Marked by Passion (3 page)

Well, actually I had no idea what it could do in the wrong hands. Not really. My knowledge regarding the scroll was sorely lacking. Beyond the myth, I only knew normal people couldn't resist the seductive pull of
tu ch’i.
Too much power unless one was trained to handle it. Wu used to say without strong moral fortitude, a person could be lured into doing bad things with the powers.

So when I was younger, my training consisted simply of combat—specialized fighting like hand-to-hand, grappling, and weapons—but nothing else. Every time I asked Wu about the scroll and
tu ch’i,
he'd blow me off by saying I wasn't ready. That handling
tu ch’i
was a great responsibility not to be taken lightly and I'd yet to exhibit that kind of accountability. I guessed my moral fortitude was in question.

I'd been almost eighteen before he relented. Actually, I nagged him into showing me. That was the day my mom died.

I did, however, know rule number three: to unite all five scrolls was bad on a cataclysmic, world-destruction level. Though Wu had never been able to tell me exactly what that meant, just that no one person could handle that much power without being corrupted by it.

There was a cranny of space behind Johnny's Christmas decorations big enough to hide the package. Fighting the urge to continue to clutch the box, I dropped it back there and piled extra stuff on top to camouflage it.

I cursed Wu the whole time. My older brother Paul was the one who wanted the scroll so badly—he should have gotten it. Paul probably knew more about the scroll than I did. He'd certainly been more aggressive about gathering knowledge, to the point of eavesdropping on Wu. Not that Wu noticed—he was too focused on me. Wu never noticed anything about Paul, which sucked, because a boy shouldn't be ignored by his father.

But I figured Wu would turn to Paul once I was gone. I never thought I'd receive the scroll—not when I ran from Los Angeles to San Francisco after Mom's funeral. So what if I was the one born with the mark? It was just a freaking birthmark. You'd think Wu would realize this.

"Stubborn fool," I said with more anger than I'd felt in a long time—to combat the sadness I didn't want to feel at his death. Which pissed me off even more. He'd pretty much disowned me. Why should I have feelings for someone who didn't want me?

The other, less savory part of me was glad he was dead. I hoped it hurt, however he'd died. He deserved no less for letting Mom get killed. Yeah, technically I killed her, but he could have prevented it. He'd been right there. The one in charge. Instead he'd let her die and then railed at me for it.

How messed up was that? I shoved a box on top of the scroll and punched it.

I remembered my mom's lilting French accent, the way she used to stroke down the long length of my hair, and the feeling of total unconditional love that I hadn't felt since. All lost because of one stupid scroll. I didn't care how powerful or valuable it was, I would have traded it for more time with my mom. I would have traded my art career in a heartbeat for ten more minutes with her.

"Damn you, Wu," I muttered, dropping my head in my hands.

"Already done," someone said from behind me.

I whirled around, automatically lowering my weight for attack the way I'd been taught so many years ago. But then I straightened in disbelief. "Wu?"

My father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not entirely true, though, is it? More like I'm in purgatory than actually damned."

If I'd been hitting the tequila bottle, I could have justified this as a drunken delusion. But I didn't drink, and I knew what I was seeing.

He was thin—thinner than he'd been fifteen years ago—but still wiry with muscle. His hair was more gray now than black, but it was still thick. He wore his white gi, pristine because he always ironed it (totally anal if you asked me), with a simple gold satin sash wrapped around his waist.

For a moment, I felt relief that he wasn't dead. But then I got pissed. Really pissed. Anger rose in a dark tide inside me, and I clenched my hands to keep from hitting something. "What the hell is this about? A ploy to manipulate me? I told you a long time ago that I wasn't playing your games anymore."

"And I told you that I wasn't playing any games," he said, his voice terribly hushed.

When I was a kid, it used to freak me out when he spoke like that. It was a sure sign that shit was about to hit the fan. Now it just made me want to flip him off. "What do you call this, then? I told you I didn't want to have anything to do with the scroll or you. So you pretend to be dead and send me the scroll anyway?"

"If I had a choice I wouldn't have sent it to you," he said icily. "But you're marked. Therefore it's yours on my passing."

"Excellent," I said with bite, to cover up that his words stung. I shoved aside the stuff I'd used to hide the scroll and grabbed the box. "And since you haven't died yet, you can take this back."

I threw it at him, hoping it hurt him as much as I hurt on the inside. Only the box sailed right through him.

Right through him.

Blinking, I looked more closely at him, noticing for the first time how he was somewhat translucent and surrounded by a glow.

"Shit," I said succinctly.

He nodded. "For once you're right about something. Only you've yet to comprehend how deeply in shit we are."

I
didn't believe in ghosts. Not that I disbelieved in them, but I never had cause to give them a thought one way or the other.

Only now this glowy thing that resembled a Chinese Obi-Wan stood before me, and I'd thrown an inanimate object through its body. What other explanation was there?

Well, I supposed I could be having a really bad flashback, but I didn't do drugs. Maybe it was a shock-induced delusion. I closed my eyes, counted to ten, and reopened them.

He was still there, scowling at me.

I shook my head. "You can't be here. I just don't believe in ghosts."

"Yet you believe in a scroll that can lend you the ability to channel the earth's power?"

He had a point. "I've seen that for myself."

"And now you've seen a ghost." He crossed his arms and looked at me like he was defying me to deny it.

I couldn't. "I—"

"Enough," he said abruptly. "We don't have time to debate this. We have a lot of work to do, and we need to start right away."

"We?" I shook my head. "No way. You cannot implicate me in any of your troubles. I walked out, remember?"

"You can't walk out on destiny, Gabrielle."

Sigh. "Not this destiny bullshit again."

"You know our family was specially picked to guard this scroll." His chest puffed out, he raised his arm and orated in his grand story voice.
"One monk, Wei Lin, saw within the overlord's heart and recognized he coveted the sacred scrolls, for the scrolls unlocked the mysteries of nature and man. One scroll for each element. Earth, fire, wood, metal, water
—"

"I know the story." I rolled my eyes. "You repeated it a million times when I was a kid."

"You obviously don't remember it."

Right. I bet I could recite it verbatim.
Centuries ago, a group of monks in a secluded monastery in southeast China, battered by neighboring gangs, developed an art of war. As there were five elements in Chinese cosmology, there were five correlating fighting principles in the art, documented in five scrolls.

Over time, the monks became so adept at harnessing the elements that they developed other abilities. Each element had its own set of powers, and each secret was recorded in the scrolls for future generations to learn.

Tales of the extraordinary leaked through the provinces, until they reached the ears of one particularly ruthless overlord...
"Trust me, I remember it."

Wu wagged a finger at me, clearly not convinced. "For decades Wei Lin searched until he found five men worthy to guard them—one man for each scroll. He marked them and then decreed that the mark would be passed down, generation to generation, to the next worthy one. The Scroll of the Earth was entrusted to the Chins, and the next Guardian is you. It's an honor to bear the mark, Gabrielle."

"An honor?" I snorted. A curse was more like it.

The little broadsword-shaped birthmark on my hip prickled.

I rubbed it. If only I could rub it away. "It's a mistake."

He hesitated. Then he said, "It can't be a mistake. The mark doesn't lie."

"Gee—what a vote of confidence." I shouldn't have cared, but it stung nevertheless.

"Hey, Gabe." Jerry knocked on the office door. "You okay in there?"

I had to clear my throat a couple times before I could reply. "Yeah. Be right out."

"Okay, but you've got a customer."

"Right. Thank you." I quickly strode to the box that held the scroll and busied myself hiding it again.

"What are you doing?" Wu asked over my shoulder.

"Putting it away for now. I have to get back to work." I had a customer waiting, and the after-work crowd would be trickling in soon. Ignoring the compulsion to pick up the scroll and take it with me, I stood up and brushed my hands on my jeans.

"You can't go back to work," he said indignantly.

"Just watch me." There was only one way to leave the office, and Wu was blocking it. As much as a ghost could.

I steeled myself and walked through him. It was like walking through thick, chilled air. Closing the door, I shivered. Talk about freaky. I pushed my hair back and told myself to get a grip.

"Closed doors don't make any difference on this side of life," he said from right behind me.

Caught off guard, I spun around. Without warning, the curse bubbled up inside me, choking me with its intensity. I fought to keep from dropping to my knees. At least if I lost control of the power, I wouldn't hurt Wu—he was already dead. Small comfort.

Hands clenched, I fought to get a grip. Once I caught my breath, I hissed at him. "Leave me alone."

"I can't. We must discuss your new duties—"

"The only duties I need to take care of are waiting for me there." I waved behind me at the bar.

"Right now
tu ch’i
is coursing unrestrained through your body. You must learn to harness it, as well as recognize when to use it and how much to draw upon it. There are dire consequences to its misuse."

"No kidding." Not a day passed when I didn't replay Mom staring at me in horror as she gasped her last breath. My nose burned with the sudden threat of tears.

Wu's eyes, on the other hand, were filled with cold purpose. "I'm the only hope you have, Gabrielle. Without my help, you'll destroy not only yourself but everything around you."

"Right, Obi-Wan. Like how you helped when Mom lay on the ground dying?" Anger evaporated my urge to cry. "Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances and deal with the Force by myself."

"It's
tu ch’i,
not the Force," he said tightly. "And stop calling me Obi-Wan."

I shrugged. "I figured it was better than Yoda."

"Hey, Gabe," Jerry called. "Who you talking to?"

Oh, great. They couldn't see Wu—I should have realized. He was a ghost. I turned around with a tight smile. "Just talking to myself."

Milo and Jerry exchanged worried looks before facing me with concern written all over their faces. "We know the excitement's been a lot lately—"

"What excitement?" Wu asked, hovering next to me.

"—so if you want us to watch the bar while you take some time off, we could," Milo finished. "I got that guy who was waiting for his beer and rang him up and everything. And I make a mean gin and tonic."

"What excitement?" Wu asked again, closer this time. It seemed ghosts had no sense of personal space.

"I'll make it through the night. And Vivian's arriving at seven. But thanks for offering." I turned so my back was to the guys and faced Wu. "You,need to leave."

His mouth firmed. "I can't leave. I told you, I have to teach you what you need to know about your new abilities."

"It's pointless, because I'm never going to use them." I whirled around and marched behind the bar. I could feel Jerry and Milo gawking at me, but I ignored them and pretended to be busy stacking glasses. It gave me the perfect opportunity to fume. I grabbed another couple pint glasses and turned to stack them behind me.

Wu stood between me and the shelves. "You can't turn your back on destiny."

"Holy shit."
I yelped and dropped both of them. Fortunately they just bounced on the rubber mat behind the bar.

"Gabe!" Milo and Jerry yelled at the same time. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry." I waved off their concern. "I just lost my grip."

"Gabrielle, you were chosen to protect the scroll. The mark proves it." Wu pointed to my hip.

I hated that blemish. I should have had it covered with a tattoo like I'd wanted to when I first left home. The idea of being voluntarily poked with needles didn't appeal to me, though.

Three regulars entered the Pour House and came up to the bar. "Hey, Gabe," they called out.

Wu frowned. "Gabe?"

Giving him a look that said he needed to stop harassing me or face the consequences, I turned to my customers. "The usual, guys?"

I bent down to pull three Budweisers out of the refrigerator and felt something clammy and cold brush my skin. With a small yelp, I dropped a bottle. It shattered and sprayed my boots.

Damn, damn, damn.

Milo leaned over the edge of the counter and peered down at me. "Are you sure you're okay, Gabe?"

"Peachy," I said through gritted teeth.

"Gabrielle, fetching beer is beneath you."

I set two bottles on the counter and got a replacement for the one I dropped. "Nine bucks, guys."

Wu hovered in front of me, his torso sticking out of the bar. "Gabrielle, you can't ignore me."

"Wanna bet?" I muttered as I pulled change from the register.

The liquor bottles behind me began to rattle.

"Whoa," Jerry exclaimed. "Is that another quake?"

"Feels smaller." Milo pursed his lips. "Probably an aftershock."

I had the sneaking suspicion the seismic activity was just a ghost having a hissy fit, mostly because it felt different. More of a superficial shaking than something that started in the bowels of the earth. So I ignored it and helped the couple who walked in. By the time I served their drinks, the shaking stopped. And Wu was gone. Thank God.