Senshi (A Katana Novel)

by Cole Gibsen

  Q rushed to my side. “Are you okay?”

  I grunted an answer through clenched teeth. The pain was unbearable. A hundred porcupines rolled through my body, under my skin. Why did it have to hurt so much? What had happened in the last couple of months to make my ki both unpredictable and painful? “I’m going to let go,” I told him. “Stand back.”

  He hesitated, as if unsure he should leave me. Finally, he took several steps backward. “Okay.”

  I nodded. The pressure ballooned under my skin until I thought I might burst into tattered shreds. I couldn’t let the pain take control because if it did, there was no telling what I would do. Who I would hurt. Despite the ripping sensation tearing through my skin, I kept my focus on the security camera. I imagined it shutting off along with every other camera and alarm inside the building.

  The pressure burst through my skin, rushing from my chest and fingertips, searching for its destination.

  I gasped.

  Q was back at my side. “What just happened?”

  “Wait for it,” I whispered and motioned to the camera with my eyes.

  A second later, the red light above the lens pulsed once before going out. With the task completed and no other job to do, all of the energy I’d just released came flooding back inside of me. I jerked back from the force of the collision, barely able to keep my balance. Luckily, Q was able to grab my arm and keep me righted.

  He stared at the camera. “That’s a nifty trick. I didn’t know you could do that.”

  I opened the door to the museum and looked at him. “Me either.” I ducked inside.

  He jogged to catch up to my quick strides. His eyes were wide as he gazed around the darkened corridor. “So how do you know it worked?”

  We came to the end of the service hallway. I pushed against the utility doors and glanced both directions down the dark museum hallway. “I don’t.” I caught movement to my right—Whitley. I grabbed Q’s shirtsleeve and pulled him into the hallway with me. “C’mon.”

  We jogged to the end of the hall and I stopped to glance around a corner. The shadow moved into a large exhibit hall.

  Our sneakers made no noise as we raced across the hardwood floors. We followed the figure into another hallway with pictures of half-naked women draped across chaise lounges.

  “Do you know where he’s going?” Quentin hissed behind me.

  I shook my head as we followed the darting figure deeper into the museum. It didn’t make sense for Whitley to lead us on such a wild-goose chase just for a fight. No. He wanted us here at the museum for a reason—and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like what it was. Q and I sped around another corner and found ourselves at the foot of a massive staircase.

  We climbed the steps two at a time. The last couple weeks of climbing twelve flights of stairs on a daily basis at the condo had been the perfect workout to get me ready for this. I had barely raised my heart rate when I’d reached the top. Q, on the other hand, was huffing behind me.

  The figure left the stairs and darted into a corridor.

  I waved Q on. “Just a little farther.”

  We trotted past an exhibit of Grecian pottery and into a room with a giant silk screen. Japanese cranes were painted on it in varying degrees of flight, illustrated in broad brush strokes.

  We skidded to a halt—the room was a dead end. And other than several glass cases illuminating various Japanese treasures within, the room was empty.

  Or so I thought.

  A shadow peeled itself from the wall and stepped forward until the room’s dim lighting revealed the half of his face not concealed by hair.

  Whitley.

  Even though I’d spotted him several times before, I still hadn’t been ready to come face-to-face with the living ghost of the guy who’d tried to murder me. I forgot how to speak. I tried several times, but the sounds it took to form words wouldn’t come—at least not coherently. I managed a strange sort of gurgling noise.

  Whitley smiled. His gorgeous face the perfect disguise for the complete psycho beneath. “Hello to you too.”

  Anger at what Whitley had done to me, what he was still doing to me, ignited in my body and loosened my tongue. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  He made a face that clearly told me I’d said something stupid. “Do I look dead?”

  I was hit from behind and it took me a moment to figure out it was Q trying to claw his way over me, his fingers stretched out, inches from Whitley’s neck. “I’ll take care of that!” Q snarled. “For what you did to Rileigh, I’ll kill you myself.”

  A smirk spread across Whitley’s face. “I’d love to see you try.”

  I gripped Q’s arm and shook it until he looked at me. “Look, I get dibs on killing him. But first, I’d like to know why we’re at the museum. This is a really weird place to have a fight.”

  Whitley snorted. “I’m not here to fight. I need your help.”

  I folded my arms. “With what? An art report? Because that really could have waited until the museum was open.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Very funny. I need you to help me steal this.” He gestured to the case beside him and an antique Japanese hairpin labeled kanzashi. It looked like two silver prongs with a cluster of silver flowers at the base, each flower containing a coral bead in its center.

  “What?” I started to ask him if he was crazy before I remembered I already knew the answer to that. “I’m not going to help you steal anything.”

  Whitley didn’t answer. He used his elbow to smash the case. After the glass lay pooled around our feet, he grabbed the kanzashi and tossed it to me. Instinctively, I caught it, just as the wail of a security alarm screeched around us.

  Whitley laughed. “Looks like you just did.”

  34

  I stared at the kanzashi in my hands and then back at Whitley. My shoulders tightened and I took a step toward him. Over the wail of the alarm I screamed, “I’m going to kill you!”

  He tsked. “Is that any way to talk to someone who’s trying to save your life?”

  Oh, that was a new one. What kind of idiot did he take me for? “How—”

  But he cut me off before I could finish. “Not here. We don’t have time.” He grabbed a fistful of Q’s shirt and pulled him forward. “Let’s go!”

  I didn’t have time to argue. Instead, I followed him as he ran down the staircase and around the corner into an Egyptian gallery. He started to make a sharp turn into a neighboring hallway, but skidded on his heels as a dancing flashlight beam appeared from around the corner.

  Son of hibachi! We were so busted.

  I jumped back as Whitley turned into me, dragging Q behind him. He pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for me to go the opposite direction with the jut of his chin.

  I darted down the hall as the tumbling of multiple footsteps ascended the stairs we ran past.

  “We’re going to jail!” Q’s panicked voice shouted behind me.

  “Not if I can help it.” I took another right into the room with a twisted metal sculpture made out of rusted car parts. I darted behind it and pulled Q beside me. Whitley crouched behind him. “We’ll hide here until they pass,” I whispered.

  Whitley shook his head. “We can’t just hang out here. That’s only going to give the cops time to swarm the building.”

  I glared at him. “You know, we wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.”

  He glared back. “You really are that clueless, aren’t you? You have no idea what you’re holding or what I’m trying to do.”

  I glanced down at the kanzashi clutched in my hands. Whatever the hairpin meant to Whitley, it wasn’t like I could mull it over given my current circumstance. I opened my mouth to tell Whitley exactly that, when the sound of approaching footsteps killed the words on my tongue.

  Invisible hands squeezed at my hear
t. I glanced around the room, but the only way out was the way we’d come in. I sank back on my heels. If I wanted to keep felony theft off my record, I had to come up with a plan. And fast.

  Q’s voice hitched in his throat. “What are we going to do?”

  Whitley stood and unsheathed a katana strapped to his back. “We fight,” he said simply.

  “What?” I stood next to him. “You can’t fight the security officers. They’re just doing their jobs.”

  He dropped the sword to his side and sighed. “You know, I thought when I’d enlisted your help that you’d be, oh, I don’t know, a little more help.”

  The footsteps were right outside the room.

  “I think I have a way out of this in which nobody has to die.” I jammed the kanzashi into my pocket, spread my arms, and reached for Whitley and Q’s hands. “Let’s just hope it works.”

  35

  The first security officer entered the room. She was barely in her thirties. Her mouth dropped when she caught sight of us, her lips forming an O of surprise.

  Quentin’s fingers tightened around mine. Whitley’s hand was cool and rigid. I closed my eyes, channeled my ki, and hoped to hell what I was about to do would work.

  I prayed they both knew enough to keep silent.

  The security guard blinked several times at us before mashing the heels of her hands against her eyes.

  “Are they in here?” Another officer, a black male in his fifties, joined her side and waved his flashlight around the room.

  She shook her head. “I thought—I just—” She sighed. “I need to get off the night beat. I’m seeing things.”

  She continued to stare at our corner.

  A heavyset guard shuffled into the room, pausing in the doorway to wipe the sweat from his brow. “The rooms behind us have been searched. If the intruder is in the museum, they have to be up ahead.”

  The older guard nodded and readjusted his grip on the flashlight. “Let’s move out. The cops should be here soon and they can help search.” He jogged out of the room without a glance in our direction. The heavyset guard followed him. The woman hesitated and, instead of following them, took several cautious steps toward the spot where we huddled.

  Both Whitley and Q tightened their grip on my hand as the guard studied the shadow we hid in. Quentin’s grip was so tight and painful that I had to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.

  The guard narrowed her eyes and I held my breath.

  After an eternity, she shook her head. “I’m going crazy,” she mumbled. She gave our corner one last look before trotting out of the room.

  When I was sure she was out of earshot and no other guards were on their way in, I let go of Whitley’s and Q’s hands.

  They both released their held breath with a collective whoosh of air.

  “Ri-Ri,” Quentin’s face had paled to an ashy gray. “Why was I invisible?” He stared at his hand, turning it over as he studied it. “Why, Ri-Ri?”

  I shrugged. “Um, I’m not exactly sure.”

  Whitley stared at me as if I had spiders crawling out of my ears.

  “What?” I snapped.

  He smiled coyly. “You’re more resourceful than I thought. Too bad your little tricks will only delay your death. You really need me if you want to stay alive.”

  “Yeah? Because it looks more like you need me.” I narrowed my eyes. “Care to tell me why?”

  “I’d be happy to,” he answered. “But first, we need to get out of here before the cops show up. Meet me at the Denny’s on Grand. Think you can get out of here without being seen?”

  “I don’t like it,” Q growled. “This loser drugged us, stabbed you, and set your house on fire. And now he’s got us involved in some sort of museum heist. I think we should kick his ass and leave him for the police.”

  I fingered the hairpin in my pocket. Come to think of it, Q’s plan wasn’t entirely a bad one.

  Whitley laughed, flashing the single dimple that wasn’t hidden by the curtain of hair covering half of his face. His dimples had once sent shivers through my body. Now, they made me cringe. “Let’s not do anything hasty. You may not think so, but you guys need me.” He dipped his chin and his single exposed eye bore into mine. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Rileigh, and I have the answers you desperately need.” He held out his hand. “The hairpin, please?”

  I withdrew my empty hand from my pocket. Whitley had dragged me into this museum robbery and I wasn’t about to give him anything until I found out what was going on. Because, chances were, if Whitley wanted the kanzashi, it was probably powerful and dangerous. With the strange way he wore his hair, I doubted he wanted to accessorize. “I think I’ll hold on to it for now.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, fine. Just meet me at Denny’s. I’ll explain things to you there.”

  That was it? No fight for the kanzashi? No assassination attempt on my life? I looked at Q who looked just as confused by Whitley’s behavior as I was.

  Did I really think that Whitley was offering to help me out of the goodness of his heart? No. But if I knew Whitley as well as I thought I did, he was after something. And he needed me to get it.

  36

  I don’t like this.” Q turned off his car.

  I wasn’t thrilled to be at a Denny’s at two in the morning to meet my arch nemesis. At least the public setting ensured enough witnesses to discourage a murder attempt … I hoped.

  Q looked at me, his eyes set with worry. “You’re not really going to give him that hair thingy, are you?”

  “I don’t know … ” I stared at the kanzashi in my hand, trying to figure out where I’d seen it before. There was something about it, a memory that refused to surface.

  I wasn’t exactly keen on keeping a stolen artifact—there had to be some bad karma in that somewhere. But if Whitley went through all of the trouble of having us help him steal it, the reason for him wanting it couldn’t be good.

  Quentin gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t trust that guy, Ri-Ri.”

  “Me either. But like the saying goes, keep your friends close—”

  He rolled his eyes. “And your enemies closer. Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

  I carefully placed the kanzashi inside my backpack. “Whitley is the one sending the ninja after me, or he knows who is. Either way, I feel better having him close enough that I can keep my eye on him.”

  “Didn’t you tell me he betrayed you and killed everyone you loved in your past life? He’s a liar and a backstabber.”

  “I know. Which is exactly why I won’t let my guard down for a second.” I opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air, hoisting the backpack over my shoulder.

  “You won’t be the only one.” He fell into step next to me as I walked into the restaurant.

  Inside, the smell of grease and coffee greeted us. A haggard-looking man with a dirty beard sat on a stool at the counter and a college-aged girl sipped coffee in a booth, surrounded by various textbooks. Neither of them set off my ninja alarm, so I continued to the register.

  “How many?” A guy with teal-colored hair and three lip piercings leaned across the counter and scratched his scalp with the back of a pencil. His nametag read Trace.

  “We’re meeting someone,” I told him.

  Trace jutted his chin to a corner booth. “The emo convention is that way.”

  “Thank you?” Quentin and I exchanged glances as we left the register.

  “I’m a little insulted,” Q said as we walked through the dining room. “I mean, I’m wearing all black and that guy just assumes I’m some emo kid? Like the possibility I just pulled off a major museum heist never even crossed his mind?” He huffed. “Maybe I should get a tattoo. How is one supposed to be taken seriously as a criminal nowadays?”

  I ignored him and kept walking until I stood next to the booth. Whitle
y glanced up from his menu and set it aside with a grin. I had to give Trace some credit—with Whitley’s hair hiding half of his face the way it did, he really did look a little emo. But Whitley’s new hairstyle was the last thing I was concerned about.

  “So I came.” I slid into the booth across from him. Q sat next to me.

  “Obviously.” Whitley folded his hands across the table. “Did you bring the kanzashi?”

  I patted the bag next to me. “If you think I’m just going to hand it over to you, you’re a few ninja short of a clan.”

  He shook his head. “No. I knew you’d make this as much of an annoyingly difficult situation for me as possible. Some things never change.”

  “Difficult for you?” I huffed. “What about us? Do you think we actually thought, ‘Oh, it’s such a beautiful night. We really should rob a museum.’”

  Q grabbed my arm, motioning his head to the patrons who were now staring at me.

  I inhaled sharply, trying to diffuse the anger burning through my blood. When I spoke again my words were low, almost a growl. “You stabbed me.”

  Whitley waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Yes, yes. And you left me in your house to burn alive. I’d say we’re even, wouldn’t you?”

  A choked noise escaped my throat. “Are you kidding me? I lost everything because of you. My house, my clothes, photographs, memories—they’re all gone!”

  Whitley leaned across the table, viper-quick. I threw an arm protectively across Quentin to block whatever attack was coming.

  But Whitley didn’t strike. Instead, he pushed his hair back, revealing the scars that had distorted his skin, shiny and slick. It looked like half of his face was made of melted wax.

  Quentin went rigid next to me and I gasped.

  “Wah! My clothes. Wah! My precious memories. Look at my face!” Whitley’s right eye bulged from the socket, looking as if it were on the brink of falling out.

  At that moment, all I wanted in the world was to look away. But I knew that was exactly what Whitley expected me to do. So I stared at his face without blinking. “I don’t understand what your point is,” I said. “Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you?” I grabbed hold of the table to keep from wavering under his horrific gaze. “Honestly, I think you got off easy.”