Tears and Shadow (kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  I wrenched the fabric of space, making a gap into the ghost realm, and soaked up an electric tingle as a graphite version of reality opened wings to embrace me. Gravity leeched away, another form of wings; I crouched, leaped, and flew with my orange aura fluttering around me.

  Torrent’s staff unwound a cat’s paw of shadow that caught me. Cold black ice burned my skin, pinning my arms to my side. I was held, dangling mid air, though he was on the human side of the veil and I was on the ghost side—how the hell is he doing this?

  Taliesina’s golden eyes were blazing in the back shadows of my mind. Her thoughts seared into mine. Servants should know their place. Grace, give me control.

  I’ve got control of something?

  You know what I mean. Just relax. We’ve done this before.

  I closed my eyes and visualized an orange leaf drifting on eddies of air, calming myself. I remembered the time ISIS had me in their clutches, trying to break me with head-splitting decibels. I’d almost broken—until my inner fox stepped in. Taliesina had wrapped me in darkness, taking possession of our body. It had saved me. Here and now, one kind of darkness ought to be able to deal with another, though Torrent was bound to have many tricks up his shadow man sleeve.

  My heartbeat swelled, becoming a slow, double pulse echoing into infinity. I fell inward as though a new dimension had opened in my mind to swallow me. In place of Torrent’s icy grip, I felt buoyant warmth. Making me … sleepy…

  Kitsune magic runs hot through my arteries. It swells my lungs and lets me gather the unseen weave of space, bending it with the fire of my need. The electric tingle becomes a raw influx of power, boosting my kitsune strength. Lightning jags dance off my fingertips. I keep hold of the weave between worlds, mostly occupying the human realm. My immediate space writhes, hating restraint. I soothe it with a quiet croon of power low in my throat.

  Undaunted, Torrent grips harder with his shadow force.

  My nearly breathless song thins his cat’s paw, peeling it away. I fall, and twist to land on all fours, back arched. I growl as my skull and fingers flow in rearrangement. My face shifts beneath the skin, muscles pulling in new ways. My fingertips shed human nails. Claws grow in. My teeth go pointy—sharp! A new tail sprouts. It is uncomfortable, seeking escape down my right pants’ leg. I have no need for clothes, but my other self lacks my confidence. I leave them on, barreling into one of Virgil’s soldiers, the tall, blond, yummy one. His arms wrap around me. “Grace, stop. You can’t go in there.”

  I wiggle until his face is next to mine. My cheek feels his sandpaper stubble. I draw in his scent, relishing its virile maleness, and lick the side of his face. It is not yet mating season; I don’t have to have him at once.

  “Grace isn’t in now.” My voice is gruff, not quite human. “Try later.”

  Startled, he jerks his head back and stares into my eyes. They are incandescent gold, alive with my magic.

  Hooking one of his legs with my own, I shove him. He hits hard, sprawling on his back. I hop forward, landing on his stomach, leaping from there toward the top of the steps. He goes “Oomph!” His hands snatch at my feet, missing.

  But they surround me; the living shadows that play at being human. Grace thinks they are people that can become darkness, but it is the other way around. Their eyes and faces reflect complex emotions, but these only shroud the deeper emptiness. They are Darkness in its purest expression.

  The shadow men blocking the porch are swept away by opposing shadows that materialize from nowhere. Onyx is next to me, shoving me toward the house. “Go on. We’ll buy you the time you need.”

  I am grateful; someone is finally treating Grace like she has the right to her own decisions.

  “Thanks.” I lunge up the stairs and cross the porch. A moment later, I surge through the inside flames. My foxfire coats me in a protective shell—fire fighting fire— so I can reach the stairs to the second story. I pull my shirt up and breathe through the fabric. The taste is foul, yet appetizing as well, as though someone were roasting meat. Ah, the strewn body parts, they’d be getting nicely grilled about now.

  Out of the flames, on the second floor, I dismiss my foxfire, no longer seeing the world through its cold orange haze. If I spook the cat as much as the fire does, it won’t trust me to save it. I need to do this from the human side of the veil where my kitsune aura doesn’t show, hopefully. Cats see things others missed.

  I run down the corridor, to the master bedroom where I see the beast back on the bed again, head down, body a tight ball of misery. It stares, ears pressed flat to its skull, its eyes huge and dark. It makes a whiny complaint, but doesn’t move as I ease closer.

  Leaning in, I pet it, trying to get it used to me.

  “Meearrrruuuuff!” it says.

  “I totally agree,” I murmur, letting go of my shirt so I can take it in both arms. The air is horrid, burning my nose, killing all other scents. The animal resists, digging claws into the bedspread. Keeping my left hand on it, I use one finger of my right to tap it on the forehead; the light thump being the way momma cats chastise their young when doing something wrong. The cat ducks and steps back, releasing the bedspread. I whip the animal up—the male animal, I discover—and hold it against my chest.

  He squirms. I pet him, mumbling, “Good boy … handsome kitty.” In this partial morph, talking hurts my throat. That, and the smoke, makes me cough. The cat puts up with me as I carry him to the window. I shove the window up, hanging onto the cat one-handed. Cool air wags over us. I stick the cat out the window, lobbing him to a thick oak branch a few feet away. He lands and clings a moment. Turning his face my way, he hisses and runs to the trunk, hopping down in stages from lower branch to lower branch. I feel this isn’t his first time using this escape route.

  My arm is taken. Someone spins me around. Torrent, looking furious. I let my arm go to shadow. His fingers slide through. My arm reforms. “I am Princess Taliesina, Heir to my father’s throne. I allow no one to protect me from myself.” A swirling ball of shadow fills my hand. A sword forms. I grip the hilt and back him off with the point just below his chin. “Do not over-step your place.”

  Carefully, he bends his knees, dropping his gaze in submission. As he moves toward the floor, I pull my sword back. Kneeling, he sets his weapon aside. His hand comes up, making a fist over his heart. His head lowers. “Forgive me, Your Highness, you are right. I submit myself to your judgment.”

  His life was mine, if I wanted to take it. I thought about what Grace would do.

  “Well, as long as you know you are wrong.”

  My clothing reeked of smoke, but the outside air was fresh. I was back in my head again. Taliesina slumbered. I watched as fire fully engulfed the house. The roof caved in, sending a shower of sparks up into the sky, riding black billows of smoke. Someone tossed a blanket over me and led me to an ice chest to sit down. I moved like an action figure, guided by others, too tired to care.

  The soldiers appeared relaxed, but kept their weapons in hand I saw why; Prince Onyx and his guards had arrived sometime during my blackout, and were heatedly discussing something with Torrent and his men. Virgil’s tech guys were clotted together, clandestinely taking smart phone photos of the boogie men, hoping not to offend them. One of the techs muttered, “Holy crap, man, this is really happening.”

  For some reason, Kendall stared at me like I’d grown another head. That hurt. I thought we were friends.

  Not everyone wants a freak for a friend, I reminded myself. I looked away, catching Virgil’s eye. “Hey, Verge…”

  He squatted to put his head level with mine.

  I pointed at the foldout table laden with food. “Gimme a dozen hotdogs, a bag of chips, and a couple cans of soda. I’m a little hungry.”

  Strangely, he didn’t argue about making himself useful. He brought what I’d asked, handing me the plate and putting the soda by my feet. “Take your time,” he said. “I’ve got reinforcements closing off access to the property, stonewalling the pr
ess. Shaun and Cassie checked in. They’re going to be tied up a few more hours. I’ll drop you off at Shaun’s place when we’re through here.” Virgil drifted off, leaving me alone to eat my meal.

  I felt something brushing against my ankle. I looked down and saw the cat. He stretched up my leg, eyeing the plate of food I held. He made a plaintive sound.

  “Ah, hungry, huh?” I took one of the hot dogs, broke off an end, shredded it in my fingers, and set the pieces down for the beast to gobble. Straightening up, I noticed my nail polish was totally gone. Odd. I took another bite of hot dog. My jaw hurt a little too. Also odd. What the hell had I done?

  By the time Mr. Kitty and I were done, Virgil had intervened and the shadow men feud ended without violence. They all went black mist in the wind, vanishing, but I didn’t buy it; I knew at least some of my protectors were watching from the shadows.

  The trucks were loaded. I picked Mr. Kitty up and carried him over to a semi. Entering last, closing the door behind him, Virgil looked at my cat, caught Kendall’s eye, and gestured toward the animal. “Keep an eye on the beast. Don’t let it piddle on anything important.”

  “Which one?” Kendall asked. “Her or the cat.”

  I went cold inside and turned my face away to hide the tears springing to my eyes.

  “Never mind, I’ll do it.” Sanchez came over to take possession of the cat. She gently pried him from my arms. “The cat needs to be watched by someone who’s a little bit smarter than it is.” Holding the cat against her body, Sanchez gave me a brief one-armed hug. She whispered, “That’s right. Don’t show them they can hurt you. Swallow your pain and it will make you stronger.”

  I nodded and dried my face, as she moved off.

  Faking interest, I took another look around. I’d entered through the side of the truck— from here I saw an armory where weapons were stowed in racks and smaller compartments. There was a lot of stuff I didn’t recognize. Government funding, gotta love it. My gaze roamed toward the back of the truck. Sealed behind safety glass, I saw a high tech minilab that would have made any CSI organization jealous. There were a few white-coated individuals in there I hadn’t met. They shot me occasional glances, but didn’t stop what they were doing.

  Virgil called me to a glowing table that turned out to be a plasma monitor lying face up. It showed a computer enhanced map of the area with two blinking red dots that were probably our eighteen-wheelers. Smaller amber lights flickered, swarming the trucks like fireflies—probably GPS signals pinpointing the troops.

  I looked at Virgil. “So, what’s next?”

  “I want to have a little chat.”

  “Long as I don’t have to look at any more body parts.”

  He spoke into his headset. “Run the Shisou file.”

  My ears perked up. The kunoichi? He had my interest now.

  The screen flickered and showed an Asian woman in her thirties, strikingly beautiful with black hair artfully piled on her head, held in place with two pins, one of them had a single black pearl that dangled.

  Virgil pointed at the black pearl. “These are signs of rank among the female KyotoYakuza. This woman is second in line of her clan.”

  I nodded, never taking my eye off the screen.

  She stood off a path, under a red oak, her porcelain skin shaded, her lips garnet red, eyes rimmed with black, making them enormous. One hand rested against tree bark, the other hand pressed against the hunter green obi that wound around her tiny waist, holding her red-violet and gold kimono closed. Her gaze fled into the distance. She seemed perilously close to losing her breath.

  The image caught her in a sprawling garden, a young child tottering along beside her in a pink ruffled dress. Neither gave any sign they knew their picture was being taken.

  Virgil pointed at the plasma screen. “This is Ayumi Usher, the younger sister to Kazuya Shisou. The child is her daughter, Aimi. The name Shisou means ‘look of death.’”

  I shifted my gaze to Virgil. “So, what? They can kill you with a look, like Cyclops in the X-men?”

  “Look as in ‘aspect,’” Virgil said, “as in, ‘they look mean enough to kill you dead.’ Another translation is ‘shadow of death.’ They were always a minor clan, but deeply respected for their ferocity—especially the women. They gained stature and power in the world when Kazuya’s sister married Josiah Usher, one of the wealthiest men in the world. With his international holdings supporting them, the Shisou ninja have moved up in the Yakuza Underworld. Their support of Usher gives the corporate phrase “hostile takeover” all new meaning.”

  “Then what do they need this magic sword for?”

  Virgil smiled at me. “As Batman once put it, ‘Criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot.’ Without the sword, the Shisou ninja have to fight for every new inch of ground and bleed to keep their territory. But if the Shisou ninja get the sword of a god, few would dare to challenge them.”

  “So this Ayumi Usher is behind the attack on Shaun?”

  “Not her. She’s here in the US receiving medical care due to a risky pregnancy. The child in the photo is the one. She’s also here, with an entourage. The photo’s old, sent to us by Interpol.”

  “There aren’t any new ones?”

  The scene changed. Newspaper articles flashed by: girls out clubbing, a shot through the gates at a private academy—a girl in a sailor suit uniform hurrying away, a scene at an expensive restaurant where hard-faced Japanese men surrounded a teenager close to my own age. The girl in all the scenes was pretty with dark, straight hair falling nearly down to her butt. “She’s had offers to model,” Virgil said.

  “Of course she has.” I growled low in my throat. Some people get all the breaks.

  “I want you to infiltrate her inner circle and become her friend.”

  “I’m not an undercover operative. I have a life I want to get back to. So the answer is no.”

  “Too bad … for Tukka.”

  My blood went cold. “What do you mean?”

  “He hasn’t been around, has he?”

  “Well, he doesn’t check in with me everyday.”

  Virgil tapped the screen. A new, half-sized window opened. Video footage played: a group of armed men in the back of a flatbed truck surrounding something large, covered with a tarp. A second truck followed the first, its flatbed empty. Both vehicles pulled up to an abandoned factory. Women clad in black materialize from the shadows. For a moment, I thought of shadow men, but these were kunoichi.

  The image shifted as a zoom feature kicked in. The first truck leaped closer. Enough light came from off-camera to bring out the bright blue of the tarp as it was thrown back. A different blue was revealed; Tukka, eyes closed, side lifting slowly. He was breathing, but…

  “What’s wrong with him? What have they done to him?” I demanded. And where is the woman from the dream that had taken Tukka in the first place?

  “Those rifles are tranq guns. They shoot a sedative. He’s being kept drugged, merchandise, just another relic. He might find himself chopped up and sold for medicinal and aphrodisiac purposes.”

  “Chopped up…!” The horror of it washed through my brain, numbing me.

  “Well, I guess you’re going to help me after all.”

  My hands were fists on the screen. I leaned forward, making his name a soft prayer, “Tukka…”

  FOURTEEN

  “I knew who I was when I got up this morning,

  but I think I must have changed several times

  since then.”

  —Lewis Carroll

  Alice in Wonderland

  The foul beast hated me. I was convinced. Sure, the cat had eaten my hotdogs, but in his mind, I was connected to the slaughter of his entire world. That would take some time getting over. I’d tried to pet him on my bed. His claws had come out, prickling my tender flesh. As I pulled away, his claws bit deeper and I hissed at the pain. Struggling was going to cost me some skin and blood. I changed tactics by pushing into him. He relaxed a little as I stroke
d his forehead. After a few moments, I was able to disengage his claws.

  It seemed like there ought to be a life-lesson in all that, but as yet, I saw no practical application to the real or unreal worlds I inhabited.

  Leaving the cat on my bed, I rolled off, and moved over by Jill who had her sci-fi, surround-sound chair swiveled from her computer to face me.

  Drew had been standing near by, slouching really, and took the opportunity to stretch out on my bed, scratching the appreciative cat in all the right places; he squinted his eyes and rumbled like a lawnmower needing an oil change.

  Jill eyed the animal sourly, a look of deep foreboding on her face. “Just tell me he’s housebroken.”

  I pointed at the stuff on the floor that I had made Virgil pay for: litter box, fresh litter, a scoop, and a thirty-two can case of cat food—sea food pâté. “Don’t worry, the essentials are covered.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Did you happen to run this by Ms. Griffin? As far as I know, this is a pet-free building.”

  Jill pointed at the animal. “What’s her name?”

  “His name,” I said, “is Mr. Kitty. He’s an orphan who just lost his home and family, barely surviving a fire.” I hoped to win some sympathy points for the cat.

  Drew looked utterly shocked. “Oh, how terrible. He’ll need therapy.”

  “You need therapy,” Jill muttered. “Just buy him some catnip. He’ll get over it. It’s not like he’s a dog.”

  A knock sounded at the door. I opened it, and was pounced upon by Cassie. She squeezed the stuffing out of me, then let me go so I could breathe. “Hi, Cass—”

  She glared at me.

  “—Uh, Mom.”

  She smiled. “Much better. Ready to go?”

  Jill brightened. “Taking the cat some place?”

  Drew looked scandalized.

  “Uh, no. Mom’s taking me out. I’m going undercover for Virgil and need to freshen my look, such as it is.”