled floor.

  The hands holding Madison loosened.

  She jerked free, eyes aflame with menace.

  “That goes for you too,” I said.

  She looked at me and the squeeze bottle in surprise. “You are desperate.”

  I ignored her comment, making my voice loud, “Listen up, people. We’re all on the same side here. The big, bad ghost has been taken out—”

  “It’s gone?” Madison asked.

  “It’s gone?” Kenny echoed.

  “Yeah,” I had to give him the bad news, “but it might come back.”

  He slumped in dejection. “I don’t need this.”

  I glowered at Torrent and his posse. “Someone barged in and concussed the ghost’s ectoplasm before I could settle things permanently. I’m pretty sure—once he recovers—the ghost will be back, and not in a forgiving mood.”

  One of the shadow men spouted off, “We saw through the window; he threw a knife at you. That’s not something we can tolerate.”

  “You are one second from tolerating my foot up your scrawny … ah … crap. It’s the cops.”

  They crowded the front door, three uniformed men with guns in their hands. I felt more threatened, not less. These guys were flying by the seat of their pants. Properly trained police would have waited outside, covering the exits, maybe even calling the state police for backup. These good ol’ boys were liable to shoot me as anybody else.

  “No one move,” the lead cop yelled.

  The shadow men faded into thin air, leaving me to explain everything.

  At least they know enough not to attack armed policemen.

  Taking the “high ground,” the shadow men blurred the air around the cops, taking a split second to get fully solid. The shadows dropped to their feet, using the energy of the fall to add power to their attacks. Two guns were battered away from the cops. The third policeman fought hard to keep his, discharging a slug into the ceiling.

  Wrong again.

  Another shot hit the kitchen wall, going through. The shadow man popped out, going into the ghost world with the last gun, using the transition to disarm his opponent. I made a mental note of the technique.

  In the back of my head, Taliesina was laughing with relentless amusement.

  You’re a lot of help, I told her.

  Her incandescent eyes widened innocently. What did I do?

  Nothing! That’s the point.

  And here I was about to warn you.

  About what?

  To pay attention to your nose.

  I took a deep whiff. Is that gas?

  Cops and shadow men formed a whirling knot of confusion. Dislodged from fan blades, several plastic pigs fell to the floor and were kicked about. One of the pigs got stomped, adhering to the foot of a cop who was too busy fighting to shake the winged beast off.

  I caught Madison’s eye and jerked a thumb at the back door.

  Madison shrugged. “Fine by me.�
��

  We strolled out with Fran running to catch up, Madison’s shotgun barrel resting over one of her shoulders. “So how do we score this?” Fran asked. “I mean: win, lose, or draw?”

  “I think everyone lost,” I said.

  “I’m calling it a draw,” Madison said. “At least, that’s what I’m telling Van Helsing.”

  If this small town had more cops, we wouldn’t have made it around the building to the white van. As it was, we loaded up without interference, though Torrent popped out of the ghost realm for a word. He held the squeeze bottle in one hand, stand outside my door. “So how does this thing work?” he asked.

  I smiled, reached out the window and plucked the bottle from his hand.

  “You know,” Fran said. “I hope no one does any shooting in there. I’m not sure, but I think I smelled gas. The gas line to the stove might have got damaged.”

  The cops came running out of the Flying Sow with Kenny a step or two behind them. The humans dived for cover behind a police car. A moment later, the Bar-B-Q place blew itself to flaming pieces. The van rocked. Flaming boards and shattered brick hailed around us and out into the street. Smoke eddied across the windshield as it cracked. Madison cursed beneath her breath, unless maybe she was yelling and I’d just been half-deafened.

  Oblivious to the explosion, every hair in place, Torrent looked at me, still waiting for an answer.

  I stuck the bottle out the window and squeezed it, drawing a big letter S on his chest. I dropped the bottle at his feet.

  He looked down at his chest.

  Madison pulled into the road. We jostled over assorted debris, as a big pot of simmering pork cannon-balled out of the sky and hit a parked car across the street. Its hood caved in. Its car alarm went off, an irritating eep … eep … eep…! People ran to see what had happened. Somehow, we managed not to run over any of them.