“Did you talk to Sora-san?”
“Of course. He says the stars do not lie. But do you really think he would admit to a twenty-five-year-old mistake? One my father built his entire life around?”
Lena dug the toe of her boot into the sand.
“Here’s what I know,” she said. “Your father was one of the smartest, savviest men I’ve ever met. His instincts were incredible. Remember my father’s excavation tools? Tatsu-san knew they were far more valuable to me than they were to you, just from watching me bid on them.”
Kiyoko nodded. “It was his idea to give you the tools after I won the auction.”
“I still have them.” Lena smiled. “I can’t speak to Sora-san’s reliability, but I can vouch for your father’s. He had far longer to study you than he did me. If he said you were qualified to transcend, then you are.”
“But everything changed after my father died.”
“Did it?” Lena tossed her a dubious look. “Are you not the same basic person you were before he died? Shaped a bit by the tragedy, no doubt, but fundamentally the same?”
Kiyoko grimaced. “No, I’m much weaker.”
“Physically, perhaps. Not mentally.” Lena smiled again, this time with a hint of impish humor. “Do you know what Brian would say if he were here?”
Kiyoko shook her head.
“Let me tell you myself,” Brian Webster said, crossing the arena from the weight-training room. Sandy hair askew and T-shirt damp from a workout, he flung an arm over Lena’s shoulders and offered Kiyoko a faint smile. “Suck it up, princess. Stop whining and get back to work.”
Lena glanced from Kiyoko to Brian. “He’s kidding. He says that to me all the time.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “Only he grins when he does it.”
Her attempt to chide him fell flat.
He held Kiyoko’s gaze with frank intensity. “I’m only half kidding. Truth is, Satan doesn’t dick around, Miss Ashida. If you’re as committed to beating back the fires of hell as we are, I need your cooperation. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a battle for the human race here. Do whatever you need to do to get cozy with the idea, but prepare to hand over the Veil.”
The man wore lazy charm like a fine Italian suit, but there was nothing lazy about the promise in his eyes: He would take the Veil by force if necessary.
Only willpower stopped Kiyoko from wrapping her arms about her waist in a protective gesture. “Did you have a time frame in mind?”
“Yesterday would be nice.” His comment earned him another jab in the ribs. “The sooner, the better. If Big Red discovers the Veil is here, things will get real ugly real fast.”
“Will Monday suffice?”
He sighed. “Not really. But if that’s the only choice, I’ll take it.”
Kiyoko bowed politely to the pair and left the arena. The decision was made then. On Monday, she’d put aside her lingering doubts and move forward with the transcendence ritual.
Sora would be pleased.
Murdoch, on the other hand …
All through dinner, Murdoch was treated to strange looks from Kiyoko. Some were thoughtful, some were eager, some were worried. The worried ones bothered him.
“Where’s Watanabe?” he asked her when she paused in her conversation with Sora, who sat next to her.
“On a conference call with Japan. It’s ten o’clock in the morning there.”
“On a Saturday.”
She nodded. “There was a fire at one of the manufacturing plants overnight, and he’s trying to avert production delays.”
Of course he was. The man was a bloody saint. He reached for a second helping of green beans and as he replaced the serving bowl, he asked, “Who cooked dinner?”
“I did.”
He frowned at Emily. “You?”
“Mom gave me some pointers,” she said, nodding. “She told me if I wanted to eat while she was in the hospital, I’d better learn.”
Murdoch perused the half-empty platters of roast chicken, baked potatoes, and cooked vegetables. A simple meal, but well prepared. “She suggested the rest of us were bad cooks?”
Emily swallowed the bite in her mouth, then responded. “No, she said Brian and Lena were bad cooks. Like, ‘Allow them in the kitchen only if you are willing to risk food poisoning’ bad. According to her, Carter can cook but his talents are limited to steak on a barbecue grill, and you cook like a dream but are never around when the meal prep needs to start. Kiyoko, Yoshio, and the sensei are guests, so she never said anything about
their
cooking skills.”
Everyone around the table smiled.
“What did she say about MacGregor’s culinary talents?” asked Carter, as he carved a slice of meat off the chicken.
Emily rolled her eyes. “She said he had the potential to be a brilliant chef, but his focus is on other things.”
Webster planted a kiss on Lena’s cheek. “Isn’t the view through the rose-colored glasses of love wonderful?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t own a pair.”
“Ouch.” He grinned. “Good thing my colossal ego can handle the truth. Doesn’t bother me one iota to admit that if there were no take-out joints, I’d starve.”
“Since Emily made the meal, I think the rest of us should clean up,” Murdoch said, laying his knife between the tines of his fork.
Carter snorted. “That’s the usual deal, bro. You’d know that if you joined us for dinner more often.”
Kiyoko glanced at Murdoch. “You don’t eat?”
“Of course I eat,” he said, tossing a hard look at Carter. “I simply spend more time with the trainees than some of the other Gatherers.”
“In other words,” Webster said drily, “he does his best to avoid me. Ow.” He grimaced at Lena. “Sweetheart, kicking me under the table loses its point in a room full of Gatherers. They all heard it.”
Murdoch stared up the table at Webster. “I don’t avoid you. I merely find other people’s company infinitely more enjoyable.”
His boss offered up the same lazy smile he wore during their sparring matches in the arena. “Yeah, getting your ass kicked by me can’t be nearly as much fun as guzzling beer and playing darts.”
A hollow silence filled the room.
Emily pushed back her chair and stood. “Okay,” she said breezily. “On that note, I officially declare dinner over. Lena and Bri, you’ve got kitchen duty.”
Reluctantly, Murdoch took his cue from Emily and began to stack plates. He should never have let Webster win the match so easily this morning.
“Uh, Murdoch?”
He glanced at Emily.
She wore a pained look. “I really appreciate the help, honestly. But maybe you could find something else to do.” She nodded toward the kitchen, where Webster had begun to load the dishwasher.
“You think I’d start a fight in his home?”
“No,” she said. “But listening to the two of you go at it is really uncomfortable, and we have guests.”
He sighed. “I’ll try to be good.”
“Terrific,” she said. “But some breathing space might help. Before we gear up for tonight’s field mission, why don’t you take that package down to Stefan’s trailer and see if the dumb jerk will open the door to take it?”
He glanced around. “What package?”
She pointed to the hall table. A flat rectangular box, wrapped in brown paper. “Came by courier this afternoon. All the way from Romania.”
Picking the box up, he shook it. Nothing rattled.
“It’s a book,” she said.
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yup. A really old book.”
“A grimoire?”
Emily scraped the leftover mashed potatoes into a Tupperware container. “No idea. Can’t see what’s on the pages.”
“If it’s important, maybe he’ll trade it for Kiyoko’s healing spell,” Murdoch said. He could hope.
“I say give him one shot and if he doesn’t cooperate, then whack him over the head with it.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like an excellent plan.”
Tucking the box under his arm, he left the house. The quickest route to the trailer was via the gravel path to MacGregor’s bungalow. Beyond the swimming pool there were no lights, but he didn’t need them, anyway.
The path curved past Stefan’s smithy on its way to the trailer. Most weekends before the arrival of a new batch of trainees, the mage could be found working far into the night to ensure that all the practice weapons were in good shape. Tonight, his place of work stood dark and silent against the trees. And this was the largest group they’d hosted yet. Seventy-two.
Had Stefan completed all the new swords before locking himself away? He peered in the window as he walked by, hoping to spot a stack of weapons piled neatly on the ready table.
No such luck. The table was empty. If the mage refused to open the door tonight, it might be a wise idea to consider options in the event of a shortage.
Murdoch halted.
Had his eyes betrayed him? Or had something truly been out of place in the smithy? He could have sworn he’d seen a figure bent over the coal tray. In the dark.
Trusting the knot of tension in his gut, he drew Bloodseeker from its invisible sheath. His instincts had saved his ass many times. He propped the courier package against the smithy wall, then slid the door open and stepped inside.
The figure beside the coal tray abruptly straightened and backed away, leaving a flat bed of coals that for the briefest of moments seemed to glow dark purple. But that may or may not have been real. Hard to say, because Murdoch’s attention was focused on the man facing him across the room.
Ryuji Watanabe.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked Watanabe.
“Conn Quinn suggested I visit. He said the swords here were made in an old-fashioned coal forge and that the process was fascinating. You already know my interest in metalworking.” Watanabe shrugged. “I just finished a rather grueling conference call and decided to take a bit of a break. So, here I am.”
A perfectly reasonable explanation. Not too pat, nicely supported by facts. But Murdoch’s instincts said it was a lie.
“A curious person with nothing to hide would turn on the lights,” he said. Flicking the switch, he flooded the room with glaring wattage.
Watanabe smiled. “Are you accusing me of industrial espionage, Mr. Murdoch? I can assure you there’s nothing of value to my company in here.”
Another very appropriate response.
Negated by Watanabe’s all-black attire.
“Drop the charade,” Murdoch said. Two could play the lying game. “It’s pointless. Emily came to see me after she spotted you out here earlier today.”
The smile vanished, replaced by a faint frown. “She’s been through a lot, that girl. Her parents’ divorce, the split with her boyfriend, and now a new baby in the house. Can’t be easy to find your way through all that.”
Nice deflection. A backhanded slap disguised as sympathy.
“Look,” Murdoch said, rolling his shoulders to ease a familiar burn beneath his skin. “We’re both smart men. We don’t need to play games. Let’s skip the blather and get to the meat of the conversation.”
Watanabe’s eyes narrowed. “Which is?”
“What kind of demon are you?”
The other man laughed. “Is that a serious question?”
Murdoch lifted the tip of his blade. “When it comes to hellspawn, I’ve no sense of humor.”
“I think it’s time to call it a night.” Watanabe skirted around the ready bench and strode toward the door. “If I offended anyone by looking around, I apologize, but threatening me is uncalled for.”
Pale face, stiff shoulders. The man seemed utterly genuine. But the situation was all wrong. No one explored in the dark unless they had something to hide. As the Japanese man brushed past him, Murdoch loosened the binds on his berserker and leveraged the beast’s heightened senses.
The reaction was immediate.
Alarms shrieked in every muscle in his body simultaneously, burning, firming, and stretching his skin to painful limits. The red fury seared his chest and throat as it exploded toward his brain. Murdoch jammed his eyes closed, clenched his sword grip, and waited for the first wave to crest.
There was no question now.
Invisible remnants of dark power clung to the Japanese man’s clothing, leaving a microscopic trail in his wake. Watanabe was a demon. And no ordinary demon at that. Most had a limited ability to terrorize the middle plane, using energy at an accelerated pace outside of hell. Lure demons were the only creature he knew who could remain here for days and weeks.
But Emily would recognize a lure demon.
Tethering his inner beast, Murdoch pivoted and followed Watanabe into the night. Whatever form of demon he was, he had to be banished. Now.
But the yard in front of Stefan’s trailer was empty.