Surrender to Darkness (11 page)

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Authors: Annette McCleave

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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“Nonsense.” Sora descended into the courtyard, the trailing hem of his robes soundless as it slid over the wooden steps. “Go. The compound will survive another day in your absence. Ensuring that your father’s business remains uncorrupted is as vital as any other task assigned to you. Holding back the darkness takes many forms.”
She blinked. Sora was usually the first to remind her of her commitments to the
onmyōji
. “Are you certain?”
“The company car is already at the gate,” he said with a faint shrug. “It would be impolite to keep the driver waiting.”
“I’ll go with you,” Murdoch offered, standing.
Kiyoko’s pulse accelerated. Forty minutes of close confinement, breathing that warm, masculine scent, feeling the electric tension dance between them the entire time. The journey into Sapporo would be almost unbearable, but deliciously so.
“Surely you would prefer to remain in the country and enjoy the fresh air, Mr. Murdoch?” Sora asked. “Kiyoko-san will be cooped up in an office all day, poring over numbers. Did you travel all the way here from America to see four painted walls?”
Murdoch hesitated.
“Stay,” she said to him. “He’s right. My day will be quite tiresome for you.”
She met his gaze, intending to underscore the message. But what she saw in his eyes surprised her. Her words had failed to discourage him—if anything, they had deepened his chivalry and firmed his resolve. He planned to accompany her. But it was equally clear that Sora did not want him to.
“I will go alone,” she said quickly, before he could speak.
She spun around and strode toward the gate, decision made. Why taunt herself? Time spent in Murdoch’s company would only make life after his departure more difficult. Yes, he made her feel good, extremely so. But the sheer intensity of her response to him foretold its demise. Such trembling eagerness, such breathless need, and such desperate craving would not endure.
Could
not endure.
As Sora had said, the car was waiting for her at the gate. Umiko stood next to the open door, Kiyoko’s shoes, purse, and a fresh shirt in hand. Kiyoko glanced down. Droplets of Takeo’s blood stood out starkly on the white material. Her path had been mapped out for years; she already knew her destiny. Still, under the arch of the torii, between the hulking stone statues of the
niou
, she stopped.
And turned.
Murdoch stood exactly where she had left him, a pillar of male presence against the backdrop of the temple, staring at her. Why that meant something, Kiyoko couldn’t say. But it did. She nodded to him, accepted her items from Umiko, and slid into the car.
Smiling.
6
M
urdoch watched until the car disappeared down the treelined driveway, then faced the old man. “Kiyoko calls you sensei or Yamashita-sensei. What should
I
call you?”
The old man smiled. “Do you desire to join the other men in training today, Mr. Murdoch?”
“No.” Searching the house for the Veil would be a much better use of his time.
“Then address me as Sora-san.”
“Okay, Sora-san. I’m headed back to the house. I’ve got a call to make, and then I’m going to relax until Kiyoko returns. Give me a shout if anything untoward happens.”
The elder lifted a silver brow. “Untoward?”
“Strange, odd, evil.”
“Ah, yes. Faced with such, we would of course require your aid.”
Murdoch peered at Sora. Something suggested the old man was enjoying a chuckle at his expense, but the placid expression on the aged face didn’t support his theory. “Exactly.”
“Thank you, most sincerely.” Sora pointed. “The western gate will lead you to the house. No need to leap the fence on your return journey.”
Murdoch’s hackles rose. Undeniable humor. He met Sora’s even stare. “Where I come from, mockery is an insult requiring a decisive response. Don’t test me, old man.”
Sora smiled. “Believe me, Mr. Murdoch. No insult is intended. My admiration of you runs deep. If I am amused, it is only by the unabashed way you display your passion.”
That didn’t soothe Murdoch one whit.
“Holding back has never been my strength,” he admitted, his voice soft. “And retreating is only acceptable if it draws the enemy into a trap.”
The old man bowed graciously. “Then allow me to be the one who withdraws, Mr. Murdoch. My apologies.”
Sora slipped back into the dojo, leaving Murdoch standing in the courtyard. The doctor was busy guiding the transfer of the wounded warrior to the infirmary, and several other men were carefully lifting the dead onto soft cotton litters.
The hairs on the back of Murdoch’s neck lifted, and he pivoted. A young man was crouched next to the limp body of Takeo, a man Murdoch didn’t recognize. Not personally, at any rate. But the gentle hand to the man’s neck—
that
he knew.
The young man stood and faced Murdoch.
Judging by the plump youthfulness of his skin, the lad was no more than twenty. His muscles were well honed, his hair cut short, and his outfit identical to that of any other warrior in the compound. Only a familiar weariness about the fellow’s eyes gave him away.
He was a Soul Gatherer.
Since Murdoch could carry only souls destined for the same resting place, and the two warriors he’d claimed were bound for heaven, Death had sent another to pick up Takeo’s soul.
Murdoch nodded to his colleague, then took the path to the back gate without a word, allowing the young man to vanish into the shadows, as his role dictated.
Umiko met him at the door to the house.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure the old dragon would let him in. Her bearing was stiff, her cream kimono amazingly crisp and unwrinkled. But after glaring at him for a long moment with undisguised annoyance, she stepped back and ushered him inside.
Where she had another beer waiting on the table.
He grinned.
God love her.
He snatched up the beer, took a long swallow, then dialed the main number for the ranch in San Jose. It was early evening in California, so someone ought to be around to answer.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice, no Egyptian accent.
“Rachel?”
“Nope, it’s Em. Mom’s in the studio. That you, Murdoch?”
The quiet, unemotional tone had misled him. The lass hadn’t been the same since young Rodriguez left town. “Aye, it’s me. How is the training going?”
“Better every day.” A short pause. “I miss you.”
He frowned. Webster and Emily had been quite close once, but the lad spent a lot less time with the girl now that he was running the show. “I miss you, too, lass. If you need to pop out here for a chat, feel free.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But between homework and training, I don’t really have time. When are you coming back?”
“Soon.” Very soon, if all went well. “Is Webster around?”
“Nope. He and a bunch of the others drove off in the Humvee to meet Michael and Uriel. The archangels found another nest of demons in San Francisco.”
“Of course they did.” Murdoch grimaced. “Why did you stay behind?”
“I have an exam tomorrow,” she explained. “English. If I ace this one, I’m back on the honor roll.”
“Good for you. Your mum must be happy.”
“As happy as she can be with swollen feet and a giant belly. I think she forgot how much fun it is to be eight months pregnant.”
“Aye. I’ll bet MacGregor is sticking close to home these days.”
“Yup. When he’s not in the training arena, he’s in the office staring at the map, trying to figure out where to send his latest elite Gatherers.”
“Is there one assigned to Sapporo, perchance? I could use a little action over here.”
She chuckled. “I dunno. I’ll check. In the meantime, want me to give Brian a message for you?”
“Aye. I need him to sell my car.” Even used, it should bring more than enough to pay for the repairs to the restaurant.
“The Mustang?
Why?
”
“I’d rather not say,” he said. An uncomfortable silence hung on the airwaves for a moment, so he added, “But I’d love ya more than life itself if you could convince him to wire me the money in the next day or two, lass.”
“Okay. See you when you get back.”
Murdoch said his good-byes, then returned the phone to his belt. Despite the gains made in her focus and attitude, he preferred the old Emily to the new. Quiet and obedient didn’t suit the girl.
Then again,
girl
didn’t suit her anymore, either.
The dreadful goth look had given way to casual western, with her hair returned to its original sandy blond. It made that odd streak of red stand out more, but overall, the natural look was kinder. Minimal makeup, plain jeans, and a simple ponytail snared low on her nape rounded out the new Emily. She would turn sixteen in a few weeks. Definitely a young woman.
Rodriguez would barely recognize her.
Murdoch frowned.
Not that he wanted the lad to resurface. Safer all the way around for him to stay away. Murdoch’s berserker had more in common with the Cookie Monster than it did with whatever was crawling under Carlos Rodriguez’s skin.
He dug into his pocket for the crystal dowser Stefan Wahlberg had fashioned. The sooner he found the Veil, the sooner he could return to the ranch to give Emily a much-needed hug.
Dangling the chain in the air, he closed his eyes and concentrated. The hum of the Veil had barely been discernible the first time, and he couldn’t afford to miss it. One by one, he shut out all the distractions—the trickling sound of the fountain in the garden, the quiet muttering of Umiko in the next room, the wind subtly buffeting the paper doors. Slowly narrowing his focus, he gave his full attention to the crystal.
But the crystal was quiet. Utterly still. No hint of the earlier vibration remained.
His eyes popped open.
Either he’d imagined the hum of the crystal this morning, or the Veil was no longer in the house. Not to be arrogant, but he had a pretty good sense which was the truth. He trusted his gut above everything.
The blasted thing was gone.
But gone where?
He tucked the crystal away. Stupid question. If Kiyoko was using it for something, it made sense that she would have it in her possession.
In his mind’s eye, he itemized the clothing and jewelry she’d been wearing when she left. Slim black skirt, white cotton shirt. The shoes and sweater could be discounted—she’d tossed them aside before joining him in the compound and he doubted that she would be that cavalier with the Veil. Unseen, but amazingly easy to imagine draped over her slim form, bra and panties. White, he’d bet, with just a hint of lace.
He grimaced.
Mind on the job, Murdoch.
As far as jewelry went, there were a few possibilities: She wore a silver locket around her neck and a silver bracelet on her wrist, entwined with a shiny black ribbon. If only a strip of the original Temple Veil still existed, one of those pieces could hold it.
There was also a possibility that she carried a pouch of some sort on her body, but he couldn’t verify that unless he got close. Sadly, given his inappropriate reaction to her touch, feeling her up would have to be an option of last resort.
But he wouldn’t rule it out. Yet.
First, he’d try squeezing the information out of her colleagues.
 
Kiyoko blinked and the numbers on the page before her swam back into focus. Oh, dear. Had she actually fallen asleep while reading them? For how long? She glanced up to find Ryuji studying her, his handsome face serious. The look in his eyes was warm and admiring, but not overly familiar.
“Your grasp of the intricacies of a balance sheet rivals your father’s,” he said softly. “In only a few short months, you’ve mastered the fundamentals of the business. Quite a feat.”
She dropped her gaze to the report once more. Apparently, her inadvertent doze had been momentary. “Thank you, Watanabe-san.”
“Should I order you an afternoon meal, or would you prefer to stop here?”
Skimming quickly through the remaining pages, she sighed. “There are several hours of study left, and I fear my brain is becoming muddled. I think stopping is the wiser decision.”
“But … ?”
She smiled. “But there are also matters requiring my attention at the dojo. I am reluctant to make another trip to the city this week.”
“Do these matters involve Mr. Murdoch?”
“You know they do.”
He leaned across the cherrywood boardroom table and lightly touched her hand. “And you know I disapprove. He’s a dangerous man, and I worry about you out there in the countryside with none but an old man to protect you.”

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