already be dead—”
Something rams against the back door, rattling its hinges. At the same moment, a similar assault begins on the front door. The Ghost’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword, as if the only support he needs is Kenta, who has no weapon but his teeth, and me, with nothing but a slim knife strapped to my calf. But he doesn’t draw his sword.
“I know,” he says softly, surprising me. “Blackflame planned this well. I’ll go up, but you’re both coming with me.”
“It won’t work. We’re surrounded and they won’t stop until they find you. Kenta—” I mean to call for Kenta’s help, though what I expect him to do I don’t know. I can barely hear myself think over the pounding on the doors.
The Ghost glances up into the stairwell, barely lit by the faint glow from the Degaths’ room.
“There’s no time , ” I nearly shout.
Kenta steps forward in his human form, his bare chest rippling with muscles, and whacks the Ghost over the head with a length of wood.
I step back, speechless. The Ghost stumbles against the wall, shaking his head to clear it. That wasn’t quite the kind of help I’d intended.
“Move,” Kenta says, grabbing the Ghost by the shoulders and propelling him beneath the overhang of the floor above.
“Kenta,” I say, as he offers his hands, fingers interlaced, for the Ghost to put his boot in. The Ghost glances blearily between the two of us. “Kenta! He’s not going to be able to jump now.”
Wood shatters—the back door has given in. Kenta whirls towards the hallway.
“Come on.” I grab the Ghost by the shoulder and hustle him under the broken stairs to where I had hidden before. He definitely isn’t doing well: he doesn’t even protest. “Kenta!”
The Ghost sits down heavily, his back against the wall, just as Kenta appears at my shoulder. “You too,” I hiss. “Someone has to keep him safe now that you’ve knocked his brains loose. You’re a better fighter than me.”
“They’ll see us,” Kenta murmurs as he drops down beside the Ghost.
“They won’t,” I promise. Kenta transforms to his tanuki form in the space of a breath. I try to gather my thoughts. No time, I think, as feet pound down the hall, coming to a stop before the Degaths’ door. No time. I kneel before them, center myself for what I have to do.
“Hitomi.”
I glance up, ready to curse the Ghost, and find him handing me the hilt of his short sword. His hand wavers slightly as he holds it out. His sword. If they go down fighting, they might have an easier end. I snatch the sword from him and pull my mind back to my spell. Fortunately, I’m surrounded by what I need most: darkness. Reaching out, I gather the shadows around me and lay them over my friends like a velvet cloak of night and smoke, pulling and tugging at the shadows until I can barely see the two men even though I kneel before them. It’s a clumsy spell, made too fast and with wrinkles and snags that might unravel at any moment, but it’s the best I can do. Distantly, I realize I can hear screaming.
“Don’t move,” I pant, my body drenched with sweat.
But an arm reaches out of the shadow and pulls off the boy’s cap I wear. I’d forgotten it.
“ Don’t move . ” I pull up the cloak’s hood to complete my disguise. As far as I can tell, the spell has fallen back into place around my friends. “Good-bye,” I whisper. Then I run—or try to. The magic-working has unbalanced me, and I stagger as I start forward, barely managing to keep my feet.
A faint light still spills through the Degaths’ doorway. I can hear shouts and cries, can see the flicker of shadows through the doorway. But all I can truly make out are dimly lit forms and the brief gleam of light on blades as the soldiers in the hall turn towards me. These aren’t your usual soldiers, but an elite squad. They turn with practiced ease, swords in their hands, every move calm, calculated. Completely unworried.
Something rams against the back door, rattling its hinges. At the same moment, a similar assault begins on the front door. The Ghost’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword, as if the only support he needs is Kenta, who has no weapon but his teeth, and me, with nothing but a slim knife strapped to my calf. But he doesn’t draw his sword.
“I know,” he says softly, surprising me. “Blackflame planned this well. I’ll go up, but you’re both coming with me.”
“It won’t work. We’re surrounded and they won’t stop until they find you. Kenta—” I mean to call for Kenta’s help, though what I expect him to do I don’t know. I can barely hear myself think over the pounding on the doors.
The Ghost glances up into the stairwell, barely lit by the faint glow from the Degaths’ room.
“There’s no time , ” I nearly shout.
Kenta steps forward in his human form, his bare chest rippling with muscles, and whacks the Ghost over the head with a length of wood.
I step back, speechless. The Ghost stumbles against the wall, shaking his head to clear it. That wasn’t quite the kind of help I’d intended.
“Move,” Kenta says, grabbing the Ghost by the shoulders and propelling him beneath the overhang of the floor above.
“Kenta,” I say, as he offers his hands, fingers interlaced, for the Ghost to put his boot in. The Ghost glances blearily between the two of us. “Kenta! He’s not going to be able to jump now.”
Wood shatters—the back door has given in. Kenta whirls towards the hallway.
“Come on.” I grab the Ghost by the shoulder and hustle him under the broken stairs to where I had hidden before. He definitely isn’t doing well: he doesn’t even protest. “Kenta!”
The Ghost sits down heavily, his back against the wall, just as Kenta appears at my shoulder. “You too,” I hiss. “Someone has to keep him safe now that you’ve knocked his brains loose. You’re a better fighter than me.”
“They’ll see us,” Kenta murmurs as he drops down beside the Ghost.
“They won’t,” I promise. Kenta transforms to his tanuki form in the space of a breath. I try to gather my thoughts. No time, I think, as feet pound down the hall, coming to a stop before the Degaths’ door. No time. I kneel before them, center myself for what I have to do.
“Hitomi.”
I glance up, ready to curse the Ghost, and find him handing me the hilt of his short sword. His hand wavers slightly as he holds it out. His sword. If they go down fighting, they might have an easier end. I snatch the sword from him and pull my mind back to my spell. Fortunately, I’m surrounded by what I need most: darkness. Reaching out, I gather the shadows around me and lay them over my friends like a velvet cloak of night and smoke, pulling and tugging at the shadows until I can barely see the two men even though I kneel before them. It’s a clumsy spell, made too fast and with wrinkles and snags that might unravel at any moment, but it’s the best I can do. Distantly, I realize I can hear screaming.
“Don’t move,” I pant, my body drenched with sweat.
But an arm reaches out of the shadow and pulls off the boy’s cap I wear. I’d forgotten it.
“ Don’t move . ” I pull up the cloak’s hood to complete my disguise. As far as I can tell, the spell has fallen back into place around my friends. “Good-bye,” I whisper. Then I run—or try to. The magic-working has unbalanced me, and I stagger as I start forward, barely managing to keep my feet.
A faint light still spills through the Degaths’ doorway. I can hear shouts and cries, can see the flicker of shadows through the doorway. But all I can truly make out are dimly lit forms and the brief gleam of light on blades as the soldiers in the hall turn towards me. These aren’t your usual soldiers, but an elite squad. They turn with practiced ease, swords in their hands, every move calm, calculated. Completely unworried.
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