Surrender to Darkness Page 8

  As Sora had said, the car was waiting for her at the gate. Umiko stood next to the open door, Kiyoko’s shoes, purse, and a fresh shirt in hand. Kiyoko glanced down. Droplets of Takeo’s blood stood out starkly on the white material. Her path had been mapped out for years; she already knew her destiny. Still, under the arch of the torii, between the hulking stone statues of the niou, she stopped.

  And turned.

  Murdoch stood exactly where she had left him, a pillar of male presence against the backdrop of the temple, staring at her. Why that meant something, Kiyoko couldn’t say. But it did. She nodded to him, accepted her items from Umiko, and slid into the car.

  Smiling.

  6

  Murdoch watched until the car disappeared down the treelined driveway, then faced the old man. “Kiyoko calls you sensei or Yamashita-sensei. What should I call you?”

  The old man smiled. “Do you desire to join the other men in training today, Mr. Murdoch?”

  “No.” Searching the house for the Veil would be a much better use of his time.

  “Then address me as Sora-san.”

  “Okay, Sora-san. I’m headed back to the house. I’ve got a call to make, and then I’m going to relax until Kiyoko returns. Give me a shout if anything untoward happens.”

  The elder lifted a silver brow. “Untoward?”

  “Strange, odd, evil.”

  “Ah, yes. Faced with such, we would of course require your aid.”

  Murdoch peered at Sora. Something suggested the old man was enjoying a chuckle at his expense, but the placid expression on the aged face didn’t support his theory. “Exactly.”

  “Thank you, most sincerely.” Sora pointed. “The western gate will lead you to the house. No need to leap the fence on your return journey.”

  Murdoch’s hackles rose. Undeniable humor. He met Sora’s even stare. “Where I come from, mockery is an insult requiring a decisive response. Don’t test me, old man.”

  Sora smiled. “Believe me, Mr. Murdoch. No insult is intended. My admiration of you runs deep. If I am amused, it is only by the unabashed way you display your passion.”

  That didn’t soothe Murdoch one whit.

  “Holding back has never been my strength,” he admitted, his voice soft. “And retreating is only acceptable if it draws the enemy into a trap.”

  The old man bowed graciously. “Then allow me to be the one who withdraws, Mr. Murdoch. My apologies.”

  Sora slipped back into the dojo, leaving Murdoch standing in the courtyard. The doctor was busy guiding the transfer of the wounded warrior to the infirmary, and several other men were carefully lifting the dead onto soft cotton litters.

  The hairs on the back of Murdoch’s neck lifted, and he pivoted. A young man was crouched next to the limp body of Takeo, a man Murdoch didn’t recognize. Not personally, at any rate. But the gentle hand to the man’s neck—that he knew.

  The young man stood and faced Murdoch.

  Judging by the plump youthfulness of his skin, the lad was no more than twenty. His muscles were well honed, his hair cut short, and his outfit identical to that of any other warrior in the compound. Only a familiar weariness about the fellow’s eyes gave him away.

  He was a Soul Gatherer.

  Since Murdoch could carry only souls destined for the same resting place, and the two warriors he’d claimed were bound for heaven, Death had sent another to pick up Takeo’s soul.

  Murdoch nodded to his colleague, then took the path to the back gate without a word, allowing the young man to vanish into the shadows, as his role dictated.

  Umiko met him at the door to the house.

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure the old dragon would let him in. Her bearing was stiff, her cream kimono amazingly crisp and unwrinkled. But after glaring at him for a long moment with undisguised annoyance, she stepped back and ushered him inside.

  Where she had another beer waiting on the table.

  He grinned.

  God love her.

  He snatched up the beer, took a long swallow, then dialed the main number for the ranch in San Jose. It was early evening in California, so someone ought to be around to answer.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice, no Egyptian accent.

  “Rachel?”

  “Nope, it’s Em. Mom’s in the studio. That you, Murdoch?”

  The quiet, unemotional tone had misled him. The lass hadn’t been the same since young Rodriguez left town. “Aye, it’s me. How is the training going?”

  “Better every day.” A short pause. “I miss you.”

  He frowned. Webster and Emily had been quite close once, but the lad spent a lot less time with the girl now that he was running the show. “I miss you, too, lass. If you need to pop out here for a chat, feel free.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “But between homework and training, I don’t really have time. When are you coming back?”

  “Soon.” Very soon, if all went well. “Is Webster around?”

  “Nope. He and a bunch of the others drove off in the Humvee to meet Michael and Uriel. The archangels found another nest of demons in San Francisco.”

  “Of course they did.” Murdoch grimaced. “Why did you stay behind?”

  “I have an exam tomorrow,” she explained. “English. If I ace this one, I’m back on the honor roll.”

  “Good for you. Your mum must be happy.”

  “As happy as she can be with swollen feet and a giant belly. I think she forgot how much fun it is to be eight months pregnant.”

  “Aye. I’ll bet MacGregor is sticking close to home these days.”

  “Yup. When he’s not in the training arena, he’s in the office staring at the map, trying to figure out where to send his latest elite Gatherers.”

  “Is there one assigned to Sapporo, perchance? I could use a little action over here.”

  She chuckled. “I dunno. I’ll check. In the meantime, want me to give Brian a message for you?”

  “Aye. I need him to sell my car.” Even used, it should bring more than enough to pay for the repairs to the restaurant.

  “The Mustang? Why?”

  “I’d rather not say,” he said. An uncomfortable silence hung on the airwaves for a moment, so he added, “But I’d love ya more than life itself if you could convince him to wire me the money in the next day or two, lass.”

  “Okay. See you when you get back.”

  Murdoch said his good-byes, then returned the phone to his belt. Despite the gains made in her focus and attitude, he preferred the old Emily to the new. Quiet and obedient didn’t suit the girl.

  Then again, girl didn’t suit her anymore, either.

  The dreadful goth look had given way to casual western, with her hair returned to its original sandy blond. It made that odd streak of red stand out more, but overall, the natural look was kinder. Minimal makeup, plain jeans, and a simple ponytail snared low on her nape rounded out the new Emily. She would turn sixteen in a few weeks. Definitely a young woman.

  Rodriguez would barely recognize her.

  Murdoch frowned.

  Not that he wanted the lad to resurface. Safer all the way around for him to stay away. Murdoch’s berserker had more in common with the Cookie Monster than it did with whatever was crawling under Carlos Rodriguez’s skin.

  He dug into his pocket for the crystal dowser Stefan Wahlberg had fashioned. The sooner he found the Veil, the sooner he could return to the ranch to give Emily a much-needed hug.

  Dangling the chain in the air, he closed his eyes and concentrated. The hum of the Veil had barely been discernible the first time, and he couldn’t afford to miss it. One by one, he shut out all the distractions—the trickling sound of the fountain in the garden, the quiet muttering of Umiko in the next room, the wind subtly buffeting the paper doors. Slowly narrowing his focus, he gave his full attention to the crystal.

  But the crystal was quiet. Utterly still. No hint of the earlier vibration remained.

  His eyes popped open.

  Eit
her he’d imagined the hum of the crystal this morning, or the Veil was no longer in the house. Not to be arrogant, but he had a pretty good sense which was the truth. He trusted his gut above everything.

  The blasted thing was gone.

  But gone where?

  He tucked the crystal away. Stupid question. If Kiyoko was using it for something, it made sense that she would have it in her possession.

  In his mind’s eye, he itemized the clothing and jewelry she’d been wearing when she left. Slim black skirt, white cotton shirt. The shoes and sweater could be discounted—she’d tossed them aside before joining him in the compound and he doubted that she would be that cavalier with the Veil. Unseen, but amazingly easy to imagine draped over her slim form, bra and panties. White, he’d bet, with just a hint of lace.

  He grimaced.

  Mind on the job, Murdoch.

  As far as jewelry went, there were a few possibilities: She wore a silver locket around her neck and a silver bracelet on her wrist, entwined with a shiny black ribbon. If only a strip of the original Temple Veil still existed, one of those pieces could hold it.

  There was also a possibility that she carried a pouch of some sort on her body, but he couldn’t verify that unless he got close. Sadly, given his inappropriate reaction to her touch, feeling her up would have to be an option of last resort.

  But he wouldn’t rule it out. Yet.

  First, he’d try squeezing the information out of her colleagues.

  Kiyoko blinked and the numbers on the page before her swam back into focus. Oh, dear. Had she actually fallen asleep while reading them? For how long? She glanced up to find Ryuji studying her, his handsome face serious. The look in his eyes was warm and admiring, but not overly familiar.

  “Your grasp of the intricacies of a balance sheet rivals your father’s,” he said softly. “In only a few short months, you’ve mastered the fundamentals of the business. Quite a feat.”

  She dropped her gaze to the report once more. Apparently, her inadvertent doze had been momentary. “Thank you, Watanabe-san.”

  “Should I order you an afternoon meal, or would you prefer to stop here?”

  Skimming quickly through the remaining pages, she sighed. “There are several hours of study left, and I fear my brain is becoming muddled. I think stopping is the wiser decision.”

  “But … ?”

  She smiled. “But there are also matters requiring my attention at the dojo. I am reluctant to make another trip to the city this week.”

  “Do these matters involve Mr. Murdoch?”

  “You know they do.”

  He leaned across the cherrywood boardroom table and lightly touched her hand. “And you know I disapprove. He’s a dangerous man, and I worry about you out there in the countryside with none but an old man to protect you.”

  “Our students are there as well,” she reminded him.

  “Still, you are only barely recovered from the illness you suffered after your father’s death. I’m the one who found you, remember? For a moment, I thought you were dead, too.”

  Trying to heal her father’s wounds had almost killed her. Spurred by her father’s last gasping breaths, she had attempted an ancient and powerful onmyōji healing spell. The potent words had eased his pain and stopped the ravage of the demon fireballs, but performing the spell had consumed a massive amount of her core energy. Unable to accept that she’d arrived too late to save him, she ignored the cautionary voice in her head and continued the incantation until her voice was hoarse, mindless of the growing weakness in her limbs.

  But he died anyway.

  With a shallow heartbeat and clammy skin, she had collapsed on the floor of the parking garage, next to her father’s blackened body. That was when Ryuji had stumbled across them both.

  Kiyoko squeezed Ryuji’s hand in return.

  “I do remember. Thank you.”

  “Those three days after the attack on your father were the most frightening of my life,” he confessed. “The intensity of your grief nearly took you from us.”

  Not grief, a waning life force. She’d have been dead now if Sora hadn’t suggested using the Veil as a cure, but Ryuji didn’t need to know that.

  “But I’m fine now.” She gently separated her hand from his and stood. Ryuji was nineteen years her senior, but she hardly noticed the age gap. He was not the least bit stuffy, and they shared a quiet bond of memories of her father. She enjoyed that. “Could you call the car for me? I’d like to return home.”

  He nodded. Picking up the phone, he placed a quick call to his assistant, arranging for the limousine to take her back to the house. When he ended the call, he shot her a thoughtful look.

  “Do not think I am being too forward, Kiyoko-san, but I have a suggestion that might ease both our concerns.”

  Curious, Kiyoko said, “Go on.”

  “Technology makes our lives very simple these days. With little effort, I can temporarily move my office to the dojo compound and run the company as if I were here in the office. You would be able to complete the review of the company reports without leaving the countryside, and I would rest more thoroughly knowing exactly where Mr. Murdoch was at any given moment.”

  Kiyoko hid a smile.

  Murdoch wasn’t quite as easily boxed as Ryuji might have believed. But it was an intriguing idea just the same.

  “I would, of course, sleep in the compound with the students, not up at the house.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said, gathering up her sweater and slipping her arms in the sleeves. “Yamashita-sensei’s cabin stands empty since he moved into the main house. You may stay there.”

  He bowed. “Thank you. I’ll call home and have my housekeeper pack up my necessities. If you don’t mind a short detour to pick them up, I’ll accompany you on the return trip.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  As she belted her sweater, he asked, “Dare I ask where Mr. Murdoch will be sleeping?”

  An excellent question—one to which she’d given absolutely no thought. Murdoch had said he would stay at the compound until he got what he came for. How long he would hold out was anyone’s guess, but it was safe to assume several days at least.

  “He prefers to bunk with the students,” she said. Inviting Murdoch into her house was impossible for many reasons, and Ryuji wouldn’t welcome sharing the sensei’s cabin. Not with the Scotsman. “Sleeping arrangements are a low priority for him.”

  And if they weren’t … ?

  Well, she’d deal with that later.

  Murdoch used the day as effectively as possible. An angel came for the souls of the two fallen senshi a little after ten in the morning. After that, he questioned each of the senior onmyōji warriors about Kiyoko and her attire, careful not to give away his motive. Judging by the smirks he received, most thought he was completely besotted with the lass. No matter.

  He was casually interrogating the warrior known as Yoshio when he heard the limousine pull up in front of the main gate. He ignored the sudden acceleration of his pulse and did his best to quash a vision of Kiyoko elegantly stepping out of the car into the late-afternoon sunshine.

  Attractive, aye.

  Off-limits? Most definitely.

  As the car door clicked open and the low notes of her voice filtered into the air, it grew increasingly more difficult to keep his gaze locked on the black-belted warrior, who was offering to show him several specialized sword moves. But somehow he managed.

  His rigid self-discipline did him proud … until he heard Kiyoko laugh. A light bubble of genuine amusement. Then his focus shattered. Despite his determination to ignore her, his head swiveled of its own accord. His eyes honed in on her oval face and curved lips with pinpoint accuracy.

  But his pleasure was swiftly dashed.

  Standing next to Kiyoko, with a proprietary hand on her arm, was Ryuji Watanabe. He was whispering into her ear, and it was clear that the attractive, well-dressed company president had coaxed the delightful l
augh from Kiyoko. A low growl formed in Murdoch’s throat, and he found his fist wrapped around the hilt of his sword in a single, thoughtless moment.

  Fortunately, his loss of control was brief.

  Sanity—and the realization that Watanabe would soon climb back into the car and return to the city—prevailed. Murdoch tamed his inner beast with a mental cuff to the head. He forced his fingers to release the sword and drop to his side. Kiyoko Ashida was not, nor ever would be, his. As Sora-san would no doubt say, they were on two different paths. Why couldn’t his berserker accept that? Why was it suddenly so bloody attuned to a woman? To this woman?

  He stood calmly, shoulders sloped with feigned nonchalance, as the limousine driver walked around to the boot of the car, opened the lid, and began lifting boxes to the gravel driveway. The significance didn’t register until a futuristic black box with a telescoped chrome handle and wheels was plunked down next to the others.

  Not a computer box. Not a briefcase. A suitcase.

  He lifted his eyes to Kiyoko’s face once more.

  She was looking at him.

  “I trust the senshi found you a bunk to call your own, Mr. Murdoch?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Good. Because we picked up your bag at the hotel and settled your account. We’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded politely, took Watanabe’s arm, and led the Japanese man past the gate and down the stone path toward the house.

  Murdoch’s gut knotted so tight he could barely breathe. Apparently, while he bedded down in the drafty bunkhouse surrounded by snoring young men, Watanabe would be sleeping under Kiyoko’s roof. Even with the dragon lady keeping watch, that notion didn’t sit well.

  Not one little bit.

  “Are you annoyed with Mr. Murdoch?” Sora asked, as he sipped his tea. The lantern lights were low and the midnight air cloaked the house in a peaceful hush. “You refused his every request to meet this evening.”

  “No.” She had avoided him, but not because she was annoyed. Kiyoko bent and touched her nose to her knees, enjoying the stretch of her tight leg muscles. Wearing high heels all day had cramped her calves. “But I do find him rather forceful. I needed time to think, and he barely gives me room to breathe.”