The Night Itself (4 page)

I’ve waited six years
.

The sword is mine
.

I flung the lid back, ignoring the rattle as the broken padlock fell to the floor. A tingling, ringing sensation thrilled through my body. I plunged my hands inside the box, scrabbling back the layers of stiffly embroidered silk. My fingers closed over smooth, lacquered wood.

“Mine…” The word sighed out of me.

His saya – the blade sheath – was black lacquer inlaid with delicate golden cherry blossoms that drifted across the surface as if they’d been scattered there in a spring breeze. The grip was black too. Golden handle ornaments – menuki – in the shape of cherry blossoms, peeked through the intricately folded silk wrappings on the hilt. The guard was circular, pierced with the shapes of cherry blossoms, as was the hilt cap.

He – Ojiichan had called the sword “He” – was beautiful. So beautiful. So beautiful.
Mine
.

For a long, breathless moment I held him between my hands, as shivers of excitement tightened my skin. Then, shaky and tense, I drew the saya from the blade.

The cutting edge was shining silver, almost too bright to look at. Long, flame-shaped ripples marked the many folds in the metal, shading up to deep black on the mune, or blunt edge. Both sides of the katana were marked by a long groove. People called it the blood-letting groove, but its purpose was to make the sword both light and strong. When a warrior struck with perfect precision, he would hear three whistles from the blade. One from the cutting edge slicing through the air and two from the air moving along the grooves.

I gently laid the saya down and took the katana in a proper grip, grasping the hilt in both hands. Under my fingers the sword seemed to breathe in at the same time I did: a gentle shudder of life. Just as before, I could feel the sword responding to me, reaching out to me with its own singing. The grip heated against my skin until it was the same temperature as my hands.

Mine. Mine from now on. No matter what
.

Mine
.

The singing notes intertwined. Every particle of my body seemed to be vibrating – resounding at some perfect pitch that made me light up, made the air around me shift and glow like a heat haze shimmering off the pavement on a hot day. The sword was almost buzzing in my grasp now. Something broke, rushing and surging around me – a wave of energy that blew my hair into my face, tugged at my clothes. I gasped for breath.

The light bulb overhead shattered with a shrill tinkle of falling glass, plunging the room into darkness.

O
n the landing outside, Jack yelped.

I blinked sluggish eyelids. As my sight adjusted to the dim, orangey streetlight that filtered in through the window, the darkness resolved itself into something I could make sense of. I realized I had slumped down onto the floor, curling almost into a ball. The sword hilt was still clutched in my hands and my hands were jammed between my knees. The tip of the blade had come down on the edge of the old, peeling box and … cut straight through it. There was a gaping gash in the front of the battered metal.

“Mio! Hello?” Jack called out. “The light out here keeps flickering, and I don’t want to take the stairs in the dark. Didn’t you find it yet?”

I cleared my throat. “It – it’s all right. Just … hang on a second. Wait a second.”

What happened?
Did I pass out? I unpeeled the fingers of one hand from around the katana’s grip and rubbed my breastbone. The singing feeling was still there, muted but … I could definitely sense it. It was like it had sunk down under my ribs and become a permanent part of me.

Using touch alone, I carefully eased the shining-edged blade back into the saya and then slid the katana over my shoulder into my shinai bag. The weight of him resting against my back was like nothing I’d ever felt before, and at the same time, it was as familiar – and right – as my mother’s hug.

He’s mine. Mine. Mine
.

“Fiiiinally,” Jack drawled as I appeared in the doorway of the attic. “Where’s the ultra-cool sword then? I aided and abetted. I ought to get first peek.”

My spine snapped as straight as if someone had rammed a hockey stick down the back of my kendogi. I only just resisted the urge to back away into the attic to protect the katana from Jack’s curious gaze.
Mine
. “Er, aren’t we late?”

Jack checked her watch and yelped. “Holy crap! Come on!”

She clattered down the stairs and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t up to showing my sword off just yet. I’d only just got him.

After I won a brief tussle with Jack about whether we needed to take our coats – she said it would be sacrilegious to cover up “all of this”, I pointed out that it was December and goose pimples were not sexy – we made our escape. The walk to the Tube station was only ten minutes, but frost sparkled everywhere, and by the time we boarded the District Line, I was seriously glad I had won that particular fight. I wished I’d thought to get a scarf and gloves too.

Even with most of what we were wearing hidden, our costumes got a couple of funny looks and some not-so-funny comments on the Tube. Jack’s inherited ability to viciously stab people with her eyes soon discouraged the unwanted attention. It didn’t really bother us; we were both buzzing.

Just in case it wasn’t obvious before, we
weren’t
heading to an end-of-term school “disco”. Which, by the way,
euw
. It was a party that I seriously doubted our parents would have allowed us to attend, if they’d known about it. Natalie Depaul’s mum and dad, like mine and Jack’s, were away for a few days before Christmas. Unlike our parents, however, Mr and Mrs Depaul had trusted Natalie to be alone in the house without supervision.

Yeah, that was kind of a mistake there – but thanks, Mr and Mrs Depaul, for donating the contents of your booze cabinet to the cause of your daughter’s popularity
.

“Shannon Goldsmith is supposed to be going as a sexy nurse,” Jack whispered to me. “I cannot wait to see. I’m totally going to sneak a picture.”

“You’re kind of a perv, do you realize that?”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m going to put it online or anything.”

I shook my head and
tsk
ed in mock disappointment. “Letting the side down, Jack. You know that objectifying your fellow woman makes you a traitor to Feminism.”

She nudged me, grinning. “But objectifying guys doesn’t count? I can tell you’re holding out on me, you know, and I’m hurt. Who are you all excited about seeing? Spill.”

I laughed. “Like I could keep secrets from you. If I fancied anyone, you would know.”

“In that case, petty larceny seriously agrees with you. You’re all glowy. You’re going to get your prop out once we get there, right?”

“Maybe,” I said, feeling a shade of irritation darken my mood. “And what the hell is ‘larceny’ anyway? I told you, my grandfather gave him to me.”

“Him?” Jack’s eyes flickered across my shoulder to where the red shinai carrier poked out of the collar of my coat.

Don’t. Don’t look at him. He’s mine
.

The fine hairs on my skin raked up in a fizzle of static electricity and the overhead lights began to flicker wildly. The Tube seemed to shudder around us. A deep, grating noise filled the air, blocking out the regular clatter of the wheels.

A woman stood by the doors let out a squeak of alarm as she stumbled, catching herself on one of the Plexiglas dividers.

“What the—?” Jack began.

The Tube ground to a halt. The lights snapped back on and the announcement for “Kew Gardens” echoed over the intercom. Jack and I both jumped to our feet and piled out of the doors.

“Jesus, that was scary,” Jack said, glancing back at the Tube as it coasted away. “You OK?”

“Yeah, f–fine.” I was shaking with relief, partly because we’d got to the station all right – but also partly, I realized, because I’d managed to dodge Jack’s questions. I didn’t want to talk to her about the katana. And I didn’t want to analyze why.

One who is hidden…

But only from my dad, right?
I frowned as I tried to remember Ojiichan’s exact words.

Natalie’s house was down a wide street, lined on both sides by trees and cars. The music booming out of Number Five would have given the party’s location away, even if we hadn’t known the address. It was so loud that my body started to move in time to the beat. The house’s beige-coloured brick was aglow with the light spilling out of all the windows. Natalie stood in the white porch, letting in someone dressed in a pirate costume.

“Zoh my God,” Jack said, her voice going high with suppressed laughter. “Seriously? She’s seriously dressed up as Bella at the prom?”

“Be nice,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, as we approached the door.

“Can’t. You’ll have to do the talking.” Jack hastily rearranged her expression, although I could still see the laughter in her eyes.

“Hey, Natalie,” I said. “I love your dress. The blue really suits you.” Which wasn’t a lie. It did suit her. The massive dark wig that looked like something Cher would wear? Not so much. But there was no need to bring that up.

“Thanks,” Natalie chirped back. “You look really different dressed like that, sort of
Crouching Tiger
-ish.” Her eyes slid towards Jack and she blinked. “Er … nice wings.”

“Nice leg cast,” Jack said, straight-faced, as she shrugged off her coat.

“Uh, right. You can just throw your coats anywhere in the dining room, here. There’re drinks and stuff in the kitchen. People are dancing in the living room,” Natalie said, backing down the narrow magnolia hall to give us room. There was a crash from the back of the house as the final word left her mouth, and she flinched. “Um, see you later.”

She zipped off to see how much trouble she was going to be in when her parents got back. As I pulled my coat off, my shinai carrier bumped gently against my back. The light in the hall flickered, and for a second Natalie’s rapidly fleeing back seemed to flicker too. There was a dark, wet stain spreading across the back of the dress, between her shoulder blades. She was falling…

Natalie disappeared into what was probably the living room. The light flicked back on.

“What is up with all the power blips tonight?” Jack threw her coat on the pile on the dining-room table.

“Power blips. Yeah.” My blood sugar must be dropping or something. And I was tired. The Dream had stopped me from sleeping properly for weeks. I should eat. I should definitely eat. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Good idea. Elbow me if you spot Shannon, right?”

“Right,” I said, glad that the music was masking the strangled note in my voice.

We headed into the kitchen and each snagged a glass of unidentified stuff with fruit juice in it, then stood around for a few minutes talking to some girls we were friendly with while I tried to stuff as many Pringles and dry-roasted peanuts into my mouth as I could without choking. By the time Shannon made an appearance – in a sexy nurse outfit, including red fishnets, which I thought would give Jack heart failure right there – and Jack managed to orchestrate a “group” picture, which I knew would only have Shannon and her long legs in it, I was feeling much better.

Everything was fine. Nothing weird going on but the fact that I’d skipped lunch and dinner, and was having too many of those stupid dreams.

“Mission accomplished,” Jack said, clicking away on her phone and sending a copy of her treasure to her email account.

“Then let’s go dance,” I said, putting down my empty glass. They were playing a Ladyhawke track with a fast, driving beat – perfect. I grabbed Jack’s hand and dragged her into the living room. The furniture had been shoved back against the walls and the overhead light was off, so the only illumination came from a couple of lamps on the windowsill. I was dancing before I even hit the middle of the room and I heard Jack whoop as I let the music stream through my body, taking control. My arms went up and I spun, clearing a little space around me. A couple of people shouted my name but I just grinned and kept dancing. It was like flying. The only other feeling that came close was making a perfect hit in kendo.

I shoved that memory away hastily.

I danced through three songs, sometimes meeting up with Jack – whose idea of dancing was a hilariously awkward Vogue thing – sometimes dancing in a small group with other people. A couple of guys tried to put their hands places they shouldn’t and got their feet stomped on, but I was used to that.

When I finally collapsed in a chair by the window, I was covered in sweat, hair plastered to my face and neck, heart pumping. I felt amazing. Jack came over and sat on the arm of the chair, her hair sticking straight up in white, pink and purple spikes. Some kids from my tutor group and a couple of people that Jack knew from hers crowded around. One of the boys handed out a bunch more drinks. Jack told an exaggerated version of the Tube journey and made everyone laugh till they nearly cried. It amazed me how she could take something so ordinary and give it a twist and suddenly it was hilarious. Or maybe that was the fizzy fruit stuff talking.

Kylar Grant, wearing pale-blue scrubs that he probably stole from his father, who worked at a hospital, pulled another chair over next to me and handed me my second – third? – drink.

“I never realized you could dance like that,” he said. “I’m going to be remembering that whenever I look at you now. You know that, right?”

I leaned my head back and blinked up into his chocolate-brown eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t look at me, then.”

“Oh, I’ll be looking,” he said, voice getting deeper.

I didn’t giggle, but I wanted to.
Whoops. Now I’m the traitor to Feminism
.

The tip of the katana’s sheath dug into my back. I tried to wriggle into a more comfy position but couldn’t. Now the guard was digging into my shoulder. No matter what I did, he ended up gouging a hole in me somewhere, like he didn’t want me to forget about him or something. I put my drink on the floor and leaned forward, clumsily pulling the red shinai carrier under my arm and round to my front.