Authors: Zoe Marriott
The Harbinger yelled:
“Mio?”
The room shook. The windows shattered. Glass shards blasted through the air.
Everything went black.
I
cy cold droplets pattered down onto my face and hands. Rain. It was blowing in through the broken windows. A fire alarm screeched close by. I blinked and realized that I was on the floor, slumped against the wall. My legs had given out beneath me.
The room was wrecked. Furniture had been overturned and flung away into the corners, the lino floor was marked with a starburst of long, black scorch marks. Overhead, ceiling tiles had melted, exposing pipes and electrical wires. The metal strips from the blinds had torn loose from the windows and were embedded in crazy patterns all over the walls. I was covered in broken glass.
I couldn’t stop staring at the devastation. It was like a scene out of a nightmare.
“Yo, Mimi! Snap out of it!”
The familiar voice made me blink. I tried to focus, but it was as if something had shaken loose in my brain. I lifted my hands to rub them over my face and realized I was still clutching the sword. My fingers had locked around the hilt and I couldn’t let go.
A large, warm hand settled over my bloodless fingers and carefully prised them away from the grip, then chafed the skin, massaging until the blood began to flow back. My hand burned fiercely where the silk and the golden menuki had bitten into my palm.
“Mio-dono, please.” The deep voice was urgent. “Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute, feeling the fractured pieces of my consciousness start to slide back into their normal places. I knew these voices. I knew the hand holding mine.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Jack and Shinobu crouched in front of me. Jack’s face was streaked with soot and Shinobu’s was drawn and grey.
“Did you hit your head?” Jack waved her hand in front of my face. “What the hell happened in here?”
I felt the tears well up in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. “The policeman was a monster,” I managed to say, sobs shuddering out of my chest. “The Harbinger. He froze you. Oh God. I attacked him. I tried – I tried to k–kill him!”
I lifted one heavy arm and grabbed the front of Shinobu’s kimono. The fabric was whole, unmarked. It showed no signs of the white energy that had torn through it – through him. I pushed the material aside and ran my fingers over the bare, golden skin of his chest, searching for scars. “You – you were – you were screaming. The light went through you like knives.”
Shinobu gently caught my wrist, stilling the frantic movements of my hand. His face, pale a moment before, suddenly looked flushed. He cleared his throat. “I am uninjured.”
“Jack? Are you—?”
“I’m fine,” Jack said. “The x-rays were clear, and I feel all right. But I don’t remember anything after you walked in with Shinobu and that policeman. It was like I blinked and woke up on the floor.”
“He wasn’t a policeman,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I can’t – he wasn’t
human
. Oh God.”
“I think she’s in shock,” Jack said.
“Why is this happening?” I asked, leaning forward to grab the front of Shinobu’s robe again. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Listen, I want answers too, but we can’t stay here while we get them,” Jack interrupted firmly. “It looks like we tried to blow the place sky-high. Let’s make a run for it and with any luck no one’ll realize we were in this room. We just have to cross our fingers there aren’t CCTV cameras pointing this way.”
Shinobu nodded sharply, even though half of what she’d just said had to be gobbledegook to him. He picked up the katana, sheathed it and, after a moment of hesitation, offered it to me.
Mine
. My hands moved before my brain could decide whether it was a good idea or not. I took the sword from him, reached over my shoulder and, in a single movement, shoved it through the gaping hole in my coat, back into the shinai carrier. It buzzed softly against my shoulder blade, and I patted the top of the hilt absent-mindedly, then stared down at my shaking fingers in shock.
“Wait. What … what about the real police?” I asked, struggling to get my head together. “Aren’t they waiting for us? What are they going to think if we just leave?”
“I don’t know where they are. I’ve been sitting around waiting on my own for forty minutes,” Jack said. “Maybe that fake guy got rid of them. Anyway, we don’t owe them anything. If they want statements, they’re just going to have to come round to the house. Come on.”
I braced myself on the wall and struggled up, with Shinobu and Jack helping me. Glass chunks showered off all of us. It was a miracle that we weren’t cut to pieces.
Shinobu steadied me on my feet and released me. “Mio-dono—”
“I’m not a lady,” I said woozily. “You do know that, right?”
Shinobu ignored my words completely. “May I borrow your coat?”
I blinked. “I–I suppose.” Clumsily I shrugged out of it, grabbing Jack’s shoulder to keep me upright. “Are you cold?”
Shinobu wrapped the thick duffle material around his arm. “I do not want to risk you or Jack-san cutting yourselves as you climb out. Stand back, please.” Using the wad of fabric, he began to clear the window of the remaining jagged shards still clinging to the frame.
“You can tell he’s not from around here,” Jack said, impressed. “That’s what they call a real gentleman.”
Shinobu was already coming back, shaking the glass off the fabric. He moved behind me, holding the coat out so that I could put it back on easily over the shinai carrier. Fingers whispered gently across the exposed nape of my neck. I shivered. Then my arms were in the sleeves and he moved around me, examining my face with a frown.
“I think we should go,” he said. “Now.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Jack caught the edge of the window frame – which was waist height for her – and climbed over it without any difficulty, although her movements were a bit stiffer than normal. She was more bruised up than she wanted me to know.
Shinobu knelt down and cupped his hands, giving me an expectant look.
“Wh–what are you doing?” I asked him.
“You will need a leg up,” he said, as if it was obvious. “You are not as tall as Jack-san.”
Normally I would have grumbled and muttered – I hated having my shortness pointed out – but the sight of him patiently waiting there on his knees made me feel … odd. Like Jack said, I wasn’t used to this kind of behaviour from boys.
I made sure there was no glass on my boots, then very carefully placed one heel in Shinobu’s cupped hands. He supported me as if I weighed nothing. I got my other foot up onto the frame and dropped down on the other side. A second later Shinobu landed soundlessly beside me.
As he straightened he suddenly staggered. For a moment I thought he would actually keel over, but one hand shot out and he managed to catch himself on the wall. The golden skin of his face had gone even paler and the hand he had pressed against the bricks was shaking visibly.
Just like that, fears about my own actions, about the sword, about what was coming next, even the dizziness, all compressed into a shadow in the back of my brain so that I could concentrate on worrying about Shinobu.
“You
are
hurt, aren’t you?” Instinctively I shoved my shoulder under his arm and put my arm around his waist to support him. Rock-hard muscles trembled under my hand. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Jack hurried to help, propping him up on the other side. “Dude, you look awful.”
“Not hurt,” he said faintly. “Whatever the Harbinger did – there was – pain. I think … it has been a long time since I felt pain. Since I felt anything. ”
Jack and I exchanged a worried look. “Let’s get moving,” I said.
Supporting the much taller Shinobu as well as we could, we moved through the silent ranks of cars. As soon as we turned the corner, I saw that the hospital was in chaos. Staff and patients from A&E, driven out by the explosion and the fire alarm, were milling around everywhere or huddling under the roof overhangs outside the entrance, trying to avoid the icy rain. No one was going to notice us slipping away.
Walking to the Tube station, swiping our passes through the barriers and then boarding the train had a strange, dreamlike quality with Shinobu in tow. Every time someone’s gaze skated over him I expected them to react, but it was clear that no one saw anything more than a pair of dishevelled teenagers who needed to apply serious quantities of soap and water. It made me doubt myself again. My eyes kept flicking to his face, not just to see if he was OK, but to make sure he hadn’t disappeared.
Thankfully, as soon as he sat down his colour started to come back. When the Tube moved he stirred himself to turn and stare out of the window at the darkness and to reach up and tap at one of the fluorescent lights. By the time we stumbled off at our normal stop, a few minutes’ walk from home, he was able to stand on his own again, and the pinched look of strain had left his face. By unspoken agreement – neither of us wanted to have to deal with Rachel right now – Jack and I guided Shinobu in the opposite direction to home, heading for a favourite hang-out spot. It was a big, old, second-hand bookstore, and part of the ground floor had been converted into a coffee shop. The prices were good and the coffee was better than Starbucks. More importantly, it felt safe. It was an open public place where nothing would be able to get at us.
When we went through the old-fashioned glass door, the place was deserted apart from the sleepy-looking barista behind the counter. It must have been later than I’d thought.
We headed for a leather-lined booth in the back corner. As soon as we sat down, I pulled out my phone. What with one thing and another, I’d forgotten to turn it on this morning. I winced when I did. It was not only a lot later than I’d realized, but I had about twenty missed calls and a dozen messages. A few were from Rachel’s number, probably wanting to know where we’d disappeared to. I deleted them. I would have to listen to her rant once I got home anyway; no need to make time for bonus yelling. I felt strangely uncomfortable when I saw that I had two texts from Kylar Grant, wanting to know if I was OK after last night. I deleted those quickly too, refusing to look at Shinobu. The rest I ignored.
Jack patted her jacket down and swore. “Damn. I’ve just realized – I lost my phone. It must have gone flying when that cat-thing hit me.”
“Nekomata,” Shinobu corrected. “It is called a Nekomata.”
“A what-in-the-who now?” Jack shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. “Never mind. I can’t believe this. Mum’s going to kill me for losing my phone and I can’t even tell her why.”
“I’ll think of something to tell her. Don’t worry about it now,” I said, shoving my own phone away, along with the questions for Shinobu that were burning on my lips.
I was queasy, my head was pounding, and even though the real shaking had stopped, my hands were weak and trembly. Jack looked worse than I felt. It was harder to tell with Shinobu; he looked all right now, but then … I didn’t really know him well enough to be sure. One of us was going to pass out – again – at this rate. I was pretty sure that people in shock were supposed to need hot, sweet drinks.
I scrounged some cash from Jack and went to the counter to get a large, double-shot latte each for me and Jack and, after a minute’s thought, a large mug of tea for Shinobu. As I stood waiting at the end of the counter, I found my eyes constantly straying to the big, plate-glass window and glass door, nervously searching the street outside for anything that looked out of the ordinary. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the espresso machine let out a loud hiss.
Finally I carried the drinks back to the booth, distributed them and then sat down next to Jack. Shinobu was opposite us. He sniffed tentatively at his cup, pulled a face, and put it down without tasting it.
Jack knocked back half her coffee like it was vodka. “Mimi, I want to know what happened while I was out. At the hospital.
Did
a bomb go off?”
I took a fortifying mouthful of my own coffee, cupping my cold hands tightly around the mug for warmth. “No, I told you,” I said, staring down at the foam, “it was me.”
“More words than that, please.”
Sighing, I gave them a bare bones account of what I had seen while they were both frozen and admitted to Jack that I had met the man – or whatever he was – who attacked us before. Last night at the party.
“Whoa. I’m almost glad I don’t remember anything,” Jack said, with a shudder of her own. “I can’t believe you were brave enough to go for that guy like that. I’m really glad you did, but… Hey, remember how Kobayashi Sensei used to say you weren’t aggressive enough – that you could’ve been the national champion if you’d just had a killer instinct? Shows what he knew.”
My fingers tightened around the warm coffee mug as I stared at it again, not wanting to meet Jack or Shinobu’s eyes. “I didn’t actually want to hurt anyone in kendo,” I mumbled.
Liar, liar, pants on fire!
The truth was I’d always had a killer instinct. Right from when Ojiichan first started training me in our back garden, I’d loved slashing at the air, slicing up imaginary foes, getting out all my unhappy emotions. Attacking a practice dummy and killing it had made me feel better every time. But things changed as I got older and the sensei started pairing me up with other kendo trainees at the dojo. Sparring wasn’t like cutting up the air. Suddenly you were taking out all your anger – your jealousy, fear, unhappiness – on
another person
.
I’d plugged away faithfully at kendo until I was fourteen, for my grandfather’s sake, even though his death had taken all the joy out of it. But when Kobayashi Sensei started pressuring me to enter the bigger tournaments, started telling me that I needed to be more aggressive, I freaked out and quit. And I hadn’t picked up any kind of a sword – wooden or otherwise – since then.
Until last night.
“It was well done,” Shinobu said, breaking into my grim thoughts. “You saved us all.”
Pricklingly aware of Shinobu’s knee touching mine under the table, I flushed and ducked my head. I was grateful when the barista appeared, perky ponytail swinging, a tray propped on her hip.