Katana (17 page)

She nodded, hiccupping through the sobs that shook her body.

“Good.” I released her arm. She scrambled backward and nearly knocked over the frozen dolls. They regained their balance, but still none of them moved.

“What are you still doing here?” I pointed a finger down the street. “Run!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They bolted, but not before Carly shouted over her shoulder, “Rileigh Martin, you are such a freak!”

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled. Then I turned to face Devil-boy, who stood staring at me with a bemused grin. “Now, where were we?”

The smile vanished as he reached behind his back. When his hand reappeared, he held a strange weapon that looked like two wooden rods connected by a chain.

The voice swirled in my head like a winter fog:
nunchaku.

Devil-boy held the weapon over his head and charged. I had only a second to duck to avoid missing the heavy wood as it whizzed over my head. Sneering, he swung the nunchaku again, low enough this time that I could feel the weapon pulling at a few unruly hairs curling around my part. A centimeter lower and I would be spoon-fed lime gelatin in a hospital somewhere as I drooled into a pillow. Not cool.

Devil-boy grinned. “Slippery little thing, aren’t ya?” He licked his lips. “Let’s see you dodge this!” Instead of swinging the nunchaku as before, he bore them down on top of me.

I watched the arc of his arm as it came down and waited until the last possible moment. I could feel the rumble of my heart as it sped up, like a distant train, but it was too far away to distract me. I could see in his eyes that Devil-boy thought he had me, so he added a bit of last-minute power to his blow. And that was exactly what I wanted.

I dodged to his side, but because of Devil-boy’s last-minute power surge, he stumbled forward when his nunchaku swept only air. I had enough time to see his eyes widen in shock before his broad shoulders were in front of me. I pushed as hard as I could.

The combination of his momentum and my added shove sent Devil-boy staggering into the brick wall of the coffeehouse. His neck snapped back violently as his forehead collided into the building. I thought for sure he’d go down, but after taking a moment to regroup, he shook himself like a dog getting out of a bath.

When he finally turned around, I thought I might be sick. A thick line of blood trailed from a gash in his forehead and down the bridge of his nose, where it wound down the side of his nostril and onto his lips. He smiled, his teeth red and glistening. He spit a crimson glob on the sidewalk next to his boot. “It’s not going to be that easy,” he growled.

I sighed and spread my stance into a ready position. “It never is.”

He spun the nunchaku in his hand and thundered toward me again. But this time he moved like a drunken bull, his feet scraping the ground in a clumsy shuffle. The head injury had done more damage than he was willing to let on. He swung the nunchaku wide, and I ducked under them, but this time, when I rose to my feet, I planted my left fist into the back of his head.

We both cried out in pain at the same time. Who knew that punching someone hurt so much? Devil-boy staggered, which was good because I was too busy waving my sore hand in the air to dodge an immediate attack.

He spit several more wads of bloody goo onto the sidewalk before swinging at me again. This time, however, I could tell that he was struggling to keep upright and the strike was easy to avoid. When I righted myself, I answered his attack by planting my knee into his stomach. He doubled over and I used that moment to punch his left temple with my right hand.

He cursed and I bit my lip to keep from doing the same as tears of pain dotted my eyes. I looked down at my hands and noticed that not only were my knuckles red and swollen, but one of my freshly painted nails had a chip in it.

“Dang it!” Anger burst through the numbing calm burning through my blood with enough heat that I wondered if I might spontaneously combust. It was stupid to be upset over a chipped nail—I knew that. But my life was unraveling at the seams and for that, someone was going to pay.

I launched myself at Devil-boy as he staggered to his feet.

Before he knew what’d hit him, I lashed out with a backhand to the base of his skull and followed it with a spinning kick to his spine. Devil-boy took one wobbly step, then another, before sinking to his knees.

He shook his head. “This isn’t over.” Slowly, he rose to his feet.

I knew he would keep coming at me as long as he held the nunchaku. Scanning the street, I looked for something to disarm him with. When I saw the cleaning supplies the coffeeshop employee had abandoned on the steps, I had an idea.

As Devil-boy worked his way to his feet, I dashed up the stairs and grabbed the squeegee. When I descended, he was glaring at me, his face a road map of blood. He held the nunchaku up and began to spin them wildly over his head as he made his charge.

I dug my heels in the ground and waited, fear a thick knot in my throat.

Devil-boy let out an anguished cry as he bore the weapon down on my head, but this time, instead of dodging, I lifted my arms and met the blow with the squeegee. One of the wooden rods wrapped around the long handle. When I pulled back, the flat rubber squeegee locked Devil-boy’s weapon in place. Another tug and I ripped the nunchaku from his grasp.

Devil-boy stared at his empty hands as if he couldn’t figure out what had happened.

With an expert throw, unlike my usual girlish tosses, I launched the squeegee-nunchaku knot into the neighboring alleyway. Afterward, I dusted my hands. “Are we done here?”

He spit more blood onto the walk. “Not even close.” He reached back into his waist pocket and pulled out a gun.

Oh. Snap.

The ribbons of silk unraveled from underneath my skin, leaving me cold and drowning in fear. Why now? Why would the spirit abandon me when I was staring down the barrel of a gun? I took a step backward and tripped on the stairs, landing sharply on my butt.

Devil-boy cocked the trigger. “You’re going to pay for what you did to me. Maybe I’ll shoot you in the leg. Boss says you’re supposed to be left unharmed, but I can say it was an accident.” He licked at the blood still flowing down his face and spit again, his eyes wild.

I pressed myself against the concrete while my pulse beat divots into my veins. How do you fight a bullet? I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound only knotted inside my throat.

Devil-boy leaned in. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

It was at that moment I learned a fun fact: When a gun is pointed at you, it is physically impossible not to stare at it. Seriously. The closer the barrel moved to my head, the more desperate I became to close my eyes. But they refused to budge. It was like someone had stapled my eyelids to the top of my skull.

The gun moved nearer, the barrel growing larger until its black depths filled my vision.

“Nighty-night,” Devil-boy whispered.

I held my breath and waited to die.

But Devil-boy never pulled the trigger.

Instead, he shrieked and dropped the gun to the sidewalk.

As if by magic I could move again, breathe again. But I couldn’t understand why, and what I saw didn’t make sense.

Where Devil-boy had once been standing, he was now hunched over, pawing at his face as he moaned.

“What the—” But before I could finish my sentence, a woman wearing a dirt-smeared shirt and tattered sweatpants stepped in front of me, her canister of pepper spray held high.

“Beat it!” the woman advised in a gravely, cigarette-damaged voice. “Or I’ll give ya another dose! Ya hear?”

Devil-boy pressed a hand into his watering eyes but didn’t move. Down the street two guys exited a bar, the music from the band spilling out onto the street behind them. They were too far away to know what was going on, but lucky for me their presence was enough to send Devil-boy scrambling away. He cast me one last heated look before he knocked into a parked car and then into a light pole before finally disappearing into an alley.

I stood. The movement must have startled the homeless woman because she raised her canister in my direction. “Don’t spray me!” I ducked my head and raised my hands. “I just wanted to thank you. He—he was going to shoot me.”

“Humph,” she muttered, pocketing her pepper spray. She grabbed the discarded gun from the sidewalk and tossed it into a nearby trash can before turning to leave.

“Wait!” I called after her.

She ignored me and kept walking.

“I just—how can I repay you?”

She snorted and bent over to retrieve Devil-boy’s abandoned jacket from the road. “Don’t need to be paid for being a decent human.” She tucked the jacket under her arm and wandered down the road without looking back.

Un-freaking-believable.

My knees wobbled and I sank against the steps before the reality of what just happened could set in.

“Right where I left you! Sorry I took so long.”

A yelp escaped my mouth and I whirled in the direction of the voice. Whitley paused just outside the door as the barista locked it behind him. Whitley took one look at my pale, shaking figure and the smile fell from his face. “Hey.” He rushed to me and enveloped me in his arms. “What happened?”

I shook my head and leaned my weight against him, knowing that there was nothing I could say, no explanation I could give, that wouldn’t make me sound crazy. Though the St. Louis streets weren’t exactly the safest, I couldn’t think of anyone other than me who’d been attacked with nunchaku. I just hoped Whitley wouldn’t glance over his shoulder at Carly’s cell phone still wedged into the door.

“Shh.” He stroked the back of my hair with one hand and pressed me closer to him with the other. In the past, I’d put myself in a swooned-out state just by imagining the feel of Whitley’s arms. But now that they were actually around me, I couldn’t feel anything past the numbing cold of shock that filled my body. I was only vaguely aware of the spicy cinnamon cologne that tickled my nose.

Whitley continued. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t taken so long … I couldn’t find my wallet. I searched the whole place from the counter to the bathroom only to find it wedged between the couch cushions. I should have known better than to leave you out here so long. Of course you were scared—alone on a dark street—especially after what happened to you last weekend.”

I pulled away so I could look up at him, careful not to blink and risk spilling the tears building in the corner of my eyes. “It wasn’t you. I had a really great time … but I think I’ve had too much excitement for one night.” I offered him a weak smile. “I hope I didn’t ruin our date.”

He smiled. “Impossible.”

A blush warmed my cheeks. “Thanks.”

Whitley wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gently guided me down the sidewalk toward his car. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The drive back to my house was uncomfortably silent.

Whitley pulled into my driveway and drummed his thumbs nervously on the steering wheel. “So … ”

What a night. I was so relieved to be home, but at the same time, there was a part of me that hated ending the date I’d been waiting three months for. Hoping to gain an extra minute or two, I took longer slipping out of my seatbelt than was necessary.

“Can I call you?” he asked.

I stopped fidgeting and turned to face him. “I’d like that.”

A smile lit his face. “Great.” He reached around to the backseat and pulled up a backpack, shuffling through it before finally pulling out a legal pad with a pen clipped to it. “Your phone number?”

I gave it to him, and while he finished scribbling it down, I opened the door and stepped out. Sure, I was a little disappointed at our casual goodbye, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. Then I heard his car door slam behind me.

“Wait!” he called. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

I couldn’t help but smile into the dark. My door was only fifteen feet away. I stayed where I was until I felt his hand take mine and lead me the short distance to the concrete porch.

“Well, I guess this is good night,” Whitley said.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and my tongue thick. The tension scratched along my skin like an itchy sweater. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to kiss him—my body warmed to the thought—it was just the awkwardness that led up to it. Could he feel how much my hand was sweating in his? Maybe he was disgusted but too polite to let go. Should I slip my hand from his so I could wipe it on my skirt? Or would that hurt his feelings?

Whitley leaned forward. I closed my eyes and stopped thinking. A few agonizing seconds passed before I felt my hand lifted. Confused, I opened my eyes to find Whitley’s sparkling blue irises locked onto my own as he laid a gentle kiss across my knuckles.

“I had a great time,” he whispered. He dropped my hand, which I quickly clasped behind my back before he noticed the damage that remained from punching Devil-boy.

“Me too.”

He smiled, flashing those incredible dimples. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Heat burned in my cheeks and I forgot how to talk. I could only raise my hand in farewell as he made his way back to his car and pulled out of my drive.