Tears and Shadow (kitsune series)

by Morgan Blayde

  “Shopping?” Drew looked even more excited. “I know the perfect little boutique!”

  “Sorry,” Cassie told her, “I want some private time to bond with my daughter. Maybe next time…”

  “Sure.” Drew went back to playing with the cat. I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t use his claws on her.

  Cassie put a hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the door. “C’mon dear.”

  I threw a glance over my shoulder. “Uh, Drew, would you mind keeping an eye on…”

  “Mr. Kitty is in good hands,” she assured me. “Go have fun. And buy me something.”

  I smiled. “Sure.”

  With that, I left my room for the suite’s foyer. Another door opened, and we were in the hallway, heading for the lounge. Going by, I waved at the security camera. Down past the lounge’s snack machines, I pressed the call button for the elevator. Waiting, I scanned the sprawling space. The pool table was abandoned. The TV had some reality show that was anything but real.

  Over on the piano, ignoring us, a dark-haired girl bent over the keys, her fingers slithering quickly over each other as she walked a chord up several octaves. She wore charcoal shorts and a top with gray and lime horizontal stripes. An interesting look, but not quite right for night-clubbing.

  The car arrived and the door dinged open. Hammer was onboard. His gaze slid off me and adhered to Cassie as we walked on. He had a near perfect physique, but sucked in his gut anyway, smiling brightly. “Cassie, looking good as always.”

  She could have worn a full-body mudpack dotted with cucumber slices and kelp, and he’d have said the same thing. It’s hell having a totally hot mom, embarrassing.

  The doors closed and we dropped toward the first floor. Cassie smiled at him, pulling out the lapel of his black jacket, eyeing his gun. “Is that a Slim?” she asked.

  He brightened, pulling out the blue steel weapon by its deeply grooved grip. “Yeah, a Taurus 709, makes it less obvious you’re packing heat.”

  “9mm,” she asked.

  He grunted affirmation, putting the handgun away.

  At the lobby, he got out with us, walking to the main entrance. “We got a good gym here for the troops,” his gaze flicked my way, “no kids allowed.” His avid stare returned to Cassie. “Why don’t you come work out with me sometime?”

  Cassie looked thoughtful. “Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.”

  He grinned like the idiot he was. “Looking forward to it.”

  Outside, we headed for the curb where a deep purple BMW Z4 convertible waited with lots of attitude. The low-slung, panther-sleek vehicle had white leather seats and all but screamed drive me fast! I approved. I was going to look so good riding in this car.

  I glanced at Cassie … uh, Mom. “Are you really interested in Hammer?” That’ll be great. I’ll have Shaun all to myself.

  Cassie winked at me. “Not really. I’m interested in guys that are a challenge. Breaking them in is an art, you know?”

  “Breaking them in?”

  “Men are fun, but if you’re going to hang with one, you should know how to take off the rough edges without bruising egos, or wimping him out. You’d be surprised what a black leather corset and a riding crop can do. Then there’s hot wax and handcuffs…”

  Information overload! Or was she playing me?

  Hurriedly, I shook the images away from my tender young mind.

  “Cass … uh, Mom?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “How do you know when it’s the right person? I mean, can you know, without a shadow of a doubt?”

  “It’s hard when you’re inexperienced. I know I made my share of mistakes, your father for example. I learned later to rely on my kitsune sense of balance.”

  “Balance?”

  “When I was a child, I’d lie in the grass and watch the sky. After a while, I’d get to that drowsy, relaxed state where the mind goes empty. I’d feel the slow spin of the whole world under me. There’s a kinetic sense of self that comes easily to our people, why we make good warriors. When it’s true love and you’re with that special person, just their being there makes the whole world stop. That’s how you know.” She shot me a quick, sidelong glance. “Who’s on your heart these days, Fenn or Onyx?”

  Shaun, not that I want you knowing that.

  “So, uh, where are we going?” There weren’t a lot of high-end options out here in the wilds of east Texas.

  She said, “You’ll see.”

  Miles later, I did. We cruised into Longview, past the downtown square, and pulled up to a place called Maumelle’s. Faceless manikins posed in the display windows, dressed in someone’s idea of urban chic: faux suede jackets, others in silk, one manikin in a sheer front drape over a black sports bra. The back of the drape consisted of a series of crisscrossing strings. I saw a silver-gray mini-dress with gold foil accents, black-lace trim, and a wide belt buckled just under the breasts. There were metallic halters, leopard print jumpers, and one acid-washed toga-style dress that looked like it had been to Woodstock in a previous life.

  “We’re going in there?” I asked.

  Cassie killed the engine. “Buck up, kiddo, battles are never won by the faint of heart. Not only are we going in here, we’re going over there!” She pointed at an adjoining business. A hair salon called Suzie-May’s. Cassie’s face got intense. “Grace, you know I love you, but you have got to do something about your hair.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Tell me you’re not planning to go crazy on me.”

  Her face went all innocent, in a scary, psychopathic kinda way. She said, “Of course not. Do I look like someone who styles hair?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Trust me.”

  “Do I got a choice?”

  She shoved out her door, ran around the car, and opened my door. Posing dramatically, one hand extended, she said, “Come with me, if you want to live.”

  “My god,” I said. “I’m going to get perminated.”

  * * *

  Hours later, I was returned to the HPI compound, loaded down with bag after bag of designer clothing, plus the black silk pantsuit I wore with a red bolero jacket, and matching boots. I felt more like a superhero dressed to fight crime in the streets than a fashionista in training. And I wasn’t at all sure my hair would ever forgive me. Not only was my hair much longer, but bright red, with a definite metallic sheen.

  Cassie walked beside me, a smile of contentment on her face. “You’ll get used to it, honest, kitsune word of honor. And look at it this way, you will never again get lost in a crowd.”

  “That’s for sure.” The receptionist was gone for the day. I was spared the look of horrified sympathy that I was sure she’d have offered me. Cassie had the salon straighten my hair. There was actual magic involved. The place had been run by a fey who was in the closet, passing for human.

  We took the elevator up toward my floor, and I steeled myself for the coming ordeal. There were bound to be kids in the TV lounge. A hush would fall. They would stop whatever they were doing. They would turn, eyes wide, mouths dropping open. Some kind soul would weep for me. Most would probably laugh. And I’d feel like sinking through the floor. In fact, I’d probably cross over so I literally could. My life, as I had known it, was over as soon as the elevator dinged open.

  The elevator dinged open.

  Fenn was there, an unopened can of orange soda in one hand. He turned to face me as, loaded down with my shopping, I stepped out of the car. His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. The can fell from his lax hand. The soda hit and rolled for cover, much as I wanted to. He said, “Oh, my God! Grace, is that you?”

  Behind him, a hush seized the room in a death grip. The place was packed. Everyone stared. A wolf whistle pierced the air. The boys began converging with smiles on their faces, much to the irritation of the girls they’d been with.

  And suddenly I could breathe again

  FIFTEEN

  BIND: the action of pres
suring or enveloping the

  adversary’s blade or point in order to carry it off

  line and make an opening.

  Two nights later, chomping at the bit, I went into a downtown Dallas night club knowing Sanchez and Kendall were already inside, backup if needed. The fake ID Virgil got me worked like a charm. He’d also given me a hundred to wave in the doorman’s face in case he was overly conscientious. The security guy was big, all in black, and looked bored outta his tiny skull. He just waved me on.

  Cassie was across the veil, accompanying me from the ghost realm. She’d insisted on being close at hand, and on dressing me funny. My chocolate-colored hoodie—this is for you Tukka—was worn with the hood thrown back, hanging against a leather vest. I wore a man’s hat, raided from Shaun’s closet, and Cassie had bought me black denim leggings that could have been painted on. She’d loaned me a leather belt with a Spanish silver buckle, and my feet were encased in ankle-high boots with silver studs on the outsides. I walked with an occasional wobble, a stilt-walker on four-inch heels.

  The crowd was young, dressed much more urban. Skin tight dresses, stockings, and expensive tops that left the midriffs bare weren’t uncommon. Squeezing by, a guy in leather pants and lavender silk shirt looked me over. He had a diamond stud in one ear, and white sneakers that were loose-laced, glowing brightly from a UV light hanging near. As the light caught his face, a UV tattoo became visible. A skull with a silent laugh replaced his drunken leer. Someone almost wearing a red-sequined dress caught his eye. He moved on to better prospects. Outside the UV light, Goth boy’s regular face returned.

  I scanned the dancers, looking for Aimi amid the milling bodies. Their sexually charged moves were explicit enough to make me blush. Out of military fatigues, I saw Sanchez in a smoky blue dress, looking too hot to handle with a Latin intensity that drew a crowd around her. Her moves were sensual, but not slutty. She tilted her head, directing my attention to the bar.

  I headed that way, my small, black beaded purse tucked under an arm.

  A redheaded bartender with curves I envied approached with a smile. Her uniform came with a small set of ebon wings tied to her back and a battery-powered halo that gave off a ruddy glow. A fallen angel, she was appropriately dressed for an employee of The Abyss. She pitched her voice to be heard over the rabid thumping and synth riffs of the house band. “What can I get you?”

  Next to me, a guy in a black suit with a crimson shirt butted in, “A sour apple Pucker, and your phone number.”

  The bartender looked skeptically at him. “You think you can handle me?”

  “I’m willing to find out.” He said it like he didn’t care one way or another. That seemed to put a fire in the bartender’s eyes as she looked him over.

  The bartender pointed at me. “The lady’s ahead of you.”

  “My bad.” He half-turned to me. “You look familiar.”

  I laughed, “That’s the best pick up line you’ve got?”

  “It’s not a line. I remember you from somewhere—with different hair maybe.”

  I turned to the bartender. “Diet Coke with a lemon slice.”

  She went to get our drinks, and I looked the guy over. Something about his musky smell and in-your-face sexuality tweaked my memory. I flashed backwards through time, running my own version of a facial recognition program, and had him in seconds. “Few weeks back, that cigarette shop; we were looking at swords together.” I looked down at his feet. “Yeah, same steel-toed boots.” Just the thing for breaking someone’s knee cap.

  His eyes brightened, going wide. “Holy crap! That was you? I can’t believe it. You’ve gone from dowdy to hot. Really, you look better than a thousand dollar hooker.”

  I smacked his arm.

  “Hey, that’s a compliment.”

  “You never told me your name.”

  He gathered in a yellow-green drink placed before him. “Caine. What was yours?”

  “Grace.” My Coke appeared as well. I picked it up and sipped on the straw. “Hey,” I called to the bartender, “have you seen my friend, Aimi? She’s pretty, Japanese, with long straight hair.”

  “She went with her girlfriends to the ladies’ room. Should be back any time.”

  Good, I wasn’t wasting time in here that Tukka couldn’t spare. “Thanks.”

  Caine set down an empty glass and signaled the bartender for another drink. “How about your digits?” he asked her.

  She wrote her phone number on a napkin and slid it over. The napkin had the nightclub’s logo and the slogan: For a taste of Heaven, come to the Abyss.

  “I get off at midnight,” the bartender said.

  “Can’t wait.” Caine watched her go, admiring how little her jeans left to the imagination. Second drink in hand, he turned toward the stage. The house band played vigorously, as if to make up for a lack of skill. I thought Virgil ought to sanitize them as a public service. I turned to face the band too, and was startled as a female voice shrieked.

  “Caine! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and calling…”

  My mind seized up a second as Aimi ran over, arms wide. She hurled herself onto Caine. He caught her in self-defense, and she kissed him soundly.

  Aimi’s two girlfriends wore leather dusters. They said nothing, looking me and everyone else over with hard glares. Looking like twins, they exuded a presence that said, “Give me a reason to hurt you.” One of them wore a pink tee that said: I know you want to bang a Japanese girl, but you’ll die a virgin. Their arms were bare and thick with muscle. It looked like they regularly bench-pressed twice their weight, and used knives, guns, chains—and whatever else came along—just for fun. I was suddenly very glad Kendall, Sanchez, and Cassie were nearby.

  Caine let Aimi slide down him to the floor. Miraculously, he hadn’t spilled his drink. He finished it off and used the empty glass to point to me. “You know my friend, Grace?”

  Coolly, Aimi appraised me, her voice a smooth ripple of silk, “I’ve not had the pleasure.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? Well, never mind, let’s get a table.”

  Caine took my arm, pretending we were together. Maybe it was his way of keeping Aimi at bay until he could slip off later with the bartender. Nervous, I played along; friendship with a guy Aimi liked could work for, or against me. Still, it was a foot into her world. I just had the rest of me to get in. Fortunately, we had a plan for that. I thought it was rather over the top, but Virgil said it would work.

  Aimi’s bodyguards went ahead of us, skirting the dance floor. People took one look and got out of their way. We paused to look over our options. All the tables were in use, but Aimi pointed. “That one.”

  Her girls went over and stared at two scrawny guys in pearl-snap shirts and jeans, swilling beer. They finished their mugs and left without a word. I think maybe this was their roll in life; rather sad in a way. Aimi took a chair opposite Caine. I sat at his right. The girls stood behind Aimi, slouching in a sexy yet threatening manner that I decided I’d have to try out in front of a mirror—with no one around to laugh.

  I tilted my head at the guards. “They got names?”

  Aimi waved a manicured hand with neon pink polish on the nails. “This is Ryuuza and Seiza.”

  Caine leaned my way, speaking low, “Those are street names; the tiger and dragon constellations.”

  Ryuuza tensed, her gaze sliding faster across the crowd. She said something in Japanese that I didn’t get, which made Caine casually scan the crowd.

  “Five guys, black suits,” he said, “not here to dance. They’re not even looking at the women, and they’re packing.”

  Aimi nodded, standing. “We’ll slip out the back. Be a love, Caine, and distract them for me.”

  He grinned. “Sure, but do me a favor and drop Grace off.”

  She glanced at me without emotion and flicked her wrist, beckoning with a finger. “Come.”

  If I’d had a collar and leash, she’d just have tugged on it. Still, I did nee
d to stay close to the target, especially since Virgil’s hit team had been spotted before getting close. Plan A had been a grab attempt against Aimi, during which I was supposed to play the hero. We were on to plan B now; the second team in the alley.

  Caine stood along with me. He leaned over, brushed his lips against my cheek, and murmured, “You owe me one for not busting your cover.”

  Seiza moved in, grabbed my arm, and hauled me along in Aimi’s wake. From the corner of my eye, I saw a couple of the black suits increase speed, going for an interception. After that, I lost track of the action, having to watch where I was being dragged, but heard sounds that might have come from bodies slamming into tables, scattering chairs. Men cursed, women squealed, and the crowd buzz picked up a notch or two.

  We turned into a short hallway, passed the restrooms, and exploded out a rear exit into a dingy, double-wide alley jammed with hooded gunmen. My arm was released. The guns froze the bodyguards; the odds were too great for them to risk their mistress’ life. They’d wait for a better time, for a moment of distraction. This was my cue, especially since I knew the gunmen were using blanks, and would play along to make me look good.

  None of the girls were watching me. I crossed over, feeling an electric tingle as gray tones swept in and orange fire hazed my body. The shift brought Cassie into view next to me. She was sheathed in black with a hood concealing her long hair. I handed her my purse. She tucked it away somewhere and picked me up. I hadn’t liked all the practice time she’d made me put into this next maneuver, but I was glad now, able to relax as she used all her strength in the reduced gravity to toss me high above the crowd.

  He voice followed. “Go get ‘em, honey.”

  I twisted, tucked, and snapped out of a ball above the middle gunmen, aiming to land just behind them. Before dropping into the girls’ range of sight, I crossed back again. My aura went invisible. Golden skin became pale white. Gravity grabbed me with both hands and slammed me down. Landing, my feet not quite down yet, I lashed out with chops to the neck. My momentum made me hit them harder than I’d intended, but at least it looked real. I hoped they wouldn’t be mad at me later.