Surrender to Darkness Page 27

  “Can you disarm it?”

  “Not easily,” he admitted. “But with time and study, I’m sure I can weave a counterhex.”

  Another crumb produced a splash and a fin. “How much time?”

  “Until I work on it, I can’t say.”

  She glanced up at the trailer, which was visible on the other side of the forge. Time was a commodity they were quickly running out of. “Could you not consult with the mage? He might listen to you, as one mystic to another.”

  “I doubt that,” Sora said, smiling faintly. “He does not wish me to come near the trailer.”

  Her gaze slid back to his face. “How do you know?”

  “He has erected a barrier spell.”

  “Specific to you?” At his nod, she sighed heavily. “He’s being very difficult, eroding our efforts at every turn. Our dependency upon his good nature is very frustrating.”

  “Yes.” Sora scratched his chin. “Of course, the barrier spell does not prevent you from knocking on his door.”

  “I doubt he would agree to speak with me. He slammed that very door in my face the first night I was here.”

  “Go as my emissary.”

  She frowned. “How would that help?”

  “The barrier spell is not a blast-repel. It is merely a ‘do not enter.’ More of a defensive spell than an offensive one.” Sora shrugged. “That would suggest he might still extend me a professional courtesy.”

  Kiyoko tossed the remaining handful of crumbs in the water, inciting a frenzy. “And as your emissary, what shall I do?”

  “Ask for the book and the disarm phrase for the blanket spell.”

  She laughed. “Do you expect him to just give them to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Sora plucked a piece of rush fluff off his black sleeve and blew it gently into the air. “Because he doesn’t want to see the Veil fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Really? He hasn’t lifted a finger to help us so far.”

  “He’s busy.”

  She tossed the sensei a hard look. “With what?”

  “Judging by the mystical dust flying about the trailer, I’d guess he’s trying to destroy the Veil.”

  Kiyoko’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure? Why didn’t you mention this? If he succeeds before I transcend—”

  “A guess is never certain,” he said, with a mild note of rebuke. “As for why I did not speak up, I only just concluded his intent this very minute.”

  She glanced up at the hazy blue sky. Several hours remained in the day—more than enough time to attempt the transcendence. “When is the next auspicious day?”

  “Sunday.”

  Almost a full week away. “You know the relic well. How likely is it that the mage will succeed?”

  Hitching up the hem of his robe, he peered at his toes as he wriggled them in the blades of grass. “I have been searching for a way to destroy the Veil since the day we acquired it. To no avail.”

  The knot in her belly eased. Years.

  “But the mage has talents I don’t possess,” Sora added.

  Perhaps. But the sensei was a modest man. He had skills beyond the norm, too. “I’ve decided not to attempt the transcendence without Murdoch’s cooperation. I refuse to delve into his auras and borrow his berserker’s strength behind his back.”

  The old onmyōji shrugged. “Then wait. The risk of the Veil being destroyed before Sunday is small.”

  Kiyoko agreed. Holding Brian Webster off for another week would be a challenge, but with Lena on her side, the chances of success were excellent there, too. Decision made, she once again turned her attention to the trailer. “I just knock on the door and ask politely?”

  “Indeed.”

  “All right.” She left him standing by the water’s edge and crossed the yard to the trailer. At the stone path leading to the front door, she paused to gather her courage.

  Before she could take another step, the door flew open.

  The mage stood in the entrance, his clothing wrinkled and askew, his already unruly hair a jumble of dull black curls atop his head. His face seemed thinner than she remembered, even with the dark stubble on his chin. In his hands he held a large square tome embossed with gold foil and Egyptian hieroglyphics.

  “Here,” he said, holding out the book. “Take it.”

  She darted forward and claimed the leather tome. It was surprisingly light for such a big book.

  “Tell him the disarm spell is on a piece of paper stuck in the front. Now go away.”

  Kiyoko hesitated. Then decided she had nothing to lose. “If you succeed in finding a way to destroy the Veil, I would appreciate some warning before you do it.”

  His gaze met hers, bleak. “I can’t promise that.”

  “I don’t need a promise, just an effort.”

  He nodded. “I’ll do my best.

  Then he slammed the door in her face. For a second time.

  Emily was in the middle of a spin attack on Murdoch when a cold finger ran down her spine. Since she was in a warm, brightly lit arena at the time, the eerie sensation startled her enough to throw her off balance, and the tip of her sword sliced through his sleeve and into his arm.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” She grimaced at the blood that immediately stained the gray cotton. “Should I get a Band-Aid?”

  He peered between the crimson edges of the hole in his shirt. “No, it’s nothing serious.” Then he looked up. “Are you all right? You haven’t had this much trouble concentrating in months.”

  “I just got a weird feeling, that’s all. You know, like when you go down into a dark basement and you get the creepy sense that something’s watching you from behind the boxes of Christmas decorations?”

  He stared at her, blank-eyed.

  “Oh, never mind.” She resumed her guard position, feet planted shoulder width apart. “Let’s keep going.”

  Murdoch did not raise his sword. A frown was gaining ground on his face. “Did you do a sweep for Azazel?”

  “Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago. Nada.”

  “Do another one.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. Arguing with Murdoch was pointless. The guy was as bullheaded as they came.

  Rolling her shoulders to help her relax, she mentally reached out across the dusk-shrouded acres, sweeping over buildings, land, and trees until she met the fence that bordered the entire perimeter of the ranch. Diving deeper into the buildings, she measured and accounted for each and every person, human and inhuman. None had the purple-rimmed core she’d been told would identify Azazel, and none had the shiny, almost too-perfect core she now associated with Ryuji Watanabe.

  “Nothing,” she confirmed.

  Murdoch wasn’t satisfied by her answer. “How many people are on the ranch?”

  “Including me and you? Ninety-one. It was ninety-four until an hour ago, when my mom and Lachlan left.” She wrinkled her nose. “Did they by any chance leave something with you, to give to me? Tomorrow, like?”

  “And where’s Hill?”

  “Behind you, in the weight room.”

  “Are you sure? I thought I saw him leave with Jensen.”

  She gave him her best rendition of an evil eye. “Am I sure? Are you kidding? Want me to call him out here?”

  “No need to get testy. I’m just being careful.” He tapped the flat of her blade with his own. “Let’s try that spin again.”

  She waited until he was in position, then repeated the spin, this time from the opposite side and this time with no error. He had to move swiftly to parry her attack.

  “So,” she said, as she landed softly in the sand. “With my mom gone, who’s going to bake my birthday cake? Do not tell me it’s Lena, because I’ll barf.”

  Kiyoko left the Book of Judgment with Sora.

  Although he freely admitted he could not read ancient Egyptian, he was fascinated by the intricate renderings on the pages. Taking great care not to unnecessarily crease the
pages, he spread the book open on one of the tables in the bunkhouse lounge.

  “Take it to Lena when you’re done,” she told him. “She knows which one activates the Shattered Halo, and she can translate the text. She’ll also know when they want you to disarm the blanket spell.”

  The ranch house was quiet when she entered, with only a few faint clicking noises coming from the back room where Carter had his communications hub. Everyone was down at the arena, where the new trainees were being outfitted with practice swords and the basics of how to wield them.

  Kiyoko climbed the stairs.

  As tempting as it was to watch Murdoch put the group of Gatherers through their paces, sleep had more appeal. The day’s roller-coaster ride of emotions had taken its toll. And frankly, sleeping through the last hours of the day was preferable to endlessly second-guessing her decision not to transcend.

  She opened the door and flicked on the light.

  Darkness was banished to a few small corners of the room.

  Her eyes were drawn to the shadow between the dresser and wall, which seemed deeper than the others. Spying nothing but a garbage pail in the gloom, she crossed to the window and closed the curtains.

  Sharing her feelings with Murdoch had been a mistake.

  He had—naturally and incorrectly—assumed that she needed him to reciprocate. Most people who said I love you had an expectation, or a hope, that the sentiment would be returned. She had none. She had simply learned the hard way that life did not always give you opportunity to say the things you wanted to say.

  Rustling through her suitcase, which she had yet to unpack, she located a fresh pair of pajamas. Black fleece shorts and a tank top. She peeled off her pink tee, then paused. Listening. Not certain what had caught her attention, she slowly pivoted.

  The room was empty, and nothing was out of place.

  Still, she hastily tugged the black tank top over her bare breasts. Sora said such moments were caused by the random appearance of ancestral spirits. She grimaced. She did not need her grandparents seeing her naked.

  Removing the black belt, she folded it neatly and tucked it under her pillow. Then she finished changing, brushed her teeth, and turned off the light. As she laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, a soft sigh froze the breath in her chest.

  Her right hand closed around the scabbard of her katana, lying on the bed beside her. She listened very carefully for another sound, ready to leap up and face her attacker. But a long minute passed without incident. Then another. When a full five minutes had gone by, she relaxed and looked around.

  Nothing.

  Must have just been the floorboards.

  Settling her thoughts with a few concentrated breaths, Kiyoko closed her eyes again. Moments later, she was asleep.

  Murdoch sank onto the brown velvet armchair in his room, leaned back with the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, and contemplated the mess that was his afterlife.

  For seven hundred years, his goals had been simple: be the best warrior he could be, err on the side of honor, and earn his way into heaven one soul at a time. Yes, he was a tad ambitious and sought reasonable recognition from his peers. Yes, he wanted to earn the title of leader. But in the end, he’d be content so long as Saint Peter didn’t kick him in the ass when he showed up at the Pearly Gates.

  Or so he’d thought.

  Until he met Kiyoko.

  Now he wanted something more. Happiness.

  He had too little experience with love to use it as a label for how he felt. All he knew was that being with her made him happy, and he wanted the warm feeling she created in his chest to go on and on. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he deserved to have happiness, but now that it was within his grasp, he found himself very reluctant to let it go. To let Kiyoko go.

  And therein lay the other half of the problem.

  This transcendence crap.

  He was torn over it.

  The promise was very seductive. After all, if she transcended, she would become immortal, like him. Or something very similar. With a human life span no longer their curse, they could enjoy several hundred years together instead of ten or twenty. And even if she chose not to spend those years with him, so long as she was healthy and happy, he’d rejoice.

  But what price was he willing to pay?

  If the ritual went awry and she died, it would rip his bloody heart out. And if his berserker was the cause of her death, misery would define the rest of his existence.

  Laughter erupted in the hallway and several booted feet stomped past his door. He checked his watch. Two in the morning. He had warned the new trainees that tomorrow would start early, but most had been too eager and excited to fall into bed. Gathering was a very lonely role, and this would be the first time many of them had exchanged more than five words with a peer.

  He remembered the euphoria.

  But it wouldn’t make him any more sympathetic when they dragged their lazy, late asses into the arena.

  Not that Gatherers needed sleep. They didn’t. But newbies tended to live by the same rules they’d followed when they were alive. Which meant they often slept until noon, especially if they had a gather during the night.

  He unbuckled his boots.

  Tomorrow would be fun.

  A fist pounded on his door. “Mr. Murdoch. Ah, shit. Mr. Murdoch, you’ve got to come. We need you.”

  He yanked open the door.

  One of the trainees stood there. A tall blond fellow, ghastly pale and shaking. There was something that looked suspiciously like puke in the corner of his mouth.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Derek. Derek Kowalski.” The words came out fast. Then he gulped. “Or, at least, I think it’s Derek. Oh, God, it must be. I just don’t know.”

  Murdoch’s right hand felt for and found the hilt of his sword. “Slow down. What’s your name?”

  “Johann Werner.”

  “All right, Werner. Take a deep breath, then lead me to Derek. On the way, you can tell me exactly what happened.”

  Murdoch followed the man to the side door, and out into the yard. A solitary lamp fixed to the bunkhouse wall held back the dark night.

  “We came out for a smoke,” Werner said as they walked. “Derek had to take a leak, so he went into the woods. Not far, just behind this tree.” The young man halted abruptly. “One minute he was laughing and pissing, the next, nothing. Just silence. I got freaked-out, so I checked on him and this is what I found.”

  He pointed behind the tree.

  Murdoch scanned the trees, looking for anything out of the ordinary. But all he saw were trunks and branches and shadows. No demons. He drew his sword, just to be safe; then he stepped around Werner.

  “Christ.” Murdoch swallowed.

  “Yeah.”

  If it had been a man once, it didn’t resemble one now. More like a lumpy pool of skin, hair, and clothing. No blood, no separated limbs, but there was no doubt the poor bugger was dead.

  “It happened so quickly. I never had a chance to do anything. What sort of thing can do that?” Werner asked, his voice begging for reassurance.

  Which Murdoch couldn’t offer.

  “I don’t know.” He glanced up at the ranch house. The windows were dark except for one lonely light in the back. His berserker flexed under his skin, sending a rush of hot blood coursing through his veins. Kiyoko. “Go back to the bunkhouse, wake everyone, and gather in the common room. Hill and Lafleur will know what to do. No one goes outside until I return.”

  Werner nodded and took off.

  Murdoch crossed the yard to the main house in under ten seconds. He entered the kitchen through the back door. The house was silent and still.

  Unlike Murdoch’s heart.

  Emily first, then Kiyoko, then Webster and Lena.

  He darted into the hall and promptly slid on something gooey and soft, nearly falling. A glance down confirmed his worst thought. Another body. Equally boneless. Equally dead. With red hair.


  He choked back a wave of nausea.

  Dear God. It was Carter.

  With as much respect as he could manage, he stepped clear of the puddled flesh. And then ran for the stairs. If anything had happened to—

  He couldn’t even finish the thought.

  Throwing open the door at the top of the stairs, he quickly verified that Emily was still in bed and seemingly whole. She sat up, bleary-eyed, and gasped, “What? What’s wrong?”

  Murdoch didn’t hang around to answer. He tore down the hall to Kiyoko’s room—his room—and flung open the door. The bed was empty. Oh, Christ. His gaze skimmed the hardwood floor, dread a claw in his chest.

  The toilet flushed and Kiyoko stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Her face was puffy with sleep and her hair was a knotted mess on one side, but she had never looked more beautiful or more alive.

  He breathed.

  “Go get Sora. Make sure he’s okay.” He turned and rapped on Webster’s bedroom door. “We’ve got a major problem.”

  Webster yanked open the door, Lena right behind him. Both were scantily clad. “What kind of problem?”

  Everyone upstairs was safe. Murdoch’s pulse ratcheted down a notch as his berserker receded. But he still had no idea what the hell they were dealing with. “I’ve got two dead Gatherers and no sign of any demons.”

  He explained what he’d found.

  “Boneless?” asked Emily, from her bedroom door. “Did you say they were boneless? As in attacked by bone-sappers?”

  “Lord, I hope not,” muttered Lena. “To be safe, we should turn on all the lights. Right now. Every one of them.”

  “Hold on,” Murdoch said. “Let’s not panic. Bone-sappers feed off spirit bones, not real ones.”

  Lena nodded. “True. But Gatherers are spirits. A rather meaty form of spirit, perhaps, but we’re definitely culled from the primal energy field.”

  “If we assume that it’s bone-sappers,” Webster said, “how did they get here? Are we dealing with an open portal somewhere?”

  “Absolutely. They have to be escaping somehow.”

  “No.” Emily spoke firmly. “I don’t think it’s an open portal. I think it’s Azazel. He’s sending them here.”