Senshi (A Katana Novel) (17 page)

35

T
he first security officer entered the room. She was barely in her thirties. Her mouth dropped when she caught sight of us, her lips forming an O of surprise.

Quentin’s fingers tightened around mine. Whitley’s hand was cool and rigid. I closed my eyes, channeled my ki, and hoped to hell what I was about to do would work.

I prayed they both knew enough to keep silent.

The security guard blinked several times at us bef
ore mashing the heels of her hands against her eyes.

“Are they in here?” Another officer, a black male in his fifties, joined her side and waved his flashlight around the room.

She shook her head. “I thought—I just—” She sighed. “I need to get off the night beat. I’m seeing things.”

She continued to stare at our corner.

A heavyset guard shuffled into the room, pausing in the doorway to wipe the sweat from his brow. “The rooms behind us have been searched. If the intruder is in the museum, they have to be up ahead.”

The older guard nodded and readjusted his grip on the flashlight. “Let’s move out. The cops should be here soon and they can help search.” He jogged out of the room without a glance in our direction. The heavyset guard followed him. The woman hesitated and, instead of following them, took several cautious steps toward the spot where we huddled.

Both Whitley and Q tightened their grip on my hand as the guard studied the shadow we hid in. Quentin’s grip was so tight and painful that I had to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.

The guard narrowed her eyes and I held my breath.

After an eternity, she shook her head. “I’m going crazy,” she mumbled. She gave our corner one last look before trotting out of the room.

When I was sure she was out of earshot and no other guards were on their way in, I let go of Whitley’s and Q’s hands.

They both released their held breath with a collective whoosh of air.

“Ri-Ri,” Quentin’s face had paled to an ashy gray. “Why was I invisible?” He stared at his hand, turning it over as he studied it. “Why, Ri-Ri?”

I shrugged. “Um, I’m not exactly sure.”

Whitley stared at me as if I had spiders crawling out of my ears.

“What?” I snapped.

He smiled coyly. “You’re more resourceful than I thought. Too bad your little tricks will only delay your death. You really need me if you want to stay alive.”

“Yeah? Because it looks more like you need me.” I narrowed my eyes. “Care to tell me why?”

“I’d be happy to,” he answered. “But first, we need to get out of here before the cops show up. Meet me at the Denny’s on Grand. Think you can get out of here without being seen?”

“I don’t like it,” Q growled. “This loser drugged us, stabbed you, and set your house on fire. And now he’s got us involved in some sort of museum heist. I think we should kick his ass and leave him for the police.”

I fingered the hairpin in my pocket. Come to think of it, Q’s plan wasn’t entirely a bad one.

Whitley laughed, flashing the single dimple that wasn’t hidden by the curtain of hair covering half of his face. His dimples had once sent shivers through my body. Now, they made me cringe. “Let’s not do anything hasty. You may not think so, but you guys need me.” He dipped his chin and his single exposed eye bore into mine. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Rileigh, and I have the answers you desperately need.” He held out his hand. “The hairpin, please?”

I withdrew my empty hand from my pocket. Whitley had dragged me into this museum robbery and I wasn’t about to give him anything until I found out what was going on. Because, chances were, if Whitley wanted the kanzashi, it was probably powerful and dangerous. With the strange way he wore his hair, I doubted he wanted to accessorize. “I think I’ll hold on to it for now.”

He chuckled. “Okay, fine. Just meet me at Denny’s. I’ll explain things to you there.”

That was it? No fight for the kanzashi? No assassination attempt on my life? I looked at Q who looked just as confused by Whitley’s behavior as I was.

Did I really think that Whitley was offering to help me out of the goodness of his heart? No. But if I knew Whitley as well as I thought I did, he was after something. And he needed me to get it.

36

I
don’t like this.” Q turned off his car.

I wasn’t thrilled to be at a Denny’s at two in the morning to meet my arch nemesis. At least the public setting ensured enough witnesses to discourage a murder attempt … I hoped.

Q looked at me, his eyes set with worry. “You’re not really going to give him that hair thingy, are you?”

“I don’t know … ” I stared at the kanzashi in my hand, trying to figure out where I’d seen it before. There was something about it, a memory that refused to surface.

I wasn’t exactly keen on keeping a stolen artifact—there had to be some bad karma in that somewhere. But if Whitley went through all of the trouble of having us help him steal it, the reason for him wanting it couldn’t be good.

Quentin gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t trust that guy, Ri-Ri.”

“Me either. But like the saying goes, keep your friends close—”

He rolled his eyes. “And your enemies closer. Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

I carefully placed the kanzashi inside my backpack. “Whitley is the one sending the ninja after me, or he knows who is. Either way, I feel better having him close enough that I can keep my eye on him.”

“Didn’t you tell me he betrayed you and killed everyone you loved in your past life? He’s a liar and a backstabber.”

“I know. Which is exactly why I won’t let my guard down for a second.” I opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air, hoisting the backpack over my shoulder.

“You won’t be the only one.” He fell into step next to me as I walked into the restaurant.

Inside, the smell of grease and coffee greeted us. A haggard-looking man with a dirty beard sat on a stool at the counter and a college-aged girl sipped coffee in a booth, surrounded by various textbooks. Neither of them set off my ninja alarm, so I continued to the register.

“How many?” A guy with teal-colored hair and three lip piercings leaned across the counter and scratched his scalp with the back of a pencil. His nametag read Trace.

“We’re meeting someone,” I told him.

Trace jutted his chin to a corner booth. “The emo convention is that way.”

“Thank you?” Quentin and I exchanged glances as we left the register.

“I’m a little insulted,” Q said as we walked through the dining room. “I mean, I’m wearing all black and that guy just assumes I’m some emo kid? Like the possibility I just pulled off a major museum heist never even crossed his mind?” He huffed. “Maybe I should get a tattoo. How is one supposed to be taken seriously as a criminal nowadays?”

I ignored him and kept walking until I stood next to the booth. Whitley glanced up from his menu and set it aside with a grin. I had to give Trace some credit—with Whitley’s hair hiding half of his face the way it did, he really did look a little emo. But Whitley’s new hairstyle was the last thing I was concerned about.

“So I came.” I slid into the booth across from him. Q sat next to me.

“Obviously.” Whitley folded his hands across the table. “Did you bring the kanzashi?”

I patted the bag next to me. “If you think I’m just going to hand it over to you, you’re a few ninja short of a clan.”

He shook his head. “No. I knew you’d make this as much of an annoyingly difficult situation for me as possible. Some things never change.”

“Difficult for you?” I huffed. “What about us? Do you think we actually thought, ‘Oh, it’s such a beautiful night. We really should rob a museum.’”

Q grabbed my arm, motioning his head to the patrons who were now staring at me.

I inhaled sharply, trying to diffuse the anger burning through my blood. When I spoke again my words were low, almost a growl. “You stabbed me.”

Whitley waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Yes, yes. And you left me in your house to burn alive. I’d say we’re even, wouldn’t you?”

A choked noise escaped my throat. “Are you kidding me? I lost everything because of you. My house, my clothes, photographs, memories—they’re all gone!”

Whitley leaned across the table, viper-quick. I threw an arm protectively across Quentin to block whatever attack was coming.

But Whitley didn’t strike. Instead, he pushed his hair back, revealing the scars that had distorted his skin, shiny and slick. It looked like half of his face was made of melted wax.

Quentin went rigid next to me and I gasped.

“Wah! My clothes. Wah! My precious memories. Look at my face!” Whitley’s right eye bulged from the socket, looking as if it were on the brink of falling out.

At that moment, all I wanted in the world was to look away. But I knew that was exactly what Whitley expected me to do. So I stared at his face without blinking. “I don’t understand what your point is,” I said. “Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you?” I grabbed hold of the table to keep from wavering under his horrific gaze. “Honestly, I think you got off easy.”

Whitley didn’t move for a few seconds. And then, very slowly, he released his hair so that it fell back over the mangled half of his face. “Yes, well, what happened to my face is nothing compared to what
she’ll
do to the both of us if she gets her hands on the kanzashi.”

Q laid his arms on the table and leaned forward. I’d never seen him so aggressive. “Who’s
she?
”

Whitley took a long drink of his water before he answered. “
She
is the most powerful kunoichi who ever lived and
that
”—he gestured to my backpack with his glass—“was her hairpin.”

I groaned. Suddenly, it all made sense. “So you wanted to steal the kanzashi so you could try to kill this poor girl and steal her power like you did with me? Whitley, I knew you were crazy, but you really must be out of your mind if you think I’d stand by and let you do that.”

His eyes narrowed and a chill settled over the table. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice cracked as if he had trouble containing the emotion behind his words. “This
poor girl
that you speak of makes me look like a saint.”

I made a face. “Yeah right. You’d say anything to get what you want.”

“You think so?” He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “You think I was responsible for your deaths in Japan, right? Well, you forget that I was merely doing what I was paid to do. The ninja attack on the village? Lord Toyotomi’s death? Your death? I was carrying out orders.
Her
orders.”

A jolt ran up my spine and I shivered. An old memory clicked into place. “Your benefactor,” I whispered.

He nodded. “The famous kunoichi. If you want someone to blame for the slaughter in Japan, she’s the one. I was merely a hired hand. If I hadn’t led the attack, it would have been someone else.”

I closed my eyes. Inside the darkness, I could see my Yoshido lying on the ground, his body contorted into an odd angle as his lifeless eyes stared through me. My knees trembled. “You think that matters?” I opened my eyes and
glared at him. “When you were Zeami, you were still a brother samurai. You betrayed us all.”

He rolled his eyes. “Get over yourself. That was a lifetime ago. Besides, it wasn’t like things worked out entirely in my favor.”

I glared at him. “Let me guess. Your sheets didn’t have a high-enough thread count?”

He made a face to show me he was clearly not amused. “No. This.” He pointed to the faint pink line that ran across the length of his neck. A line he’d shown me the night he tried to kill me. “You already know that serious and fatal injuries show up as birthmarks in a next life, right?”

I nodded. Q shook his head.

Whitley’s voice dropped to a whisper. “After the attack that left you all dead, I went to kunoichi for my payment and, instead of rewarding me as she’d promised, she had me beheaded.”

I leaned back in surprise. So that was how Whitley was beheaded—he was betrayed after betraying us. Score one for karma. “If you think I’m going to feel bad for you—”

“Of course not!” he cut me off. “I’m telling you this so you can see the type of woman the kunoichi is. I made one tiny mistake and she vowed to hunt me down and kill me in every lifetime.”

“What did you do?” Quentin asked.

Whitley waved the question away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” I said. “You don’t like her and she doesn’t like you. Got it. How does the kanzashi factor in?”

“Because we can’t let her get it!” He slammed a fist against the table, rattling his water and drawing curious glances from the two other patrons. He lowered his voice. “If she touches the kanzashi, then she’ll transcend. And if she regains her power, she’ll be unstoppable. We’ll be as good as dead.”

37

Q
looked skeptical. “Why would she even care? Maybe she’s over it?”

Whitley laughed, a desperate sound that made my gut clench. “Several ninja attacks have led me to believe otherwise.”

That got my attention. “Wait, what? I thought you were working with the ninja. I saw them follow you into that abandoned building.”

Whitley sighed and shook his head. “You really do reinforce the whole blonde cliché. You know that, right?”

I scowled at him.

He smiled back. “The ninja were there to kill me. You just showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I folded my arms on the table. “Then why did I find a business card for an elevator-repair service? You want to tell me you weren’t involved in the elevator hijacking.”

He leaned forward. “I tried to
stop
the hijacking. I’ve been keeping an eye on your building for your own good. That’s how I found out the ninja screwed with the elevators. I called another repair service in hopes the ninja’s sabotage attempts would be discovered.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

I leaned back against the booth. Huh. Whitley was trying to
save
my life? This was getting more confusing by the minute.

Trace appeared at our table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

I blinked at the waiter. His question swirled inside my head with the hundred or so already there.

“Coffee,” Q answered. “For both of us.”

My stomach roared to life. “And cheese fries,” I added. Stress made me crave carbs something fierce.

The waiter nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

“So let me see if I can figure this out.” I pressed my index fingers into my temples. “You botched up your mission and pissed off this kunoichi person in Japan so now she wants to kill you in this life, right?”

Whitley made a face. “Thanks for your concern. And yes, I was sent to kill all of Toyotomi’s samurai,
except
Yoshido. I think she thought she could convince him to lead her army. How was I supposed to know he’d sacrifice his life for you? Needless to say, when I didn’t return with Yoshido”— he drew a line across his neck with his finger—“the kunoichi was a little upset with me.”

I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat at the mention of Yoshido’s death. “Okay, great. But I still don’t understand why she’s sending ninja after
me
. Honestly, I could care less whether you live or die.”

His lips curled into a twisted smile. “If you knew what was good for you, you would.”

Quentin leaned forward. “Is that a threat?”

“Not in the way you think.” Whitley’s eyes burned into mine. “Here’s a fun little bit of trivia I learned because of recent events. You and me? We’re soul mates, babe.”

“What?” My laugh was loud enough to draw a startled glance from our waiter who stood behind the counter pouring coffee. “In case you forgot, we did the whole dating thing—it didn’t work. As it turns out, having a guy stab you is kind of a turnoff.”

Before Whitley could answer, our waiter walked over and set two steaming mugs of coffee on the edge of our table. “I’ll be right back with your fries.” He retreated back into the kitchen.

After he was gone, Whitley folded his hands on the table. “I don’t mean we’re soul mates in the way that you think. We’re not going to get married and have little samurai babies or anything.” He shuddered. “But you are the other half of my inyodo.”

I froze in mid-sip of my coffee, and looked at Q. “Is that some perverted slang I don’t know? Because if it is, I’ll kick his ass.”

“No.” Whitley sighed. “The inyodo is Japanese yin-yang. The world runs on balance. For every yin, there is a yang. For every black, a white. For every evil, there must be a good to balance it. Balance keeps the world spinning. Without balance?” Whitley mimed an explosion with his hands.

“So what you’re saying,” Quentin began, “is that you’re Rileigh’s opposite? You’re the anti-Rileigh?”

Whitley grinned. “Look at that. One of you has a brain.”

I tightened my grip on my mug and debated whether or not to toss it into his lap. “Okay. So if what you’re saying is true and you’re my …
soul mate
”—a thought that made me throw up in my mouth a little—“that still doesn’t explain why the kunoichi wants me dead.”

“Doesn’t it?” Whitley looked surprised. “Let me spell it out for you. The world revolves around balance. If something disrupts that balance, nature will find a way to fix it.”

I still didn’t understand. If I was the balance of Whitley, and something happened to me … Realization tightened my lungs and forced a gasp from my throat. “You
mean if the kunoichi kills me then—”

Whitley’s smile widened. “I die,” he finished for me. “Which is exactly why the kunoichi sent ninja after you—if she kills you, then she kills me by default. But it works in reverse too. If she does kill me, then you die. So now you see why you and I have to work together.”

“Son of hibachi,” I muttered. This sucked on so many levels.

The waiter set the plate of greasy cheesy goodness in front of me, only now I was too upset to eat. Whitley, however, helped himself to a forkful of fries.

“I know this comes as a shock,” Whitley said, after he finished chewing. “I was surprised when I realized it. Obviously, I wouldn’t have tried to kill you if I’d known I’d be endangering myself.” He shrugged. “But we’re both still alive, so no harm, no foul.”

I exchanged an incredulous look with Quentin before pulling the plate of fries out of Whitley’s reach. Rileigh Martin did not share cheese fries with boys who stabbed her.

Whitley, unfazed, wiped his hands off on a napkin. “I just can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. In our last life, I died within twenty-four hours of your death. That should have been my first clue. Not to mention you’re everything I can’t stand.” He shook his head. “I should have put it together.”

“Well, this is just fantastic.” I threw my hands in the air. “I’m being forced to work with my arch enemy, the person who murdered me and everyone I loved in my past life, just so I can stay alive in this one?”

Whitley looked thoughtful. “Yeah, that sums it up nicely.”

I propped my elbow on the table and set my chin on my fist. “I honestly don’t know how this can get any worse.”

Whitley’s expression darkened. “I’ll take gruesome deaths for $500, Alex.”

“What are you talking about?” Quentin asked.

Whitley leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If the kunoichi gets her claws on the comb, she’ll regain her former power. And trust me when I say this, it would be a very,
very
bad thing. Remember the lightning I used to kill Yoshido?”

I gripped the table so hard my knuckles ached. “It would be wise of you not to bring that up,” I growled.

Whitley waved my threat away. “The power I used was a gift from the kunoichi. And it was only a fraction of what she could do.”

I forced my eyes to stay open, afraid if I blinked I would see Yoshido lying dead in the darkness behind my eyelids. “How did she get so powerful?”

He shrugged. “Why can you manipulate ki? Why am I so good looking? Everyone is born with their own special talents.”

I wondered how hard and how fast I would have to strike to stab my straw through Whitley’s neck. But then I realized if what he said was true, I’d only be killing myself in the long run. I let my forehead fall to the table with a thunk.

My life had officially hit ten on the suck-o-meter.

“Now that you know what’s going on,” Whitley said, sliding his hand across the table so it rested by my face, “you can give me the kanzashi.”

I didn’t move, but instead stared at his outstretched hand as I pulled the backpack against my body. Whitley, if he wasn’t lying to me, only wanted the hairpin to protect us. But if he was lying, there was no telling what trouble he could cause.

Whitley withdrew his hand with a sigh. “Oh, come on. After everything I told you, you’re still not going to trust me?” He folded his arms across his chest. “All right. Don’t give me the comb. But at least destroy it. And do it in front of me so I can be sure you did it correctly.

That didn’t sound unreasonable. I sat up. “Okay. Fine.”

“Good.” He reached into his wallet and tossed a twenty onto the table. “Let’s go. I have lighter fluid and matches in my car. I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

He stood and slid out of the booth. Quentin and I followed him outside. I clutched the bag to my chest just in case he tried to pull something funny. Whitley stopped at his black BMW and opened the trunk. True to his word, he pulled out a bottle of lighter fluid and a box of matches. He offered them to me. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

“Uh, thanks.” I took the bottle and matches from him and set them on the ground so I could unzip the bag. I couldn’t help the pang of regret that ran through me as I pulled the kanzashi out. It was a beautiful piece of history. And here I was about to burn it in a Denny’s parking lot.

I sighed. Oh well.

I set the comb on the ground and cringed as I doused it with lighter fluid. Such a shame. After making certain it was saturated, I took a match and lit it.

Whitley held his breath.

I paused, letting the flame burn dangerously close to my fingertips. I didn’t want to destroy such a gorgeous antique, but if I wanted to live I didn’t really have a choice. “Here we go,” I whispered as the match fell from my grasp. But as I watched the flame tumble toward the comb, I detected movement to my right. Before I could turn and figure out what was happening, Quentin darted in front of me and snatched the comb before it could ignite.

I stared at him, trying to figure out the meaning of his actions. “Q?”

He turned to me, his eyes wide. He looked just as confused as I felt.

I took a step forward. “What are you doing?”

“Yes.” The threat lining Whitley’s words was unmistakable. His body tensed and his weight shifted to the balls of his feet. I knew he was seconds away from pouncing. “What
are
you doing?”

Quentin’s eyes flicked between me and the comb in his hands. “I have no idea.”

My ki stirred inside of me—a warning, but of what I couldn’t figure out. I held my hand out. “Please give me the kanzashi, Q.”

“No!” His eyes blazed with anger and he hugged the kanzashi to his chest.

I froze and the buzzing inside of me intensified. Something was seriously wrong.

Whitley stepped beside me. “Give us the comb or I’ll take it from you by force.”

Q looked at me, the anger on his face melting into confusion. “What’s going on? I don’t understand … ” He looked at the kanzashi in his hand.

Whitley edged forward, but I stopped him by holding my arm out, thumping it against his chest. I didn’t understand why Q was acting so weird, but I wasn’t about to let Whitley at him. “Cool it, Whitley.”

Whitley glared at me.

I turned my attention back to my best friend. “Q, are you feeling okay?”

He blinked. “Yes … no … I feel … I feel … ” But instead of finishing, he hissed in pain and dropped the kanzashi to the ground. He pressed his palm into his temple and doubled over. “Oh, God. It hurts!”

“What hurts?” I was at his side in an instant, wrapping my arms around his shoulder. Panic squeezed my chest. Quentin was in pain. I had no idea why, and no idea how to fix it.

He cried out again and would have fallen to his knees if I hadn’t shifted my hold to his waist. I staggered forward, trying to keep him on his feet, and shot a pleading look at Whitley. “Do something!”

Whitley stared at us, unmoving. He cupped his chin with his hand. “Interesting
…
”

“This is
not
interesting!” I shouted. “What is interesting are the various places you can stab a person without killing them—and I know them all! So do something!”

Whitley rolled his eyes before walking over and hooking an arm under Q’s. “Easy,” he muttered. Then to me, “Let’s get him to the curb.”

Q groaned. His head rolled around his shoulder like a flower with a snapped stem.

My breath knotted in my throat. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Once Q was safely seated on the curb, Whitley released him and stood back. He cocked his head in observation.

Frustration wove knots into my stomach and itched along my skin. We were getting nowhere fast. “Forget I asked you to help,” I told Whitley. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

Whitley turned his attention on me. “Who are you calling?”

“An ambulance. Something is really wrong with him!” I gestured to my friend groaning on the curb. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

“Don’t.” Whitley grabbed my wrist. “They can’t help him.”

I shook free from his grip and glared at him. “How do you know?”

He turned away from me and crouched in front of Q. “I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on with you. And I think I can help. But I’m going to need your complete trust. Do I have it?”

Quentin looked at him, uncertainty showing in his tear-filled eyes. Finally, he nodded.

“Good.” Whitley pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket.

I tensed, my heart fluttering like a frightened bird. “What are you doing?”

Whitley flicked a switch and a three-inch blade flipped out of the hilt with a click. “The kunoichi got to him.” He held out his hand to Q. “Give me your arm. This will only hurt for a second.”

“No! Absolutely not.” I stepped in front of Q and faced Whitley. I should have known better than to think he could actually help. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged. “Look. You said you wanted my help, so I’m giving it. If you’re going to be all snippy about it, I can just go. He gestured to Q. “Good luck dealing with it on your own. The kunoichi has infected his mind.”