Destiny's Child (Kitsune series Book 3) (20 page)

Mom and Fran let out short-lived screeches of surprise.

Cassie simply turned her face toward the door.

Virgil and Shaun kept eating.

Rising into combat poses, Madison and Janet kicked their chairs back, looking like superheroes about to spring into action.

But Tukka was gone, and I doubted they’d heard his telepathic thought.  He was kinda selective about whose minds he touched.

I stuffed my bacon into my mouth, wiped face and fingers on a paper napkin that lay beside my plate, and eased to my feet.  Disaster always comes for me sooner or later.  There was no reason to get all worked up about it.  If it had been really bad, Tukka would have insisted I escape into the ghost realm with him and the other fu dogs.

“What’s up, Grace?” Virgil asked.

“Tukka says trouble’s coming our way.  We should probably get ready to bail, just in case.”

“Our stuff is packed and by the front door,”
Madison said.

Fran nodded affirmation.

Virgil said, “Let’s see what’s coming before we bug out.”  He pulled out his cell and called one of his men-in-black for a report.

I was already rounding the table with the slayers a step behind.  As I headed for the backdoor, passing Cassie, she stood and slowed me with one hand so she and Shaun could take point.  They went out the door together.  The rest of us followed.

Tukka was at the corner of the building which gave him a view of the front drive.  We ran toward him.  He didn’t wait once he saw we were going the right way.  We went around the corner after him, and I got to see firsthand exactly what kind of trouble awaited.  

Paparazzi, news hounds, the so-called media.
There were half a dozen vans pulling up the drive.  Some of them had satellite dishes on their roofs for live transmissions.  All of them had their news channels painted on the sides.  The vans parked, blocking in the vehicles Virgil had brought last night. 

The fu dogs froze, sitting in plain sight, not twitching a muscle.  I think they thought that if they didn’t move, they might be mistaken for statues that had been stolen from Chinese restaurants. 

Nope, no real live fu dogs here.  Move along, nothing to see
.

Virgil’s men held up federal credentials, trying to turn back the men and women rushing our way.  Shaun and Cassie joined the line, trying to turn back the news hounds.

Numerous microphones and cameras were all turned—on me!

Madison
grabbed Fran by the shirt and pushed her against the side of the lodge.  Maddy’s eyes were fierce blue.  She spoke past gritted teeth, “Don’t tell me you posted a blog on Facebook about our secret mission?”

“Well, I might have mentioned that we were helping an unnamed government agency to protect
Hot Stuff
at an undisclosed location.  But I didn’t say where.”

Hot Stuff
was the name the internet community had given me back before I’d been exiled to HPI.  There was video of me going all human-torch on a robber in a convenience store, then popping out of sight.  The clip had hit You Tube and gone viral.  That was one of the reasons I was living on the down-low—trying to avoid situations just like this.

Fenn came up beside me.  He had Fran’s laptop in his hand.  The screen was cracked as if he’d punched it a few times.  “She didn’t say where, but she posted shots of the property, including the front gate with the camp’s name on it.  With a little research, anyone could find us. 
ISIS is probably on the way.”

One of the reporters clutched a microphone, yelling past a man-in-black, “Hey, Hot Stuff, tell us how you got your superpowers.” 

I am so cursed
.

NINETEEN

“Hide-and-seek, Peek-a-boo,

Poke-a-tiger-with-a-stick...

Let’s pretend I love you best,

a cup of blood, a crucifix... ”

                            
                            —Games We Play

                           
                                 Elektra Blue

“So,” I said, “can’t we just shoot everyone, bury the bodies in the woods, and if anyone asks, blame this on the mothmen?”

Janet finally put in an appearance, strolling up to Fenn and me.  She said, “Tempting as that sounds, a better answer is for you to just give them an interview so they’ll go away.  Just don’t admit to anything that’s actually true.”

Madison let go of Fran, without wringing her neck, and stepped over to our little huddle, catching Janet’s eyes.  “That won’t work.  Grace is kitsune.  She can’t lie without sacrificing her power.”

I sighed.  “Then I’ll just have to get creative with the truth.  If they make assumptions that are wrong, it’s not my fault.”

Fenn sailed Fran’s broken computer off into the trees. 

She muffled a wail, knowing how lightly she’d gotten off.

Fenn said, “I’ll set the interview up and make sure they know they need to behave, or we’ll pull the plug and send them packing—without their cameras.”

“Virgil can claim national security interests if he has to,”
Madison said.

“Brilliant!” Janet’s voice had a hint of an English accent in her crisp tone.

I groaned.  “All right, but if there are going to be pictures, I’m going to change.  Be back in fifteen.”

I tugged the veil past me with the usual result.  Everything went to
gray tones.  Orange aura appeared around me as a ghostly haze.  My friends’ faces reflected surprise as I vanished from their view.  In the silence of the ghost realm, I crouched and jumped, soaring through the lighter gravity as if this was Mars and not Earth.  I curved in an arc, and pulled in my aura so the wall wouldn’t be solid to me.  There was a dark flash.  I was inside the building, on the second floor in an unused room.  Aura bled from my feet, making the carpet solid under me so I wouldn’t sink. 

I hurried out into the hall, and ran to the room I shared with the girls.  This was all Fran’s fault, so I showed no restraint in going through her things.  She turned out to have an I’m-so-bad-it-hurts outfit.  The slayer-wear was almost a uniform:  Black jeans, tee, sneakers—that I traded my moccasin boots in for—and a black denim bolero jacket that barely covered my ribs.  My own clothes I left on the bed.

I paused, remembering the clothes I’d left in Shaun’s bathroom.  He hadn’t said anything about having brought them.  I wondered if he was keeping them as a remembrance.  That would have been way cool, but probably unlikely.

I chided myself,
You’re dreaming, Grace.  Get a move on, so we can all get out of here
.

I pulled in on my aura and sank through the floor.  Downstairs, high in the air, I drifted down, landing near the fireplace in the main lounge area.  I walked across the room, and went out through a wall, onto the wrap-around porch.

And there was Tukka, waiting.

I stopped as something in my guts twisted.  “Are you still mad at me?”  I blinked back moisture gathering in my eyes.

Tukka not mad
.

“You say that, but you haven’t been around.  You’ve been going cold-turkey and you haven’t let me help you.  That’s what friends do for each other.”

Tukka big dawg
.  He gave the last word a Texan drawl. 
Impolite to ask others to carry my burdens.

I nodded at the attitude; Fu Dogs have lived in the Far East fo
r centuries, absorbing the mindset there. 

“But you’re not mad?” I asked.

Tukka bared all his big pointy teeth at once in something that was almost a smile. 
No worries.  Tukka love Grace.  Best pet he ever own.

I threw myself at him, hugging his leathery neck.

Don’t slobber, everything hunky-dory
.

I pulled back and wiped my eyes lest someone think I’d been crying.  Kitsune girls don’t cry.  Too tough.  Everybody knows that.  I glared at him.  “You’re the pet, not me.  And hunky-dory?  What does that even mean?”

He shrugged the great slabs that were his shoulders
.  Tukka hoping Grace knows
.

I pushed on past him, jumping to the ground.  A few more bounds, and I dropped among my friends, crossing the veil so I became visible as I touched down.  This caused a stir among the news people, even though they’d probably all seen the online video of me ghosting away at that convenience store robbery I’d stopped.  Of course, they might have come out here believing me to be a hoax.  If so, they didn’t look sad to see they’d been wrong.

The cameras were rolling.  The reporters were back to shouting questions.  If not for Fenn’s threatening glower, Virgil, and his men, I might have gotten swamped by the press of bodies.  I held up my hands and yelled, “C’mon, people, settle down.  One at a time, so I don’t have to shout, okay?”

They fell dead quiet.

I stared at my hands. 
They’re magic! 

Then I realized that the news hounds were all looking up. 

A shadow had fallen across me.  I looked up as well.  Then I leaped aside as two figures crashed to earth where I’d been standing.  One of them was a teenage mothman, Wocky wearing Ryan’s body like an overcoat.  The second figure wore a black suit with a white collar, Fenn’s dad in his impersonation of a priest—or could he really be one? 

His crucifix glinted, flashing as he pinned Wocky down with more than human strength.  Sitting on his chest, Father
Valencia smiled, praying, “Dear Lord, make this imp of Hell truly thankful for the ground-and-pound he is about to receive.”

Wocky protested, “Let me go, or I’ll sic PETA on you.  Moths got rights, you know?” 

That’s when I noticed the barbed wire wound around the mothman, cutting into his flesh, binding his hands tightly against his chest.  The Trickster had set a trap and caught himself a demon. 

But
w
hy, what are you going to do with one?  Put it above the fireplace?  It’s not like they make great Christmas gifts.

The priest rained punches on the demon’s face in the weirdest exorcism I’d ever seen.  “I command you in the name of the Father…” 
Whump!
  “…the Son…”
Whump!
  “…and the Holy Ghost.” 
Whump, whump!
  “Come out of that corpse!”

I found myself forgotten and ignored, as the news people formed a crescent around the fighters, filming the scene for posterity.  Fenn was throwing short punches in the air, a sympathetic response to the violence he was watching.  I think he wanted to get in there himself and do some damage. 
Such a guy
.  Meanwhile, the fu dogs gave up on playing statue, using the distraction to
cross over
.  Cassie and Virgil were down by the news vans, slashing tires while the men-in-black formed a screen to block the news people from seeing exactly what was going on—had they bothered to look.

Shaun and Janet had separated—thank God—into separate vehicles, getting behind the steering wheels.  Virgil headed for a third car, a black sedan pretending to be a sports car with its sleek lines.  That just left
Madison’s white van, but how we were going to drive off with the news vans there, tires flat, I didn’t know.

Cassie straightened and beckoned me over. 

I delayed, shooting Madison and Fran a glance and nodding toward Fenn and Mom.  The slayers gathered up the strays and we all nonchalantly strolled to our assorted rides.  As the others quietly loaded up, I stopped by Cassie.

She stared into my eyes, silently demanding my attention.  “We’ll touch these two vans in the back, pushing them into the ghost world long enough for everyone to drive out.”

That answered that question.  The only thing I didn’t know was if I could do this.  Cassie was putting a lot of trust in me, but I’d never tried
crossing over
with something so
big
.  “I’ll try.”

She grinned and quoted Yoda, “Do or do not ... there is no try.”

I grimaced.  “Then
the Force
had damn well better be with me.”  I went to the vehicle she’d nodded toward, going to its far side.  I laid hands on the van and saw Cassie doing the same to the other.  We nodded to each other and ripped all hell out of the weave of space.  The tingle didn’t pass as swiftly as usual.  It became a burn, as if my body were being dipped in bubbling honey.  I closed my eyes and poured out more aura, as our vehicles roared to life. 

And then I was across the veil, stomach fluttering, surrounded by
gray tones except where my aura now blazed in counterpoint, the energy draining from my hands, turning the news van into a giant ember.  Most of my energy was surging out, leaving my feet to sink slowly into the ground.

Not good.

“Hold it just a little more,” Cassie called out.  She, too, had dragged her vehicle over the veil, and seemed to be holding it here with very little effort, her body ablaze with aura, a little more golden than mine.

Back on the human side of the veil, our packed vehicles backed through the
emptiness
we’d created.  Our caravan spun around and raced off down the road toward the front gate and the highway.

A lot of the news people were giving chase, passing me, actually running through the immaterial van they could no longer see.  I waited until the coast was clear, and let go of my van.  It popped back into the human world.

Cassie did the same, coming over to help me.  I was waist-deep in the ground by then, my energy flickering feebly around me, about to give out.  She reached down and took my arms.  Fresh aura energy washed into me from her touch as if she were recharging a battery.  The influx of energy washed into the ground that had a hold of me.  I felt pressure, a bar of soap in a giant’s hand.  This popped me up into the air.  The lesser gravity on this side of the veil let me drift down as Cassie kept hold.

“Good job,” she said.  “You’re getting stronger.”

“Nothing like constantly fighting to survive to hone one’s skill set.  What now?”

The reporters and cameramen were still busy milling around their vehicles.  This gave me a clear look at Wocky and the Trickster.  They were different from how I’d seen them on the other side of the veil.  Father
Valencia still wore his black suit, but his head was a coyote version of the human one he’d been wearing—brown fur, yellow-star eyes, bared fangs, and a cute black-button nose on a pointy snout.  His aura was a brassy-green shimmer showing off more power than I’d ever seen in one person.

Wocky was still inside Ryan’s mothman body, but black flames now fanned off of him.  His eyes were lit with a red, infernal glow.  Oddly, the wire holding him was different over here, too.  The barbed wire was now pliant, silver light, the barbs themselves were eagle fluff shedding a white-gold radiance.

Cassie followed my gaze with her own.  “Thunderbird feathers and strands of dream-light.  No wonder the demon can’t get loose.  The Trickster has called on the power of the ancients.”

“Just to claim a corpse?”

Wocky glared.  “It’s mine and I’m keeping it.”

I sent Cassie a wide-eyed look.  “They’ve crossed the veil.”

“Right,” the Trickster said.  “You gals just stand back and let me handle this.”

Cassie said, “I don’t understand.  Why not just tear Ryan into pieces?  That will make the demon leave, and no one gets hurt—no one living anyway.”

“Can’t do that,” the Trickster said.  “Ryan’s cells are in suspension.  He’s almost dead, but not quite there.  Mothmen are as hard to kill as cockroaches, you know?”

I gasped.  “He’s alive?”

Cassie smiled in a not-so-pretty way.  “Good, we get to kill him again.”

TWENTY

“Closer, tighter, slice the air,

gliding on a candle’s prayer,

a dancing flame in the night,

come, little moth, embrace the light.”

            
                                           —Spiral

                      
                                     Elektra Blue

“Don’t you think he’s suffered enough?” I crept closer to Wocky and the Trickster. 

Drifting alongside me, Cassie said, “Anyone who threatens you loses the right to mercy.  A lesson that kills them is one they’ll learn from.”

“If you’re a ghost maybe…”

Cassie went on, ignoring my interruption as she imparted her ancient wisdom.  “And a dead enemy never returns to stab you in the back.”

The demon laughed within his magical restraints.  “Madam, you would make an excellent demon.”

Sitting on the demon’s chest, Trickster shot us a glance.  “Stay back.  I’m working here.”  He popped Wocky a few more times in the head.  “As for you, shut up.”

I glowered at Wocky.  “I really think it’s time you took back your mark, this time for good.  Slightly alive or not, I
will
cut Ryan’s heart out.  That means cutting your heart out, too.  I know that wouldn’t kill you, being immortal and all, but I could make sure you lose track of it.  Think about living forever and never knowing if someday someone might show up with your heart in hand, having found a way to control you with the useless thing.”

“You’re bluffing,” Wocky said.  “You haven’t such cruelty in you.”

“I’m feeling a lot of pressure, in case you haven’t noticed.”  I filled my right hand with leaping flames of aura.  At the core of the fire, I extended a cold core of shadow—my shadow-fire sword, the expression of both sides of my nature.  I pointed the sword at Wocky’s head.  “Everybody wants a piece and there’s just not enough of me to go around.  To tell you the truth, it’s beginning to drive me a little crazy.”

Cassie hugged me from behind.  “Like mother, like daughter.  Let’s start by gouging out his eyes with a spoon.”

The Trickster growled at us, baring his big, pointy, coyote teeth.  “I told you, I’m handling this.”

I swung my sword to point into his face.  “I know you’re a big, bad, cosmic force—avatar of chaos and change and all that—but shut the hell up.  I haven’t forgotten you tried to hand me over to Inari to settle a gambling debt.”

Cassie’s arms tightened on me.  She glared over my shoulder at the fake priest.  “You tried to do what?”  Her tone was glacial and threatening.

I continued, “The only reason I’ve cut you any slack is that you also saved me from the witches.”

An uneasy look on his face, the Trickster studied Cassie.  I think he was more afraid of her than me and my bi-polar sword.

I smiled and pulled my sword back.  “You know what?  I think maybe Fenn would be interested to know just what you were up to.  How do you think he’d take the news that the love-of-his-life was almost sold into slavery by his dad?”  I whispered, “I really don’t think he’d take it well.”

Wocky chuckled.  “I’ll be sure to ask him about it next time I see him.”

I swung the sword tip back to his head.  “If you don’t take this brand off me now, you aren’t going to be seeing much of anything.”  I spoke over my shoulder.  “Mom, get me a spoon from the kitchen.  If it’s rusty, that’s even better.”

Her tone turned bright, “Gladly.”  She hurried off.

“Don’t you care about the poor humans about to get slaughtered?” Wocky asked.

“What humans?”  I turned to look at the reporters mouthing into their cell phones, and camera men bustling about their vans, breaking out the spare tires and jacks.  “They seem fine to me.” 

Movement above the nearby forest caught my eye.  Mothmen were coming in a fluttering mass, charcoal wings and humanoid bodies edged with yellow-green aura that was flecked with red.  The colors showed agitation and a bit of murderous intent.

That red was lacking from my own aura, but not Cassie’s.  That’s probably how Wocky knew I had been bluffing about the spoon and all.  Though, in a worst case scenario, I could always close my eyes, cover my ears, and hum loudly while Cassie went to work.  There are definite advantages to having a parent with psychopathic tendencies.

“That’s just great,” the Trickster said.  “Now it’s mothmen.”

“Welcome to my world.”  I felt the itching on my back that told me my baby moth wings wanted to sprout again.

The news-types were a pain, but there was no way I wanted them dead at the hands of irate bugs.  With a sigh on my lips, I let my sword collapse to nothing and
crossed back
, an electric tingle sweeping my skin.  My aura went back to being invisible, as gravity slammed on full force.  The gray tones warmed with color.  Sunlight went from washed out to vibrant as I left the ghost realm behind.

I ran to the vans, grabbing people, shoving them into motion.  “Get in the vans, quick.”

So, of course, everyone dug in their heels and ignored what I said, shoving microphones in my face.  Questions beat at me like mothman wings:

“Were you gene-spliced in some secret government lab?”

“What planet are you from?”

“How does it feel to be a freak?”

“Get in these vehicles,” I yelled, “or you can ask some real freaks that question.”

One of the men swung his camera to point up into the air.  “Mothmen!  I see real mothmen.”

“Real hungry mothmen.”  I tried to scare them into obeying me.  “Maybe they’re looking for a snack!”

The
whirr
of their wings rushed across us.  They were looming larger now, not more than thirty yards out.

A cameraman said, “Don’t moths eat clothes?”

There’s always one geek who watches the Nature Channel
.

The reporters shrieked in panic and stampeded into the vans.  Couldn’t blame them; they were wearing hundreds of dollars in blazers, skirts, fancy pumps, and assorted bling.  The cameramen followed, and I was left alone to face the oncoming mothfolk.  I wondered if they’d followed Ryan’s scent to get here, a scent that led to nowhere with him on the other side of the veil with Cassie and the Trickster right now.