Destiny's Child (Kitsune series Book 3) (40 page)

She shrugged.  “The power is already yours.  You are kitsune, a dream-walker.  Make the brand into a dream, and it is in your power.”

“Ah, so simple.”

Inari smiled at me, easing one of her hand sickles out of her sash.  “As simple as life and death.  I will make this mercifully quick, child, so you will not suffer.”

“Hey, I like suffering.”  I thought of Scotty, my mouse-whispering guardian angel.  “I’m told it builds character.”

Inari raised the sickle over her head, about to bring it slicing down into my heart.

Her body jerked.  Her hand froze in place above her head.  Several feet of gleaming steel protruded from her chest.  Michiko’s timing was perfect.  She’d materialized and stabbed, using the sword of a god to kill a goddess.  Ghost-girl yanked out the sword, spun, and slashing at one of the the white foxes.  Her sword lopped a fox’s head off.  It bounced and rolled away as the body collapsed.  The other fox failed to reach her as Wocky arrived in the nick of time.  He reached out and snagged the fox midair, pulling him in.  Wocky’s jaw unhinged and fell open to an impossible degree.  Sharp fangs were revealed as well as a writhing tongue that was no longer a stub, having somehow been regenerated by the demon.

Wocky inserted the fox’s head, biting it off with a loud chomp.  Blood sprayed.  Wocky held the neck up, tilting it so fresh blood gushed down his throat.  As the heart of the fox stopped beating, the blood slacked off.  Wocky tossed the drained body away, handling the pony-sized creature as easily as if it had been a child’s stuffed toy.

Inari remained on her feet as her body sunk in on itself, shedding the armor.  Her robes rotted in rapid decay.  Her flesh reddened and then grayed, wrinkling, acquiring a curious grain as her youth eroded away in desiccation.  Her hair grew down her back, a weave of vines.  It was then I noticed she still stood because her toes had splayed and curved downward, growing into the soil like roots.  Soon, all that was left of her was a rather ugly tree.

Wocky turned his attention to me, stepping closer.

But Michiko vanished from her old position, reappearing in his way.  The
Sword of Heaven shimmered with divine energy as she poked it at him.  With her back to me, I couldn’t see her expression, but I heard a smile in the tone of her voice, “I wouldn’t, demon-moth.  Remember what this sword did to you last time?”

He offered her a savage smile.  “One doesn’t easily forget one’s heart being sliced in two.”  He looked past her, at me.  “Grace, tell her this is what you need.  I’m the last hope you have of living.
”

I used the last of my hoarded strength, and the railing besides the steps, and fought to my feet.  I tottered up to Michiko, grabbing her shoulder from behind so I wouldn’t fall.  The world was dipping in a most curious fashion, refusing to stay on level.  I spoke softly to her, “Let me handle this.” 

She shot me a quick, sidelong glance as I drew up beside her.  “Are you sure?  You look like a rampaging kitten could bowl you over.”

“Trust me.  I know what I’m doing.”

She shrugged.  “Fine, but remember, there are worse things than being dead.”

“Such as?” Wocky asked.

Michiko’s voice deepened, icing over, “Sometimes, not getting to die.”

Wocky rolled his eyes.  “I suppose you got that out of some prissy vampire movie.”

“Bite me!” Michiko said.

Wocky grinned, displaying blood-soaked teeth.  “Any time.”

“Cut it out, you two.”  I moved toward Wocky, casually letting one of my hands sway toward Michiko’s sword.  I ran a couple of fingers along the flat of her blade.  At the same time, I used my kitsune leaching ability to sip a little of the sword’s mystical force.  It hit my system like a runaway train, infusing me with a jump in strength and a burst of power that sang along my nerves.  I reined in that intoxicating power, compressing it to small star in the depth of my inner shadows.

I want that!
My shadow side said.

No
, I answered,
I need the energy to save us all
.

Afterwards
I can have it?
She asked.

I smiled inwardly
.  We’ll see.

I made a point of moving like I was still running on fumes, a breath or two from keeling over.  I reached out for Wocky’s hand.  “Let’s not do things here.”

His eyes gleamed with triumph as he assumed I was giving in to him.  “Where shall I take you?”

“The far side of a perfect dream.”  I smiled weakly. 
Nothing less can save me.

He jerked me into his spindly arms.  His black-star eyes blazed into mine.  “Sleep,” he said.

I yielded to lethargy, letting darkness claim me.

*    *    *

Darkness thinned to a woodland clearing carpeted with dull brown and red leaves.  A pile of cut tree limbs lay to one side, a pile of brush.  Dreaming, I sat on a tree stump.  A winter wind that lacked chill—At least to me—lifted my dark red hair, wagging it like a banner of war.  An orange-red sun was tangled low in the trees.  Sunset wasn’t far away unless I changed things. 

This was my dream, my world, a time and place of my choosing.  I stopped the dream in that moment before Wocky arrived.  A time stop in the waking world would have utterly exhausted me, probably finishing me off.  Here, I allowed no such inefficiency.  Further, I made a short list of rules in my head, and willed them to materialize on a parchment scroll that popped into my hand.  I dropped the scroll.  It sank between two large roots, into the soil at my feet.

Let my will become the law of the land: a perfect land in a perfect dream—I hope.
 

In the imperfect, real world, a person without an aura is dead in some way: vamp, zombie, or a demon.  Here, I decreed that the power of a storm god’s sword could replace my wounded aura, at least for a short while. 

If I’m wrong, I’ll wake up very dead.  All or nothing, this is the last throw of the dice.

I looked over to a cluster of h
ay bales.  They were arranged to form a throne for a straw man in cast-off farmer’s clothes. 

All right, let’s get things rolling again.

A hoot owl called out.  The first star of the evening blazed to life in the dimming sky.  And a few leaves that had been suspended mid-tumble began wheeling along once more with time turned back on. 

I watched the straw man’s clothing darkened to crisp, clean, black silk and denim; a dress shirt and jeans.  Feet formed wearing glossy black boots.  Hands came out of empty sleeves, wearing long-fingered leather gloves.  The canvas with its crudely drawn charcoal face became human.  The straw at the back of his head transmuted to hair.  Button eyes sunk into wells of darkness, replaced by burning coals.  The body filled out to more than human size.  The former scarecrow stood up, leaving his seat.  He strolled over, big, black, wings bursting into view from his back as the cloth there ripped loudly.  The wings were also tattered, clacking out into a fanned display that should have been threatening, but wasn’t.

I understood that I had it in myself to be just as scary.

“Grace.”  He nodded a formal greeting.

“Wocky.”  I stood, moving back over the stump so it remained between us.

“For the record,” he said, “I need you to state that you are binding yourself to me of your own free will, with no coercion on my part.  Otherwise, it won’t take.”

“Yeah, I Imagine God keeps you guys on short leash, metaphorically speaking, but there’s one problem with what you want—I’m not giving consent.”

His flaming eyes narrowed.  His body became still as a graveyard marker.  “Then why are we here?”

Pulling warm strength from my core—power borrowed from Michiko’s Sword of Heaven—I felt a resurge of vitality.  I straightened my shoulders, drew a deep breath, and made a throwing gesture.  My poisoned aura hung in the air between Wocky and me.  I snapped my fingers, and the energy broke into fragments, becoming a foggy firefly swarm that blinked a sickly brownish-green.

“Pretty,” Wocky said.

I waved and the sick color fled.  The swarm danced in an intricate pattern, blinking a healthy, tawny gold.  I opened my arms and each bug ghosted into my chest, becoming pure aura inside me once again. 

One problem down and a demon brand left to take care of.

I willed the top half of my clothing to vanish, leaving only a black sports bra for modesty’s sake.

Wocky smiled a slow, crooked smile.  “You want me to service you first?  Afraid of dying a virgin?  Good thing this is a dream, or I wouldn’t have functional equipment for the job.”

Boy, are you getting your hopes up. 

I filled my hand with black shadow, willing it to harden and acquire a knife’s sharp edge.  The shadow responded, becoming lethal obsidian.  My smile matched his, teasing and predatory. 

Wocky’s rickety smile stayed in place, as he lifted an inquiring eyebrow.  “What?” he said.  “You like it rough?  I can do rough.”  His smile widened.  “Where are the whips and chainsaws?”

Because all’s fair in war and … well, war, I willed my pants away, leaving lace-trimmed bikini panties.  Wocky’s eyes roved freely down my figure.  There were delightful curves reflecting the maturing influence of my moth DNA.  I had real boobs that made me feel a little top heavy since I usually had a rather flat chest.  I slid a hand down my gently-rounded stomach, guiding his heated gaze, and ran my fingernails along the lacy waistband.  In seduction mode, my voice went low and husky.  “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

His tongue was all but dragging the ground.  “I’ll say you do.”

I slid my hand back up my abs, across my body to my ribs, as if, with a longer arm, I could reach behind my back for a rabbit or something.  I smiled my
gotcha!
Smile and willed the demon mark between my shoulder blades to seep across my skin, over to my hand.  I drew my hand back across my stomach, and the demon mark followed it into view.

Wocky stiffened.  His eyes stayed on the mark as he said, “Grace, what are you doing?”

I grabbed the demon mark and peeled the thing off me.  Free of my skin, it wiggled and fought my grip.  I slapped the demon brand onto the tree stump.  Kneeling, I held the mark firmly in place, stabbing it with the obsidian knife so it
had to
stay put.  The mark squealed like a stuck piglet.

Wocky’s face was contorted by a terrible stabbing pain.  He lunged for the mark.

Tree roots broke ground, wrapping him up with woodland tentacles. 

Yeah, I guess I am into bondage.

He batted his wings, whipping up a windstorm, but couldn’t free himself.  In my dream, the roots were strong enough to hold him, especially with the power I’d borrowed from Michiko’s sword.  He continued to struggle, straining.  It did no good.

I made him watch as his demon mark died, bubbling like hot, black tar, melting over the stump, going still in death, for this was a dream of perfect death.

“Grace!  Let me go now, or I will kill all you love, before eating your still
-beating heart before your very eyes!”

“Isn’t that precious?”  With a thought, I clothed myself in a frothy red gown and a gold and garnet necklace.  “Goodbye, Wocky.  I’d say I’m going to miss you, but I’m too kitsune to lie.”

I backed away from the stump, to the very edge of the woods.  I looked upward to the living shadow that was the sky now the sun had set.  I spoke to my hungry other self, “Okay, Shady Lady, you can have this dream.  I’m done with it.  Bon appetite.” 

With Wocky’s furious screech echoing in my head, I willed myself awake.

FORTY

Nightmare cleanses evil.

Light a candle for the fallen.

The hunters drink savage joy,

While the blood
moon is calling.

                                                        —The Wild Hunt

                        
                                   Elektra Blue

I stirred, my eyes fluttering open.  Cassie and I were under the bare branches of the ugly tree that had once been Inari.  Mom cradled my head in her lap.  We were both on a mat that had come from the dojo.  She brushed my hair away from my face, crooning a song about fluffy bunnies and marshmallow eggs.  I think she was making it up as she went along.  Her song broke off as she noticed my eyes were open.  Looking past her smiling face, I noticed the sun had moved ahead.  A couple hours had passed. 

How strange.

The next thing I noticed: we were surrounded by a garden party.  Voices murmured like a sea.  Shaun’s voice stood out.  He was singing something in Japanese, strumming a steel-string guitar.  High overhead, Michiko sat on one of the wire strands that held the paper lanterns.  She’d stolen a Popsicle and clutched it while staring down, spying on all the activity.

My gaze shifted as Fenn padded into view.  He lowered himself, sitting opposite Cassie, with me between them.  His eyes devoured my face.  “Grace, are you okay?”