Ninja Girl: The Nine Wiles

by Steven W. White

"Because what would you do? Try some crazy rescue attempt to free your aunt? I don't want to see you riddled with bullet holes, Ash. Trust me. This is safer."

  "Drake..." She yanked again. It was just a strip of plastic, but with her little wrist, it might have been steel. "Please..."

  He shook his head. "I've got to go now."

  "You what?" Ash reached with her left hand and grabbed the zippered lining of his waterproof coat.

  He made no move to break free. "I saw you clip your backpack to the underside of the bridge. I've been wondering why you would do that. But then, if the page is no longer in the library... maybe I have the answer."

  Ash froze. The strength seeped from her fingers.

  "If I'm right," Drake continued, "then you snatched it from the library right under my father's nose. That's pretty incredible." He took a step back, stretching Ash's body. She held on, refusing to let him go. He took another step, and she howled in pain as he pulled free.

  She grabbed for him, her fingers catching nothing but air.

  "How long do you think it would take for them to figure out that you have it?" he asked. "How long do you think you would live?"

  Panic bolted through her, making her shiver. "Drake, no. You can't."

  "You're going to hate me. But you'll be safe. And I need you to be safe, Ash." He watched her for a long moment. "More than you know."

  "Drake! Don't do this!"

  "The sun will be up in a few hours. It hits this slope first thing. Just holler, and the lodge staff will find you."

  "Please!"

  "I wish..." He fell perfectly silent. "Never mind. Forget it." He turned and walked away, in the direction of the power plant. His footsteps in the grass faded against the roar of the falls, and he disappeared into the mist.

  34

  The dampness in the air settled into Ash's skin and clothes. Her legs had lost their strength, and she half-sat, half-crouched, hanging from the fence by her pinned arm.

  There were no words to express the magnitude of her failure. She'd blown everything, and lost everything. Some dark, hidden part of her insides could no longer feel pain, and felt dead.

  She stood for the third time and pulled savagely at the zip-tie. It cut into her wrist. Pain burned through her flesh, but she didn't care. She pulled harder. The narrow strip of plastic held.

  She pried at it with the fingers of her free hand, trying to slip out of the loop. It was too tight. She folded her thumb against her palm and pressed it down, trying to make her hand smaller, and pulled again, trying to work the plastic over her damp skin. It wedged against the base of her thumb.

  But it had moved, a little.

  She did have small hands.

  Ash twisted her trapped hand back and forth and pulled at the plastic, tugging at each end repeatedly: pinkie, thumb, pinkie, thumb. She didn't seem to be making any progress, and her trapped thumb was starting to cramp.

  But she remembered the second Wile, and how the tree had grown through its chains so slowly that no one had seen it happen. So she kept it up, as the falls continued their eternal roar, a sound that seemed to have settled into her ears.

  All at once, her hand came free. Ash groaned and sat in the wet grass. She massaged her wrist until her fingers worked again.

  Then she forced herself to her feet and ran through the darkness to the power plant. She picked her way over the rocks to the water's edge and checked under the bridge.

  The pack was gone.

  How could Drake have gotten to it? But Ash knew better than to ask. Drake was easy to underestimate.

  She stretched her arms, rolled her shoulders, and started the crossing, hand over hand under the bridge. As the black water raced under her feet, she wondered what it would be like to just let go. She would splash into the icy river, and just as she came up for air, her body would wash over the falls...

  She glanced past her arm, to where the water plummeted into the chasm and mist rose into the spotlights. There was a mesh that ran across the river, just before the falls, like a tennis net. For safety, she guessed. To catch idiots who fell in. Her body would be pinned by the current against that net until she was rescued. Or drowned.

  Ash climbed on, her fingers aching, until she reached the river's edge beside the Salish Lodge. She climbed the fence and reached the parking lot. The sound of the falls no longer echoed in her skull.

  Drake's Audi was gone.

  Ash stood in the empty parking spot, feeling the car's absence like a wound. He had really done it. He had betrayed her.

  And she had made it easy for him.

  She sat on the curb and put her face in her hands. Her fingers brushed her black eye and a bolt of pain shot through it. She jerked her hand away and sighed, as that eye teared up, stinging.

  She had to pull herself together. She needed a new plan. But all she could think of was curling up and dying.

  The sound of a car engine came to her. Probably vacationers visiting the hotel, maybe an old couple – and here she was, weeping on the curb. They would stop if they saw her.

  "Are you okay?" they would ask. "Where are your parents, little girl?"

  Sure enough, the car stopped right in front of her. It was a gray Volvo. The passenger-side window went down.

  "You want a ride?" Spencer asked from behind the wheel. "Or do you want to sit there all night?"

  #

  Spencer drove westbound on I-90, back toward Seattle, at three miles per hour under the speed limit. The dashboard clock read 1:21 AM.

  "You waited for me," Ash said. It wasn't a question. She wasn't sure why she said it.

  "Yeah." Spencer kept his eyes on the road. "I wasn't going to just leave you."

  Ash sighed. "You're always going after the story."

  He glanced at her. "That's not it."

  She was halfway through a second night with almost no sleep, and as the Volvo's engine lulled her, she sank into the heated seat. Fatigue settled into her body. She leaned back, sagging, limp as a crash-test dummy. Her eyes closed. "You didn't see Drake's Audi pull out of the lot, did you?"

  "I did."

  Her eyes opened. "Did you see which way it went?"

  "Nope. I was looking for you."

  Her eyes closed. She slipped away for a moment, and fought her way back. "Spencer... I'm falling asleep." But so what? At least she couldn't do any more harm that way.

  "Go ahead."

  #

  The dream came out of the darkness as soft as water, like a rising tide. The studio lights were bright white. She could feel their heat. The students lined up at the barre and did tendu exercises in precise unison.

  Ash hurried to join them. She was late.

  But there was no room. Everywhere she looked, a tall girl in pink and black lifted and fell, fingers floating, carriage high, poise perfect.

  Miss Claudine stood beside her, watching the dancers. "Aren't they lovely, Miss Ashley? So graceful, so feminine. Such marvelous girls. Ah," she caught herself. "I shouldn't say girls any more. They are young women now, certainly. On their way to make their impression on the world."

  Miss Claudine turned to Ash and held her gaze. "A shame you cannot join them. Such a shame."

  #

  Motion stirred Ash from sleep, and she woke to find the car pulling into the driveway of her house. She had experienced this feeling a thousand times before, and for a confusing moment, she wondered why this wasn't her father's familiar car. She turned, rolling her head on the headrest, and saw Spencer behind the wheel instead of her dad.

  And it all came back.

  "Are you going to be okay?" Spencer asked.

  No, she wasn't. "Yeah."

  "So... what now?"

  The porch light was on. Dad had to be worried sick about her. At this hour, maybe trying to sleep. Ash wanted to wake him up and let him know that she was safe.

  And to say she was sorry.

  "Thanks for the ride, Spencer."

  "So you're... calling it a night?"


  She stared longingly at her front walk, and turned to him. "I'm sorry. I'm going to bed, and tomorrow, my dad and I are going to try to keep me out of jail."

  He watched her, soft light from the dash turning his cheek blue. "You sure?"

  Drake's voice came back to her. I know you're not a ninja.

  "There's no story here," she said. "There's nothing left that I can do." She opened the car's door and climbed out. It occurred to her that if Spencer hadn't given her a ride to the falls, she would still have the Mutus Liber page.

  But that wasn't his fault. It was hers. "Thank you for everything." She shut the car door.

  Spencer rolled down the passenger-side window. "I know that punk broke your heart. But broken hearts heal. Believe me, I know." He shifted into reverse, and the Volvo rolled into the street. A moment later, it was gone.

  You don't know anything, she thought. And in that, she envied him. She walked to the front door. A note was taped beneath the peephole.

  Ash,

  Wake me. We need to talk. I love you.

  Dad

  Where was her house key?

  In her backpack.

  With Drake.

  What now? Knock? Wake dad?

  Her knuckles hesitated over the door.

  Drake...

  She should have thrown him into the falls when she had the chance. Her whole approach had been wrong. She had wanted to talk to him, to get his help. She had met him and appealed to him directly, honestly, straight up, no tricks.

  Why had she done it that way?

  That wasn't how ninjas did things.

  And a ninja wouldn't knock. Ash remembered that her bedroom window was unlocked as always. She didn't have to wake her dad. And Elsbeth's trunk, in the hall...

  That was unlocked, too.

  And Spencer had said Elsbeth was at Seattle City Corrections. Downtown somewhere. Maybe Ash could find it.

  And it was just past two in the morning. So she had a few hours of darkness left.

  Why had she believed that she had lost everything? That she had nothing left?

  She had all she needed.

  Maybe she wasn't a ninja. Maybe she was. But she knew for sure that she wasn't anything else.

  Ash put her hand flat on the door, feeling the grain of the wood. She had almost knocked. That would have spoiled everything.

  Ash slipped away from the porch and along the front wall to the drainage pipe under her bedroom window. She scaled it to her room, leaned over... and couldn't reach the window clasp.

  It had always been too far to reach. What to do? She was surprised to find that she wasn't upset or concerned, but only charmed by the challenge. She set her toes against the pipe, and let go of it with both hands, sliding along the wall to the window. She caught the sill as she fell, stopping herself, and eased the window open slowly and quietly.

  A quick hop, and she stood in the darkness of her bedroom. She shivered with breathless joy, since she hadn't known if she would ever stand in this spot again.

  Her room.

  If only she could climb into that bed, snuggle under that comforter. But not now; there was too much good work to do. She dropped and rolled halfway under her bed, grabbed the bundle of black pajamas there, and pulled it out. Sitting on top of the folded square of perfect, light-swallowing ink was Punchy, her knuckle-buster.

  She picked it up. It had taken a thousand blows from her, and its pristine condition – not even a splinter – mocked her. She fixed it in her left hand and reared back her right fist.

  She would break it right now. It would be like an omen.

  But the sound could wake her dad downstairs.

  She sighed and tossed Punchy under the bed, unbroken. No omen for her. But she didn't need one. She would make her own luck, with her own iron will, by choosing her moment, imperfect as it was, third-Wile-style.

  Ash drew the star from the dark bundle. It gleamed gold, catching the light from streetlights out her window. She would take it with her, of course. She needed every edge she could get.

  And there was another edge Ash needed in the trunk downstairs. A very, very sharp edge.

  She crept down the stairs, placing her feet on each step near the railing, so the boards wouldn't creak. In the hall, she eased open the trunk. Under Elsbeth's clothes, Ash found the scabbard. She took a deep breath, and lifted it out.

  Its powerful weight made her pause. Elsbeth had refused to let her touch it. Was Ash ready for something this dangerous?

  She pushed the thought aside. Tonight was not a night for rules. She gripped the handle and slipped the sword a few inches free of the scabbard. The blade gleamed silver.

  Please, she thought, don't let me kill anybody with this thing.

  Ash put the strap over her shoulder and let the scabbard settle into place on her back. She closed the trunk and started up the stairs, but a sound made her freeze. Steady, deep, soft... hiding under the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

  Breathing.

  Dad, in the bedroom. Asleep.

  Ash listened, noting the rhythm. He was out – no trouble from him tonight. Ash kept listening, not quite willing to move on. The sound calmed her. At least he was finally getting some rest.

  She floated through darkness along the downstairs hall to her father's room. She wanted to make sure he was safely asleep, to see that he was okay, that he was undisturbed...

  She wanted to see him again.

  His bedroom door was partly open.

  Ash leaned in. The room was colored a faint blue from the glowing numbers on the bedstand clock radio. Dad lay on his stomach in the bed, his arm over his head and his legs tangled in the sheets. It looked like he had been tossing and turning.

  Dad had always taken care of her. How awful this had to be for him. Ash could never make it up to him, could never earn his forgiveness. And worse, assuming that she could bring Elsbeth safely home... Ash could never be sure of keeping him safe. The stakes were too high and the players in this new game were too dangerous. So what would become of him?

  Ash felt tears welling up. I'm sorry, Dad. I'll see you again soon.

  He shifted. If he woke while Ash stood there, she would have to explain the sword on her back. She wiped her eyes and slipped into the hall. Then she crept upstairs, hugging the railing to avoid squeaking steps, and reached her bedroom.

  She set the sword on the bed and changed without a sound, sliding on each black piece, working her fingers through the holes in the gloves, and finally, pulling the silky cap low over her eyes and the neck piece up over her mouth and nose.

  She flicked off the light and turned to her reflection. A soft thrill of fear ran through her at the sight of the shadow in the mirror.

  Who was that? Ash felt a strange sense that she was looking at someone else, some other dark figure. It had to be her, though. So... who was she now? What happened to her when she slipped into these clothes?

  No time. She plucked up the star and slipped it into the pocket at the small of her back. The scabbard fell into place over her shoulder. She paused with her feet on the window sill, the soles of her slippers gripping the edge, and gazed down the quiet street.

  Now, where do you put a prison in a big city like Seattle? On a normal day, Ash would have searched the web for it, but she didn't want to turn on her computer and start typing away, not with Dad asleep downstairs. Too risky. She needed some quick internet access.

  And all she could think of was Mule's new smartphone.

  She lunged for the drain pipe, caught it without a sound, and clambered to the roof. Once there, she leaped to the next roof, and the next.

  35

  Mule lived on the east side of Magnolia, in the last row of houses before the apartment complexes and train tracks. Ash bound over the rooftops, landing softly and pacing herself, until she dropped into the grassy sideyard of the Danneker residence.

  It was an older house, with a sunken backyard featuring a trio of enormous pine trees. Ash could smell the d
usty wood of a stack of pallets leaning against the wall, and some rot from the trash bin. She crossed to the backyard, slipping her feet toe-first into the tall grass so she wouldn't make crunching noises.

  Mule's domain was the basement. He had his own tiny bedroom down there, and a living room with an old couch and television, with direct access through a back door.

  That door was usually locked. Ash didn't even try it.

  Instead, she slinked to a narrow window, a third the size of her own bedroom window, and barely knee high. It opened into Mule's living room and was set in the wall near the ceiling, over the washing machine. Mule kept it unlocked, so he could still get inside if he lost his keys and his parents weren't home. Mule lost his keys almost as often as he lost his cell phone.

  Hard to imagine Mule squeezing through there. No problem for her, though. She knelt in the grass and peeked in.

  The lights were out, but the TV in the corner flickered rhythmically. Ash pressed her cheek to the window frame and tried to see the TV screen. On it, hovering over a bombed-out cityscape, were the pulsing words

  SAVE Y/N

  CONTINUE Y/N

  The couch sat in the middle of the room, facing the TV. She could see Mule's messy brown hair over the back of it. He was leaning back and not moving. Through the glass, she could hear him snoring. She gripped the top of the window frame in her fingertips and pulled out. It rotated open along the hinge at the bottom, coming to rest as a chain on the side pulled taut.

  She listened to him snore for a bit, then decided it was safe enough.

  She held on to the brick wall and slipped through the window feet first, her black-clad butt sliding on the sloped glass until her slippers came to rest on the washing machine. Then she dropped to the concrete floor inside.

  The back of Mule's head didn't move. His open bedroom door was directly in front of her, and she padded through it. The bedroom had been built into the corner of the living room, made of temporary walls barely ten feet across. His bed was a single mattress on the floor. The phone sat on a desk in the corner, next to his wallet and backpack.

  Ash picked it up. Her fingers probed its edges until she found the power button. Its screen lit with an image of the battery, "22% remaining," and filled the room with cold light. She faced the open door and crouched, to keep the light from pouring into the living room.