"One of the top ten scariest moments of my life," he told me later. And I knew that my mother was responsible for the other nine scary moments.
"This should be it, right up here," says Ryden, peering at the map and then pointing ahead. "On the right."
I can barely see the narrow lane slicing through the waist-high grasses, but I manage the turn in time. The long gravel drive ends in a sprawl of dirt and stones, and I wince at the sharp crunching of the rocks under the tires. Hopefully we won't get a flat, driving over this crap.
As I climb out of the car, Ryden unfolds his tall frame from the other side and stretches. I cut my eyes toward him, enjoying the glimpse of tanned skin when his shirt rides up, and the flex of his biceps as he cracks his knuckles.
"Let's do this," he says.
Out of the dingy farmhouse comes a man who can only be Eisuke Sori. He wears a silky pink robe over a white undershirt and a pair of garish Hawaiian shorts. His thin legs disappear into large rainboots that flap loudly around his calves as he strides toward us. Fuzzy three-foot-long dreadlocks swing past his sharp cheekbones, and half-moon black eyes peer at us from under tiny black brows. His fingers flex nervously, flashing with dozens of rings.
He reminds me of an Asian Captain Jack Sparrow, and I love it.
"Why are you here?" he yells, before he's even within reasonable speaking distance. "You can't be here! It's not right. That's not how any of this works!"
"What is he talking about?" mutters Ryden.
"I have no idea. Just—let me deal with him."
"I thought you'd never met him before."
"I haven't." I swallow nervously as the irate sorcerer draws closer.
"Then how exactly to you plan to 'deal with him'?"
"Shhh," I tell him, stepping forward. "Eisuke Sori?" I bow a little, stiffly.
"What's that?" he snaps. "We are not in Japan! I'm not some kind of sensei! Don't bow to me, girl!"
"Sorry," I stammer, and Ryden snickers. Eisuke turns narrowed eyes on him. "You! You are nekomata!"
Ryden's jaw drops. "Y-yes... how did you—"
Eisuke waves aside the question. "I know everything."
We stare, speechless, and he stares right back, somberly. Then a smile cracks his lean face. "Just kidding. I don't know everything. This ring—" he taps a silver band with kanji scrawled across it— "it tells me when carnal magic users are nearby, and what breed they are. Helpful to avoid the wolf and bear clans. They're not so elegant or friendly as your tribe."
Ryden squares his shoulders, obviously pleased at being dubbed "elegant and friendly."
"We're here for your help," I say.
"Of course you are. Why else would the daughter of Richard Blythe have come all this way?"
"You know who I am, too?" I raise my eyebrows. "Don't tell me you have a ring for that."
"No, no. I'm your father's friend, and I've seen a few pictures of you. Not recent ones, but you haven't aged much."
I guess that's a compliment. "Well then, do you think you can help us? We're trying to unlock the secrets of an old family heirloom, one that belonged to Ryden's father."
I fish the Madstone out of my shirt and hold it up.
Eisuke's nervous fingers close over it at once, pushing it back into my shirt. "No, no! Put it away, quickly. Let's go inside. Oh, Priscilla, what have you done? This will be ruination, damnation—or as you kids say, a total shitshow, yes? Come in, come in."
We follow him to the house, and he holds open the creaky screen door for us. "Shoes off in the mud room, please! Yes, thank you! You want something to drink?"
We decline politely.
Eisuke's house is small, clearly a century old or more. We enter the kitchen and he points us to the chairs around the vintage enamel-top table. The stained counters are cluttered with empty frozen food boxes and cans, and there's a chunk missing from one of the cabinet doors. The reek of stale cigarette smoke hangs in the air.
Through a wide doorway, I glimpse a sparsely furnished living room, with a massive record player and a beat-up recliner. Beside the recliner sits a stack of thick, ancient tomes—magical books, I'd guess.
Eisuke seats himself and studies each of us. "Well? What's your story?"
I tell him everything, from the moment the Patronage assigned us the job to the moment we escaped with the Madstone. "From what I've read, it seems that the Madstone is mine now," I say. "But I have no idea how to use it. I need to learn more about it before the Patronage or that crazy cowboy come after us."
Eisuke taps be-ringed fingers against his lips. "This other man, this cowboy, what did he look like?"
"Like Kevin Bacon, kinda," says Ryden. "Not from Footloose, though—the older Kevin Bacon from that TV show 'The Following.' "
"Who's Kevin Bacon?" I ask.
Ryden's eyebrows rise dramatically. "You don't know? All right, we got some cultural education to do later."
"He wore a cowboy hat, always? And did he have an amulet like this?" Eisuke sketches quickly on a notepad.
I peer at it. "Yes, he did, plus a lot more talismans."
Eisuke slams the pen onto the table. "He is bad news, very bad news."
"What's his name?"
"Paul Butters."
I was expecting something more "dark lord of evil" than that. "Paul Butters? For real?"
"Yes. But some call him the Duke of Demons, because he can summon Otherworld creatures to do his bidding, with that amulet. It takes much energy, so he doesn't do it often, but it makes him a big threat. A very big threat. And you have led him here."
"No, no, we haven't," I insist. "No one knows where we are. We didn't tell anyone where we were going."
"But they will look for connections," says Eisuke. "People you know, places you might go for magical help. If you're not with your father or your mother, they will start looking elsewhere, to friends of the family." He gestures to himself.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I needed help, and I didn't know where else to turn."
"It will be fine." Eisuke rises, taking a carton of cigarettes from the counter and knocking one out. "I will help you and send you on your way quickly."
"Great!" I try not to wince as he lights the cigarette. My mother used to smoke. After my father took me from her, it took months to get the smell out of my clothes and hair. To this day, the stench of cigarettes makes me physically ill. "How long will it take to teach me?"
Eisuke shrugs. "Maybe half hour? Less, if you're smarter than you look."
"Hey now," says Ryden, his tone deepening into something close to a growl.
Eisuke brushes off the unspoken threat with a wave of his fingers. "A joke, shifter. So sensitive, these big cats. So protective. So very beautiful." He eyes Ryden appreciatively, then gives himself a little shake. "Mm, where was I? Now, Priscilla, I will teach you."
I stifle my gag reflex as he drags on the cigarette and exhales a cloud of noxious smoke into the air. "Could we train outside?"
"It's hot out there. Cool in here."
"But—please?"
"As you say. In that case, I will get comfortable." He shrugs off the robe and removes his undershirt as well, sauntering past Ryden with a flair that's clearly meant to be alluring.
Ryden looks appalled, and I smother a laugh. "You have an admirer," I whisper.
"But—I don't swing that way."
"Apparently your beauty is irresistible. Go on, let's follow him. I'm choking in here."
Eisuke leads us to the back of the house. Under a three-sided shed stands a rough-hewn stone cylinder, waist-high, with a shallow bowl-shaped indentation in the center of its surface. Maybe it's an altar. Maybe the indentation is for sacrificial blood—maybe I don't want to do this after all.
Above the altar, along the wall, hang three strings with bones and feathers strung from them like pennants. Under that, there's a long shelf with a mortar and pestle, a few bunches of herbs, and some cloudy glass bottles full of dark liquid. It's all a bit voodoo for my taste—the ki
nd of low-bred magic that high-class Patronage wielders are taught to avoid unless it's absolutely necessary, as it was in the case of the spirit summoning I did with Nali.
Or maybe I was told to avoid this magic so I couldn't become stronger. So I couldn't learn how to use the powerful artifacts I collected.
"You need to put your hand here," says Eisuke, pointing to the hollow in the altar. "Palm up. And hold very still."
He picks up a short knife with a fat, oddly-shaped blade. I know what's coming, but I barely have time to grit my teeth before he slices my palm.
Ryden steps forward, but I wave him off.
"Now the Madstone. Quick." Eisuke beckons to me.
I pull its chain over my head and hand it to him. He presses it into the aching center of my palm and pushes my fingers closed around it. "Tight, tight," he says. "Close your eyes. Speak to it. Let it sync with your powers."
Weird. But I obey, closing my eyes and releasing my thoughts.
This is very strange. Why is Eisuke asking me to—
And then, a faint curling of the edges of my mind, a whisper of Otherness through my thoughts. A pulsing sensation, like the single pulse I felt before, only now it's repeated in a steady rhythm, alternating between my rapid heartbeats.
"Breathe," says Eisuke.
I focus on breathing deeply, slowly—and my heartbeat slows too. Gradually, the pulsing and the heartbeat synchronize, until I can't distinguish one from the other anymore.
I open my eyes, meeting Eisuke's gaze.
"You've done it." He nods approvingly. "And it only took seven minutes."
"That long? It felt like seconds."
"It seemed like forever," says Ryden. "How do you feel?"
"I don't know. I don't think I feel any different."
"Try it," says Eisuke. "Use your powers. But only once. Every time you use the Madstone, a little more magic will drain from it. Once all is gone, it must be recharged, and that can take years. This one is full, but if you have the Patronage and the Duke of Demons after you, you will need every bit of power it possesses. So be frugal."
I nod, rolling my shoulders and settling into a stance, facing a nearby cornfield. I center myself, tapping into the energy around me, feeling it build in my body. I don't collect much—enough for a small pulse. Then I link my thoughts with the Madstone, wrapping my intentions around it like a mental fist.
And I push.
The pulse flattens a ten-foot-wide swath of cornstalks, straight across the field, clear to the fence on the other side. I can see the fence-post quivering from the shock of it.
"Oh my gosh." I clap my hands over my mouth and look at Ryden. His eyes are huge.
"Damn, girl," he says.
"That was just a taste of its power," says Eisuke. "Now you see why so many people would kill to have it."
"I see," I breathe, touching the stone with a fingertip. Then my eyes snap to Eisuke's. "What about you? Don't you want it?"
"No, no! I don't need something that dangerous around here. I used to want those kinds of things, and then I found out they bring nothing but pain and trouble. Not worth the effort. No, I have no big plans for the world. I just want to enjoy the simple pleasures of life."
I don't miss the shift of his eyes toward Ryden as he says it. "Thank you for your help," I tell him. "We appreciate it."
"Come in for lunch," urges Eisuke. "I have leftover Chinese. A little company is a small price to pay for my help, yes?"
Reluctantly I agree, and we spend the next two hours making awkward small talk and listening to Eisuke's tales of my father's visits.
"The first time he came, he was out of his mind. So frightened. A very beautiful, smart man, your father—I could see why she wanted him. But he was so twisted up inside, he did not know which emotions were his own anymore. When he first met your mother, his family did not like her, so she stirred his anger, you see. She made him unreasonable, furious with all of his relatives, and he drove each one of them away, wanting only her. He did not speak to any of them for years. So when he came back to himself, he had nothing left. He did not even want you for a long time, Priscilla." He nods to me.
"I know." I bite my lip, willing away the old hurt that surges up again.
Ryden squeezes my thigh, the warmth of his fingers reassuring me.
Eisuke leans back, chair tilted precariously and heels propped on the table, his bare feet a little too near the food cartons for my comfort. I've barely eaten, because the "leftover Chinese food" is suspiciously dry in places and congealed in others, like it's been sitting the fridge for quite a while.
"It was I who persuaded him to go get you," says the sorcerer grandly. "I helped him make a plan. Gave him the charms and the courage to do it."
"Thank you." And I mean it. I owe this man a debt that I can never repay, because without him, I might still be under my mother's control.
"You're welcome, sweetheart," says Eisuke. He appraises me with those black eyes. "You look like your father, not your mother. Lucky girl. Lucky, lucky girl."
Ryden shifts in his chair, then rises. "We should go. It's nearly four o'clock already. Thank you for the food."
"Are you sure I cannot persuade you to stay the night? The three of us—we could have some fun." He waggles his short brows, his eyes flicking over me but lingering on Ryden.
Enough already with the lascivious stares from the creepy sorcerer. "I thought you were worried about us bringing trouble down on your head," I say.
"Some trouble might be worth the reward," Eisuke mutters.
"Gotta go, man. But thanks." Ryden strides out of the house, toward the car, and I trail after him, not wanting to seem too eager. After all, this man is powerful, and if we're too rude in our refusal of him, who knows what he might do in return.
"Thank you again, so much, for your help," I tell him.
"Let me ask you something, Priscilla. Why do you not wear protections from emotion-class magic, as your father does?"
"I sometimes do, but not when I'm on a retrieval mission for the Patronage. Any sign of a magical talisman might alert the homeowners that my partner and I are more than just professional organizers. So I leave them at home when we do a job."
"I see."
"And I never go near my mother," I tell him. "If I did see her, my powers are strong enough now to blow her away before she could cast her influence over me."
"Ah. So you never visit her?"
"Why would I? I hate her for what she did to me, and to my father."
"She lied for love, yes. Took what she wanted without care for others. It's a dangerous path for the soul. But forgiveness is the balm of bitterness."
"Really? That's some tough wisdom."
"Not mine," he admits, smirking. "I got it from a book."
I can't help chuckling. "I can see why my father likes you."
"Your father, yes. He's a troubled man, and a sad one. But I think he's getting better. And you—you've done well."
I snort. "If by doing well, you mean joining up with a questionable magical organization, stealing artifacts from unsuspecting families, betraying those who care about me, and lying more times a day than I can count—then, yeah, I'm doing well."
"Good and evil are not so easy to see. The scars on the heart make it hard to feel what's right."
"Is that from a book too?"
"No, that's from me." He taps his temple. "Eisuke Sori wisdom, just for you. You'll figure it out, Priscilla, with time and luck. You are young enough to undo what's been done to you."
We walk the rest of the way to the car in silence. The Madstone is a heavy weight around my neck, made all the more ponderous by what I've learned.
As I open the car door, Eisuke's fingers close convulsively around my wrist. His eyes are glazed, the sharp planes of his face rigid. "Be careful," he hisses. "Blood calls to blood. Soon they will come, and one who once loved you will betray you."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I gasp.
He blin
ks, then grins. "Nothing. I like to do that, to freak people out."
I gape at him.
He steps back, still smiling. "Go! Do the unexpected. Take the unmapped roads and follow the beat of your heart. Make no rational choices. Then you may avoid them a little longer."
"Okay then." I slide into the passenger seat, but before I can close the door, Eisuke grips it and leans in again. "Watch out for whirlwinds."
He withdraws, blowing a kiss that I'm sure is meant for Ryden. As we drive away, I glance in the side mirror, watching Eisuke walk toward the house, dark dreadlocks bouncing across his bare back.
"So." Ryden glances sideways at me. "He was interesting."
"That's an understatement. Did you hear what he said, about taking unmapped roads?"
"I did. What do you think it means?"
"I'm not sure, but I guess we should drive randomly. We don't have a destination in mind, do we?"
"Nope."
I settle back in the seat. "Then let's just see where the road takes us."
-16-
Don't Blame Me
"Why are we stopping here again?" Ryden asks as I put the car in park and turn off the engine.
"Why not? Come on!" I leap out of the car and pocket the keys, feeling oddly excited.
After leaving Eisuke's house, we drove for two hours before seeing signs for a rodeo, tonight. I've never been to one, and it feels like fate—an unlikely destination, yet with enough people that we could lose ourselves in the crowd if necessary. Apparently whole clans from central Nebraska have gathered for this affair; there are hundreds of trucks, SUVs, and horse trailers, and families are sprawled over the grassy hillside and across the bleachers, carrying blankets and coolers, boots and tack, smartphones and Stetsons.
Ryden gets out of the car, and I eye his lithe, muscled figure, imagining him with a cowboy hat. The man could make anything look good. He lounges against the trunk, long denim-clad legs crossed, his T-shirt sleeves stretching around his biceps as he folds his arms. He appears distinctly unimpressed by the gleaming horses cantering around the rodeo arena at the foot of the hill.
The Panther and the Thief Page 13