Surrender to Darkness Page 6

  Kiyoko got a sudden image of Murdoch inside her home, his huge frame crowding the space, and it sent a strange little thrill down her spine. “Are you inviting yourself into my home, Mr. Murdoch?”

  He smiled. “No. But I was rather hoping you’d see your way to offering me a cup of ale before you put a boot to my ass.”

  “It’s rather early in the day for a beer.”

  “Aye, some might say that,” Murdoch said. He tucked the crystal away. “But I was weaned on the stuff. We’ll just blame it on the jet lag, shall we?”

  Sora smiled and headed for the dojo entrance. Kiyoko followed, slipping her feet back in her zori at the door. The traditional straw sandals were far more comfortable than shoes. “I trust a Japanese beer will suffice? We have no American ale.”

  “If it’s made from hops and fermented, it’ll do,” Murdoch said, stuffing his feet into his boots. A veritable bounty of silver buckles. “I’m not fussy.”

  The winding path to the house followed the edge of the cliff quite closely, offering them a spectacular view of the valley as they walked. Kiyoko knew the proximity to the sharp drop often disturbed first-time visitors, and she instinctively moved to claim the position closest to the cliffs. But Murdoch was too quick for her. He subtly inserted his body between her and the edge—ensuring her safety while also avoiding any skin contact.

  She smiled.

  An onimusha who was also a gentleman.

  As always, Umiko met them at the door. With a very formal bow for their guest, she ushered them into the wood-floored entranceway, where she offered Murdoch a warm pair of socks. Once his feet were suitably attired, she led them into the tea room, where an assortment of beer bottles stood alongside the teapot on the table. Most prominently displayed was a bottle of Sapporo beer.

  Kiyoko smiled. The woman was fiercely loyal, even to the local beer industry.

  No sooner had Murdoch ducked under the lintel separating the entranceway from the tea room than he was digging in his pocket for the crystal. Not entirely comfortable with the process, but extremely curious to see the results, Kiyoko watched him dangle the transparent stone on the chain once more.

  Her expectations were low.

  But apparently Murdoch’s were not. As he held the crystal aloft, he closed his eyes and a frown of intense concentration furrowed his brow. A moment passed. The frown deepened.

  “No vibration?” Kiyoko asked gently, as she knelt and poured tea into two cups.

  Murdoch lowered his arm and opened his eyes.

  “The vibration is weak, almost unnoticeable,” he said, dangerously soft. “But it’s there. One of you is hiding the relic, most likely beneath a mystical blanket spell.”

  “I know nothing of an evil relic,” she protested.

  Murdoch studied her face, reassured by the genuine confusion and shock he saw there. He swung his gaze to the old man, who appeared as calm as ever.

  “But you do,” Murdoch said firmly, lowering himself to a cushion.

  Sora picked up his tea. “Sample the beer, Mr. Murdoch. Take a moment to breathe.”

  “I didn’t fly halfway around the bloody world to breathe.” Although his words spilled out in a rush of irritation, a spark of satisfaction flickered to life in his chest. Webster had thought to send him on a fruitless mission. Instead, Murdoch would arrive home the victor, carrying a prize of immense value. “I came to find a relic that could be critical in defeating Satan. If you’re as dedicated to fighting demons as you say, you’ll give it to me.”

  “Nothing is ever that simple.”

  Kiyoko frowned at her mentor. “What relic does he speak of, sensei?”

  The old man stared at her over his teacup. “The Veil.”

  She went completely white. So white that Murdoch instinctively put a hand to her sleeve to steady her, prepared for a severe case of the vapors. But she dodged his hand and rose to her feet.

  “The Veil is a dark relic?” Her voice was thick with disgust, her hands balled into fists at her sides. From what he’d observed so far, a very unusual display of emotion from the woman.

  “Not entirely, no,” her mentor replied.

  Murdoch glanced at Sora. “Not entirely? What do you mean, not entirely? If Satan gets his hands on it, will it add to the misery he’s currently wreaking on the world? Yes or no?”

  Sora sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then it’s a dark relic.”

  Kiyoko spun around, her arms now wrapped around her waist. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded of Sora, her eyes dark and wide.

  The old master did not waver. “Because I knew you would refuse to use it.”

  Use it? Murdoch’s gaze flickered from Kiyoko to Sora and back.

  “Of course I would refuse,” Kiyoko said hotly. “It’s tainted.”

  Murdoch put up a hand. “Hold on. Back up a mite. Use it? Who is using it, and how, exactly? It’s a bloody spigot of evil.”

  “The Veil is not a common relic,” explained Sora. “It has two separate halves: one light and one dark. With the evil side contained, it is capable of great good.”

  His answer did nothing to ease the pain in Kiyoko’s eyes. She spun on her heel, shoved aside the shoji with a rough snap, and left the room. Murdoch had to consciously stop himself from going after her. What the hell did he think he was going to do? Give her a damned hug? One touch, and comfort would be the last thing he’d be offering.

  Picking up the closest bottle of ale, he took a large swig. “Might as well tell me the rest of this ugly tale,” he said to Sora. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  “The Veil is a remnant of the large curtain that once hung in the door of the temple of Jerusalem,” said the old man. “It was used to keep the masses out of the temple, allowing only the priests to enter. But at the precise moment Jesus died on the cross, the Veil was torn in two and fell to the ground, a reflection of God’s grief for the loss of his son and a sign that the temples should no longer remain closed to the masses.”

  Murdoch frowned. “You don’t believe in any of that, though, do you? You’re not a Christian.”

  Sora smiled. “What you and I believe differs. This is true. To me, God and Satan are merely personifications of good and evil—the good and evil that reside inside each and every one of us. I do not worship any relics of the Crucifixion, nor do I seek God’s forgiveness for my sins. But I do believe in the negative power of fear and anger and hatred, and the positive power of hope and kindness and enlightenment.”

  “And you believe an object can be a container for those powers.”

  The old man nodded.

  “How the hell did a Christian relic end up in Japan?”

  “It was brought here in 996 by a religious knight named Richard of Tournai. It was believed that its dual nature was best guarded by masters of the yin-yang philosophy, so he came to study with us. Unfortunately, he was critically injured in a battle with a demon a year later, and we were unable to heal his injuries. On his passing, the onmyōji took the relic under their wing.”

  Murdoch squinted at the elderly man. “By we, you mean the onmyōji, not you personally, I take it?”

  Sora smiled. “Richard-san died over a thousand years ago. Surely my bones do not creak that badly?”

  “What is the Veil being used for now?”

  “You were correct in your guess that there is a blanket spell on the relic—but only the dark side is caged. The good side is free to be used as the holder sees fit.” The old onmyōji took a sip of tea.

  Murdoch waited for him to continue, but when a moment passed with nothing more than the trickling sound of a fountain, he said, “That’s reassuring, but it doesn’t explain what Kiyoko is doing with the relic.”

  “That part of the tale is not mine to tell.”

  “Don’t be evasive, old man. You gave her the damned thing. Just tell me what she uses it for.”

  “I must respect Kiyoko’s privacy.” Sora lifted his gaze from his tea. “Just because our paths led us t
o this spot does not mean we have the right to trample every blade of grass in view, Mr. Murdoch.”

  It was a surprisingly effective analogy.

  He had no trouble imagining himself as the thoughtless boot and Kiyoko as the tender grass. His large, unwieldy body and uncouth manners versus her delicate perfection and quiet, traditional femininity. Aye, he could crush her in an instant, without noticing he’d done it. But, damn it, he was here for a reason. And that reason had nothing to do with playing nice.

  He rolled to his feet.

  “Then I guess I’ll go talk to the lady herself.”

  5

  Kiyoko was adjusting her bra when Umiko suddenly delivered a spate of frantic Japanese. The old woman’s words were a mix of fury and panic, laced with a deep undertone of martyrdom.

  “Stop right there, Mr. Murdoch,” Kiyoko called out, glancing over her naked shoulder at the paper-thin door and praying it wouldn’t slide open. “She’s explaining that she’s prepared to die rather than let you enter. I’m in the middle of getting dressed.”

  “Oh.”

  “Meet me in the garden,” she added. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  “Fair enough.” The low, smoky rumble of his voice drifted over her skin, leaving a scatter of goose bumps on the back of her neck. A strange thing to admire about a man, his voice. “Where’s the garden?”

  “Umiko-san will show you.”

  Kiyoko made the request of her housekeeper, then grinned at her retainer’s muttered response: Dim-witted bear. He did rather resemble a large brown bear.

  A few moments later, attired in a black skirt, a crisp white cotton shirt, and a warm sweater coat, Kiyoko stepped onto the pathway that divided the raked gravel. She followed Murdoch’s dewy footprints to the arched bridge overlooking the man-made pond. All the leaves had fallen, opening the bare black branches and cold clear water trickling down the artfully arranged rock structure to view.

  Murdoch was leaning on the wooden railing, gazing into the water, but he straightened as she approached.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  She nodded. “My father was an avid gardener. He enjoyed strolling through here even in the winter and chose the position of every plant with exacting care. When a thick frost falls, it’s like a miniature ice world made just for fairies.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Aye, the garden is lovely, too.”

  Warmth surged through her.

  Kiyoko dropped her gaze to the water flowing silently under the bridge. Blue sky and a thin gauze of cloud reflected on the smooth surface. Safer to study the scenery than the rugged angles of his face or the intimate humor in his eyes. The palpable tension between them already caused her enough grief. If he dared to mention the arousal she had felt at his touch, her shame would know no end.

  “I’m traveling into the city this morning, Mr. Murdoch,” she said. “The car will be here in half an hour. What was it you wished to discuss?”

  “The Temple Veil.”

  Her stomach rolled. Learning of the relic’s capacity for evil had sickened her. Yet she was not willing to part with it, even with her newfound knowledge.

  “It’s not for sale.”

  He leaned on the railing again, the sleeve of his jacket and his broad, square hand only inches away. “Every moment you hold on to it, you risk the fate of the world. If Satan should discover you have it—”

  “No one knows except Yamashita-sensei … and now you. If word of its presence here were to leak out, it would most likely result from your interest. The safest course would be to forget we had this conversation and return to the United States.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m staying right here until I get what I came for.”

  The leather of his black jacket was thick and strong, scuffed by regular use and worn at the cuff. No delicate, butter-soft calfskin for Murdoch.

  “Because you made a promise to your superiors?”

  “Because the battle with Satan is one we could lose, and I really hate to lose.”

  The voice of experience. A quick glance at his face confirmed the presence of fine lines around his eyes and mouth. He wore the signs of his maturity with pride.

  “So, the Veil is a weapon,” she said softly. “What exactly does it do?”

  “It slays demons.”

  “How?”

  A short gust of air left his lips, fogging the air. Kiyoko risked another glance, uncertain whether it was a chuckle or a snort of disgust. His lips twisted. “I have no bloody idea. This entire trip hinges on Lena Sharpe’s gut instinct and the impressions she got six months ago, before she lost the amulet.”

  “She lost the amulet?” The woman’s most prized possession, invested with both sentimental and mystical value. “How?”

  “Trapping a demon.”

  Kiyoko bit her lip, thinking. “She sacrificed it?”

  “Aye. To save her niece.”

  The tight muscles of her shoulders eased a fraction. Lena’s initial behavior was still unforgivable, but it was heartening to discover the woman had come around in the end.

  “Gut instinct,” she repeated. “So, there’s no actual evidence that the Veil is a weapon? No documentation of its powers?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would I give it to you?”

  “Because even the old man admits it’s a dark relic. The bloody thing is dangerous. Not to insult you, lass, but as immortals, we’re better able to protect it than your talented but very vulnerable human warriors.”

  A faint breeze blew Kiyoko’s unbound hair into her face, and she tucked an errant lock behind her ear. “You’re not going to insist that everyone in your group is immortal, are you?”

  Silence.

  She smiled. “I’m privy to a great deal of information, Mr. Murdoch. I may be human, but I’m not a fool. Ever since Lena-san betrayed my trust last spring, I’ve been investigating her and her little band of … friends.”

  “Then you know what we’re doing.”

  “Not precisely,” Kiyoko admitted. “It’s clear you’re no longer simply gathering souls. Judging by the flow of people through the ranch, I’d guess you’ve undertaken the training of other Gatherers—very understandable given the current state of the world. But your group also does an inordinate amount of travel, to places that make no sense. South Africa, for example.”

  He grimaced. “My boss’s pet project—finding and protecting all of the Ignobles.”

  “Your boss? Would that be Brian Webster?”

  “Aye.” His hands gripped the wooden rail, knuckles white.

  “You don’t like him,” she guessed.

  “Webster and I have … issues,” he admitted. “But we’re committed to the same cause: stopping Satan in his tracks. The devil is making inroads everywhere, even in Asia.”

  Kiyoko nodded. The toll here was different, but as corruption spread and people continued to turn away from their beliefs, crime rose and the economy grew ever more unstable.

  Murdoch straightened, facing her. His body blocked the breeze and instead of cool fall air, she got a subtle whiff of warm masculinity and spicy soap. “I cannot allow another dark relic to fall into Satan’s hands. Leaving the Veil here is an unacceptable risk.”

  His words were weighted with both confidence and passion. There was no doubt he’d do exactly as he promised—protect the Veil with his very last breath, if necessary. It was a testament to his overwhelming charisma and vivid personality that she almost agreed to his demands. But giving up the Veil was impossible. Even if she wanted to, which was still a very debatable point, Sora would never allow her to part with it. “It’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

  He reached for her hand, but abruptly halted just short of touching her. “Am I not explaining the risks well enough? Are you not convinced I’m capable of keeping it safe?”

  Kiyoko stared at his hand.

  Big and square. Tanned from hours in the outdoors. So close to her own flesh that she swore she could feel tin
y electric shocks passing between them.

  “I understand that if Satan acquires the Veil, his hold over the darkest parts of mankind will increase.” It was an outcome so opposite to her principles it made her belly quiver. “And I believe you to be an unparalleled defender.”

  “Then why not entrust me with it?”

  “Because I draw on the Veil’s strength.”

  He frowned. “To do what? Fight demons?”

  “That … and other things.” Like keep my heart beating . Kiyoko surprised herself by omitting that detail. Her years of study at Sora’s knee had taught her to eschew feelings of pride and vanity, yet admitting that she was weak to Murdoch—arguably the most healthy and virile man she’d had opportunity to meet—bothered her.

  She wanted him to see her as she’d been before the attack on her father—strong, capable, wise. She wanted him to admire her. Was that so terribly wrong?

  “Whatever your reason is for holding on to the Veil,” Murdoch said, ducking down to peer in her eyes, “I can’t believe you would think it more important than keeping the relic safe. People are already dying by the thousands, losing their life savings in corporate scandals, and abandoning their hopes for a brighter future—all because two relics have fallen into Satan’s hands. Under no circumstances can I allow another to go the same route.”

  Kiyoko looked away.

  “The Veil is an undocumented relic. No one seeks it.”

  “Nothing remains hidden forever, lass. I came looking for it. That means its existence is known, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

  His words rang with quiet sincerity, and the queasy feeling returned to Kiyoko’s stomach. Risking the lives of others for personal gain did not sit well with her, not when she had pledged herself to serving the greater good. But handing the relic over to Murdoch would mean her death.

  “I need to go into the city,” she said, turning away.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, I—”

  A muffled shout, followed by several loud cracks, broke the stillness of the morning air, coming from the direction of the training compound up the cliffs. Murdoch’s hand shot out, grabbed her sweater-buffered shoulder and shoved her to the ground. “Keep your head down.”