Katana (34 page)

As he drew closer, I squirmed back. “You’re disgusting and I want nothing more than to rip those putrid dimples off your face.”

Whitley shrugged. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so you better get over that attitude.” He dipped the brush into the brown sludge and dangled it over my face, as if deciding where to begin. As it lingered inches above my nose, I detected strong scents of lavender and mint emanating from the ooze. He pressed the stiff-bristled brush against my forehead, and a slight breeze pushed out from my skin, rustling the hairs that had escaped Whitley’s ponytail.

He sat back and smiled. “It’s working already.”

He was right. My head suddenly cleared and my vision sharpened. All traces of the drug were erased, as well as the dizziness caused by his repeated slaps.

Whitley continued to work his way down my body, pausing to smear the herb mixture on the middle of my forehead, neck, chest, and both hands. I lay quietly as he worked. When I had released my power at the dojo, it had stemmed from my chest, but this time, the power surged down the entire length of my body from each point that had been smeared with paste. The wind wasn’t nearly as wild as it had been in the dojo. The swaying bedroom curtains were the only proof that it was there at all.

Whitley placed the jar on the ground and held his arms out wide. “All the years I had to wait—now it will be all mine!” He clenched his hands into fists and threw his head back as he smiled. “Finally!” He lifted his eyes to meet mine, and all traces of humanity were gone. He crawled across the floor until he was positioned over me. “Perfect.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Absolutely perfect.”

I fought against the shudders that threatened to wrack my body. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

Whitley leaned down, bringing his face inches from my own. I smelled the sourness of blood on his breath. I kept my eyes locked on his. If he wanted me so badly, I would make sure he got the part of me that was consumed with hate for him.

“You know,” he said, lifting a hand to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear, “there was another before Michelle. A tragic mistake.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “Some girl in California. She made the news because she fought off a cougar that attacked her while she was hiking. I thought for sure it was the great Senshi. But when I got ahold of her, it was pretty apparent she lacked your spirit and grace. She broke so easy. Not like you.” He touched his finger to my nose.

“Burn in hell.”

He laughed. “See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. The Senshi fire. Here you are, faced with death, and instead of begging for your life, you’re mouthing off.” He clapped his hands together. “It’s just like old times!”

“You’re pathetic.” I reared back and spit on his face. Until that moment, I didn’t realize there was a stronger emotion than hate, but there was, and it was consuming my insides in its black fire.

I understood then what Kim meant when he said he was a samurai for life. Wielding death was not a curse but a gift. By extinguishing evil, we could make the world a better and safer place to inhabit. Gone were the days of guarding nobility. A samurai’s duty was to serve the world.

Whitley ignored me, absently wiping his cheek with his palm. “I almost forgot the candles.” He stood up and retrieved the cardboard box from the bed and pulled out a clear bag of short red candles. After dumping the bag over onto my bed, he went about my room, placing the candles in various locations and lighting them.

The swirling wind stopped.

“You feel that?” Whitley smiled. “We’ve contained your power to this room. There is only one thing left to do.” He turned on his heel and walked out into the hallway.

Frantic, I struggled to pull my hands free. The leather burned into my skin, but I ignored the pain. I could feel my wrists growing slick with sweat, or possibly blood—I couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was lubricated my palms enough to allow them to slide slowly forward.

Whitley appeared moments later holding a katana. He held it for me so see, turning it so the sapphire embedded in its hilt winked in the candlelight. “Do you recognize this?”

I forgot all about freeing myself as my heart began to pound like a jackhammer. “My katana!”

“I can’t believe I actually thought it would be a challenge to get it,” Whitley said. “The decoy was an annoying surprise, but with Kim out searching the city for me, it was no trouble to break into his apartment and steal the real one. Can you believe he actually kept it in plain sight on his wall? This whole thing’s been too easy.” Whitley sighed. “I was hoping for more of a challenge. I’m almost sad that this will all be over soon.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I went back to working my hands free. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. I could feel my skin tear as I pulled.

“My own transcending was a disappointment.” Whitley made a show of polishing the blade with the hem of his shirt. “I had my memories back and my fighting skills, but no powers!” He shook his head. “It wasn’t until later that I figured out that because the power wasn’t mine to begin with, it wouldn’t stay with me. It’s more than a little irritating that I’ve had to go through all of this just to get it back.” He held the sword above his head and examined it in the light. “But it’s so worth it.”

I could barely hear him over the pounding of my pulse inside of my head. My katana—the very thing that could save or end me—was wrapped inside Whitley’s long, pale fingers. I could almost remember how it felt to curl my own fingers around the handle, and how it always felt so right in my hands. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth against the burning of my wrists. The sword Whitley held was mine, and I was going to get it back.

He held the sword back like he was taunting a child. “I’m not just going to hand it over to you. This works a bit different.”

“So do it already!” I screamed. “Or maybe you’d like to sit around and talk about it for another hour.”

He looked thoughtful. “You know, my dear, for once we agree. The time is now.” He gripped the handle with both of his hands and swung the sword high above his head. With a feral yell, he brought it down.

I only had one shot. I rolled over and tore my hands free from the belt just as the metal blade cracked into the hardwood floor. I bared my teeth at him, screaming as I pushed myself off the floor. I spun on one foot and landed a back kick squarely into his stomach.

Whitley doubled over, but kept his hold on the blade.

I brought my knee up toward his head, but instead of it meeting his skull, Whitley ensnared my thigh with his arms and twisted me sharply to the side, releasing me onto the bed. I turned myself around just in time to see him bearing my sword down upon me.

I gasped in surprise as the blade cut through my shoulder. Being stabbed didn’t feel like I expected. A heaviness pulled at my chest and filled my lungs. I turned my head to the side, startled by the sight of my own glassy eyes staring back at me from the metal piercing my shoulder.

Now that I had seen the wound, a slow burning ache began to build from it. I trembled, suddenly very cold despite the warm liquid I felt running up my throat and dribbling down my chin. I tried to take a breath, but my lungs had turned to stone.

Whitley let go of the handle and took a step back, looking around the room. “Nothing is happening,” he hissed angrily.

He was right. I felt no return of memories or wind of power sweeping through the room. There was nothing except me impaled on my bed and dying.

Whitley’s face appeared above mine, his eyes bulging. “Are you or are you not Senshi?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but all I could do was cough.

He screamed and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Answer me!”

I coughed, and he recoiled from the blood that I spattered across his face.

In truth, I was just as disappointed as Whitley. Kim had been wrong; I wasn’t Senshi, I wasn’t a samurai, and I wasn’t his soul mate. The sense of loss that overcame me was crippling, and I would have gladly exchanged it for another sword in the shoulder. I was nothing at all.

I was going to die, alone with a madman, as just Rileigh.

39

Japan, 1493

S
enshi ran to Yoshido but kept her arm twisted against her chest. She refused to touch him, afraid to confirm her worst nightmare. Surely the heartbeat that lulled her to sleep at night wasn’t still. Impossible. Senshi dug her nails into her arms, the pain a reminder that she was still very much alive. And alone.

“Well, that was unfortunate,” Zeami grumbled from behind her.

The voice startled Senshi. She turned and narrowed her eyes on the man responsible for Yoshido’s death. “What have you done?”

Zeami’s eyes flew wide open. “Do not blame me.
You
are the one who is supposed to be dead. I was under strict orders to bring Yoshido back alive.” He shrugged. “No matter. I cannot say that his death brings me any great sorrow.”

“I will bring you something much worse than sorrow,” Senshi growled.

Zeami smiled. “Oh no, my dear, it is I who have plans for you.” He clapped his hands and more than twenty ninja crawled over the stone fence that enclosed the garden. “I have waited a long time to have you, Senshi—a very long time.” He untied his silk robe, baring his chest as he stalked toward her. “And when I am through with you, I have promised whatever is left to my men to do with as they see fit.”

Senshi felt a shift among the ninja and took her gaze off Zeami long enough to see what they were doing. The men clad in black had quietly surrounded her and laced their bows with arrows. Their eyes, the only visible part of them, bore down on her.

“Do not worry, Senshi,” Zeami laughed. “They are not aiming to kill. Now throw down your sword and play nice.”

Senshi glanced around the deadly circle and assessed her situation. She laughed quietly and shook her head. It would all be over soon and she would be with Yoshido again. She found strength in that.

Zeami hesitated. “What is funny?”

Senshi continued to smile as she plucked her sword from the ground. She had enough strength left to finish this. With a gentle push, she released her last bit of energy and pushed it into the katana. She wavered a bit, but managed to drive the pulsating blade into the ground before she collapsed behind it, gasping.

Zeami called out to the ninja, and Senshi lifted her eyes in time to see a wave of arrows raining down upon her. She crept back a little and laid her head against Yoshido’s chest, trying to ignore the scent of burnt flesh as she watched the arrows bounce harmlessly away from the small shield of energy she had raised with her sword.

She sighed, reaching her hand up and stroking Yoshido’s now coarse and brittle hair. “This is how it ends for us, my love,” she whispered. “The honorable death you always wanted.” She was surprised by the tear that trailed down her cheek and quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“Senshi!” Zeami’s voice sounded from far away. “You cannot hide in there forever!”

She sucked in a sharp breath. He was right—she only delayed the inevitable. She rolled over slowly and pushed herself up on shaking arms. Once on her feet, she reached out and touched the thin blue field, rippling it like a pebble tossed into a pond. It would only last a few minutes longer.

The ninja, as if sensing this, ceased their fire and watched her like waiting lions.

Zeami laughed as he strode toward her, stopping when only a few feet remained between them. “Are you blind? There is no escape.”

Senshi slid her hand inside of her robe and felt for the crooked dagger tucked into her sash, a dagger she had never used before. She pulled the dagger out of her robe and held it out in front of her, smiling.

“What are you doing?” Startled, Zeami took several steps backward.

“Do you not know?” She held the blade against her palm, admiring it. “Samurai do not allow themselves to be taken captive. I will die with honor.”

Realization flashed through his wide eyes. “No! You fool!” He turned to the ninja. “Stop her!”

The ninja charged forward like a black wave.

Senshi watched them come through the small holes that were stretching through her shield. She was out
of time.

“Yoshido, I am coming,” she whispered, squeezing the handle of the dagger as tight as her sweat-drenched hands would allow. She sucked in a deep breath and screamed so loudly that she thought her eardrums might burst. Loudly enough, she hoped, that Yoshido would be able to hear her from the beyond and find her. When she had used the last of her breath, she thrust the cold steel into her belly.

Pain, like a roaring tsunami, crashed against her, taking her breath away and driving her to her knees. In training, Yoshido had instructed her to pull the blade up, saying death would come so much faster that way, but Senshi lacked the strength to even breathe. Blackness crawled along the edge of her vision. She found herself face-to-face with Yoshido without realizing she had fallen.

His face was beautiful even in death. A silent angel at peace.

Soon,
she thought amidst her agony,
soon I will be at peace as well.
The shield was gone, but no one dared approach her. Her vision narrowed further, and she blinked her eyes furiously. His face alone was the only thing keeping the pain from driving her insane.