Surrender to Darkness Read online

  “Actually,” she said, “I already have an answer. But you aren’t going to like it.”

  Although Kiyoko’s insistence on returning to Murdoch’s side had infuriated him, Azazel did all his seething beneath the surface. Questioning her further about the information in the oracle was vital. Instead of allowing her to eat breakfast, he should have dragged her off to his room. He slowly consumed the sickeningly sweet cinnamon roll, displaying all the professional demeanor and unshakable calm that Ryuji Watanabe prided himself on.

  Or had. Right up to the end.

  No, including the end. The man had even died calm. Never begged for his life. Never cried. Worked right up until the end to free himself, yes, but never panicked and never whimpered. He’d been no fun at all. No wonder Kiyoko had been bored.

  He deposited his empty tray in the rack near the kitchen and left the cafeteria. The time spent here had not been wasted. A loud young Irishman by the name of Quinn had helped him out immensely. He now knew the Gatherers would be absent en masse on Saturday night. MacGregor had planned a large-scale field mission to wrap up the training session and make up for today’s lost lesson.

  With almost everyone away, absconding with the Temple Veil would be a simple task. All he had to do now was locate the damned thing. With an old-fashioned physical search, since there was some kind of dampening spell over the ranch. Still, how hard could it be? The relic had to be somewhere amid the small set of belongings she had brought with her from Japan.

  He stepped out into the midmorning light and, almost on cue, a cloud slithered over the sun.

  Of course, his presence on the ranch presented him with a unique secondary opportunity. If he could find a way to seriously weaken the Soul Gatherers, it would only smooth his way back to the Great Lord’s right hand.

  Azazel let his gaze wander the grounds, mentally noting the purpose of each building. House, garage, arena … He paused. A simple wooden structure was visible through the trees to his left, gently releasing thin ribbons of woodsmoke into the air from a metal chimney. An old-fashioned forge, if his eyes didn’t betray him.

  Where the mage crafted the Soul Gatherer weapons.

  Azazel smiled.

  Swordsmithing was an art he knew well, having been the tarnished soul who introduced mankind to war several millennia ago. All he needed to do was breathe on the coals to coat them in demonic purpose. Then the next time they were stoked into hot flame, fatal flaws would be injected into the process. Flaws that wouldn’t be noticeable until the moment the weapon failed.

  Crossing the grass to the small copse, he wended through the tree trunks, keeping to the darker shadows, until he could see inside the open doors of the building. It was empty. An impressive array of hammers and tongs hung on the walls, each neatly in its place. The blower was off and the coal tray in the hearth sat untended, slowly cooling. No half-worked item lay across the anvil; no sword stood clamped in the vise.

  He glanced at the closed curtains of a nearby tip-out trailer. No sign of activity at all. It would seem to be a perfect time to—

  “Stefan?”

  Azazel pulled back sharply, hugging the tree trunk.

  It was the girl. Emily. Striding up the gravel path from her stepfather’s house.

  He held his breath.

  If she reached out with her senses, she would almost assuredly spot him. Yes, he still wore the glamour of Ryuji Watanabe, but that wouldn’t protect him. The Japanese businessman had no cause to be visiting the mage. He’d be forced to mutter some stupid excuse that did not match the man’s intelligence. Questions would be raised. Plus, the more he bumped into the Trinity Soul, the more likely it became that she would see past the edges of his identity cloak.

  He did his best to become one with the tree.

  “Stefan, I know you’re in there,” Emily said, reaching the trailer. She pounded her fist against the thin metal door. “I need some help with a fire containment spell. Come on. Let me in.”

  There was no response from the trailer.

  “You’re being a jerk.” Face screwed up with determination, Emily circled around to the big bay window and tapped. “I’m not going to go away until you let me in.”

  Now out of clear view, Azazel took a careful step back, avoiding twigs and dried leaves. Better to return after dark, when Emily was indoors with her newly expanded family. He retreated another step. And another.

  “You know, I could pop in there if I wanted to,” Emily said, her voice muffled by the trees. “Don’t make me break Brian’s privacy rules.”

  Confident that he’d withdrawn far enough not to catch her attention, he turned and cut through the trees toward the ranch house. With Emily accounted for, now might be a good time to search Kiyoko’s room. Assuming she wasn’t entertaining Murdoch there.

  He frowned.

  Human women had once found him irresistible. Was Kiyoko’s fascination with Murdoch an oddity, or a sign that he had lost his touch? He had lingered in the between for ages before gaining enough strength to rebuild his physical form. Was it possible his allure had been diminished by the wait?

  He certainly hoped not.

  16

  “You can’t be serious.” Murdoch stared at Kiyoko, hoping to spot a glimmer of a smile. But there was nothing but resolve on her pretty face. “You plan to rouse my berserker, leverage its energy, and transcend to a higher plane of existence.”

  “Yes.”

  He shot to his feet. “Well, you must have lost your bloody mind, because that’s not a plan. That’s suicide.”

  “It’s risky,” she agreed. “But not impossible.”

  He glared at her. “Listen to yourself. You sound like a madwoman. Sora has filled your head with absolute nonsense—this transcending thing is bullshit. There’s only life and death. There’s no middle ground. Believe me, I’ve seen enough of death to know.”

  “Then how do you explain the existence of Soul Gatherers?”

  “It’s like a stay of execution. Temporary.”

  “But it’s also proof that a middle ground exists.” She rose, too, and touched his sleeve. “Think, too, about the pagan gods. You say that they exist, yet they do not reside here on the middle plane with us. Nor do I believe they dwell in the places you call heaven and hell.”

  “Do you seriously equate yourself with a god?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m just disputing your assertion that there are no other planes beyond the three that you know. The transcendence ritual enables me to hide my soul in one of those other planes, thus preventing Death from claiming it.”

  Murdoch sighed. “Fine. Let’s leave the concept of this other plane of existence alone for a moment. You still intend to get there by rousing the berserker. What part of being crushed to death did you miss?”

  “That was an accident.”

  “Accidents are a regular event around the beast,” Murdoch said. “He’s uncontrollable.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Did I not just recite the tale of my lamentable past? The one where I killed a lass for no other reason than that she stood between me and the man I meant to kill?”

  “Yes. But I am not a helpless damsel. And you are not the same man you once were.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Any control I purport to have is tenuous at best. All it takes is the right level of danger and I’m lost. I won’t allow the berserker to surface around you again. I can’t.”

  “Would you rather see me die?”

  He rounded on her. “Of course not. But you don’t need to do this. The Veil is still keeping you alive.”

  She nodded. “I believe I have a few months before my ability to draw from it is gone completely. I can live day by day, slowly growing weaker, until I wither away, gasping for my last breath. Or I can fight. Use my current health to good advantage, risk it all, and make a genuine bid to be whole again. Which would you choose, Murdoch?”

  That was an easy answer.

  But risking
his life was very different from risking Kiyoko’s. “I still believe Stefan can help. He’s being difficult at the moment, I acknowledge that, but he’ll come around.” He snatched the tartan blanket off the ground and stuffed it into the knapsack. “I’ll make him come around.”

  “Time is against us,” she said softly.

  “We have several months.”

  “No, we don’t. I need a minimum core strength to even attempt the transcendence. Every day my body absorbs less and less of the Veil’s power, and because the ritual can be performed only on specific dates, we will soon reach a point where the decision will be made for me.”

  He grimaced. “How much time are we talking?”

  “There are six auspicious days between now and the end of December. Beyond that, Sora-sensei says the chances of success are poor.”

  Six chances to save her life, then game over. No pressure at all. “When is the first one?”

  Her head bent. “Monday.”

  He stared at her. “You were going to try it without telling me, weren’t you?”

  A pale pink hue stained her cheeks.

  As her color rose, so did Murdoch’s suspicions. “And the kiss in the courtyard, did that conveniently occur on an auspicious day?”

  The flush deepened.

  “I am so going to kick your ass,” he said softly.

  Her gaze lifted. “I had no choice. Sora extracted my promise not to tell you, in case Death discovered our plans. Even if I had told you what I was doing, you would have refused to cooperate.”

  “You’re bloody right I’d have refused,” he said, twisting the canvas knapsack in his hands. “With good reason. Look at what happened.”

  Kiyoko tilted her head. “What did happen, Murdoch? To me, it seemed the berserker did not gain control until Sora-sensei shot you with the arrow. Do you remember kissing me?”

  “I remember everything the berserker does.”

  “Then you remember who did the kissing. Who was it? You or the berserker?”

  “Does it matter?” His hold on the knapsack gentled. “I thought he and I were one and the same?”

  “Stop being difficult. Answer the question.”

  “Me.” Murdoch hooked the knapsack over his shoulder and began the trek up the hill. “I kissed you. But I was barely hanging on, and if you think I’m going to put my desire ahead of your safety a second time, think again.”

  “Are you sure?” Emily asked Murdoch, admiring the teardrop-cut alexandrite-and-diamond pendant hanging from an elegant silver chain. “It’s kind of expensive.”

  He frowned, taking the necklace from her and handing it to the saleswoman. “Let me worry about the price. You only turn sixteen once.”

  “But I feel bad. You had to sell your car.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t keep bringing that up.”

  “I can’t help it. I loved your Mustang, and I’ll be reminded that it’s gone every time we have to drive downtown in Lafleur’s crappy old pickup truck.”

  Murdoch parted with a wad of his hard-earned cash, accepted the small bag in return, and then led Emily out of the jewelry store and onto Santana Row. “Shall we hit Ben and Jerry’s next?”

  “Sure.”

  He watched her twist a strand of blond hair into a tight knot, let it go, then do it again. “You seemed a little quiet on drive down here. Anything on your mind?”

  “A couple of things,” Emily admitted.

  “Such as?”

  “While you were gone, I had more of those weird dreams.”

  He arched a brow. “About the between?”

  “Yeah. I talked to Uriel about them, like you suggested, but he doesn’t know what the deal is, either. He’s checking on some stuff for me, though.”

  “Okay.” He pulled the door open and ushered her into the ice cream parlor. “Is that it?”

  “No.” Her gaze slid to the sign above the cashier. She chewed her lip as she studied the menu. “I’ll have a cup of vanilla.”

  “You must be the only person on the planet who comes here for the vanilla ice cream,” he said drily. “Don’t you want to try the Half Baked or the Chunky Monkey?”

  “Nope. I know what I like.”

  He ordered her cup and settled on a Pumpkin Cheese-cake cone for himself. “So what else is bothering you?”

  “The Japanese guy.”

  “Sora? Did he do something?”

  She shook her head. “No, not the sensei. I like him. He’s cool. I mean the other guy.”

  “Yoshio?”

  “Is he the one who dresses like Brian? With the nice sweaters and shoes?” she asked between spoonfuls of ice cream.

  “No, that’s Ryuji Watanabe.” Murdoch glanced at her. “I didn’t realize you’d spent any time with him.”

  “I haven’t. But when I went to see Stefan this afternoon, he was there, in the woods.”

  Murdoch halted in midlick. “You talked to Stefan? He came out of his trailer?”

  “No. He’s still being a jerk. I really don’t understand why he’s hiding. I could pop into his trailer anytime if I wanted to. Even into Dika’s castle, now that I know the entrance is there.”

  “He’s waiting for me to take Kiyoko away.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “You’d think he’d know better, being a mage and all. If the Veil exists, it exists. It doesn’t really matter where it exists. Trust me. The where is a minor detail.”

  “You can sense the Veil?”

  “Nope. Brian already asked me to try. There’s none of the rotting algae feeling that signals a dark relic anywhere inside the ranch compound.”

  Murdoch glared at her. “Webster asked you to look for it? When?”

  “Last night. After he talked to you.”

  “That bloody b—” He suddenly remembered who he was speaking to. “Rotter. He should have warned me. Kiyoko might have felt you searching for it.”

  “Did she?” Emily stopped eating her ice cream.

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “But she has special senses, like me?” the teen asked eagerly.

  “Not quite like you,” he said. “She reads auras.”

  Emily nodded. “The electromagnetic energy that people give off. That’s pretty neat. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me?”

  “You’d have to ask her.” Murdoch dumped his half-eaten cone in the garbage. “Would you mind terribly if we headed back to the ranch? I need to chat with Webster.”

  “Nah, I’m good. This was nice.” She scooped up the last of her ice cream, stuffed the spoon in her mouth, then tossed the cup. The spoon remained in her mouth until they reached the truck, where she stuck the now sparkling white utensil in the air vent, propping it wide-open. “Am I going to get in shit for telling you about the Veil search?”

  “I’ll be very diplomatic,” he promised.

  “With Brian?” She scrunched up her face. “No offense, Murdoch, but you guys are always this close to punching each other’s lights out. Do you even know what diplomatic means?”

  He grinned. “Perhaps not.”

  “Yeah, well, try not to kill him, okay? I need someone to train with.”

  Murdoch tossed her a glance as he coaxed the old pickup to life. “I’m a better sparring partner than Webster.”

  “Maybe. But so far, you’ve been kinda busy following Kiyoko around like a lost puppy.”

  “Excuse me? Did you just call me a puppy?”

  With a little effort, Murdoch managed to keep Emily smiling all the way to the ranch. Not quite the effervescent girl she’d been before Carlos but, hopefully, on the road to recovery.

  It was only after he’d parked the truck in the garage and she’d disappeared down the path toward her parents’ home that he realized she’d never explained exactly what it was about Watanabe that bothered her.

  When Kiyoko pushed open the door and entered the air-conditioned arena, Lena glanced up. If she hadn’t, Kiyoko would have made a speedy escape. But since she did, an acknowledg
ment was in order. “My apologies. I was looking for Sora-sensei.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “I can see that,” Kiyoko said, backing up. “I’ll keep looking.”

  “We can’t avoid each other forever.”

  Kiyoko smiled grimly. “I’m not aiming for forever. Just a few weeks.” She opened the door.

  “Wait, please.” Lena sheathed the sword she’d been practicing with and advanced across the sand. “I owe you an apology and I’d like you to hear me out.”

  Kiyoko halted, but did not shut the door.

  Tall and dark, the female Soul Gatherer had an exotic beauty that she played down with a tight ponytail and stark clothing. Kiyoko had rarely seen her flustered. But she wasn’t her usual self today.

  Lena stretched the fingers of one hand wide, then relaxed. “I should have been more open about my situation. I should have told you the thrall demons were blackmailing me, maybe even asked you for help. But I’ve never been very good at that. Asking for help.”

  Kiyoko waited for more.

  And it came. Stilted and awkward, but thick with emotion. “I apologize for involving you in my trade of the Judas coins. I was desperate to save Heather, but I knew you would never condone handing off a dark relic to the demons. It was unforgivable to use you and the other onmyōji to help me do it. I’m sorry.”

  It still stung. They’d been friends for eight years. Ever since they bid against each other over an inexpensive set of Victorian archaeological excavation tools at a London auction. But the healing had to start somewhere.

  “I accept your apology,” Kiyoko said.

  Lena released a soft sigh. “Thank you.”

  In the past, they would have hugged. Now they shook hands.

  “How is Heather?” Kiyoko asked.

  “Better every day. After she finished her program at the rehab center, she started volunteering there twice a week. It’s been good for her. She’s still in regular counseling, and still has some pretty rough days, but I’m hopeful.”

  “It’s good that she has you.”

  Lena nodded. “Brian’s been great with her. They’ve become quite close. He set her up with an apartment in town, helped her find a job, and introduced her to Narcotics Anonymous.”