Destiny's Child (The Kitsune Series)

by Morgan Blayde

  The boot came again. And again. By then, I was half out, but my teeth were digging deep, grating on bone. My mushy brain clung to enough reason to recognize the combat knife she pulled from a boot sheath, coming at my throat. I released her wrist and flipped away, leaving Evil to stab the rug where I’d just been. She’d forgotten that Missy wanted to be the one to bathe in my blood, or Evil didn’t care anymore.

  Taliesina got my hind feet moving, sending me on a wild run for another exit. We run now, I was told, and live to kick ass another day.

  Fine by me.

  We blew past an unattended receptionist desk and a little lobby, and there was daylight, an open door with fresh, cold November air blowing in. Coming in from outside was one of the lesser witches of ISIS. She froze on the threshold, blinking at me in surprise.

  Evelyn called from behind me, “Don’t let that fox get out!”

  Hah! Too late.

  I threw myself between the witch’s legs, going for broke, and almost broke my neck hitting a wall that wasn’t there, wasn’t visible anyway. My snout dropped to the floor. I pushed up on trembling legs, wobbly, eyes needing a second to clear, and saw obscure magical symbols engraved on the threshold. I’d hit a barrier designed to guard the property.

  I am so cursed. Why does everyone and their brother-in-law’s cousin’s dog have these stupid things?

  The gal standing over me pivoted and dropped her full weight on me, pinning my head to the floor with a leg across my neck. There was nothing my teeth or claws could reach. My three tails beat the floor in frustration. I couldn’t move. And the witch wasn’t done. She jabbed a taser wand into me. It went crackle, but my kitsune body drank the charge, draining the battery of life.

  Take that. Petty, I know, but I was taking my victories in small doses wherever I could find them.

  And to make things so much better, Evil stomped over with a gooseneck table lamp in one hand and beat me across the head with it until blackness threatened to close in. Why always the head? Can’t someone pick another spot? I’m not going to have a working brain cell left if this keeps up.

  “Stop!” It was Missy’s prissy voice, thick with annoyance. “I can’t kill her if you finish her off.”

  I laughed grimly to myself. Oh, good, I’m saved.

  Evil used the lamp cord and somebody’s belt to tie my paws. Grabbing the scruff of my neck, she picked me off the carpet and all but frog-marched me back to the big room with the statue and altar. I wondered if Isis had gotten tired of waiting. If they wanted to skip the whole cutting-out-my-heart thing, I’d have understood.

  I was slammed onto the altar and held there by many helpful hands. The girls’ mingled fragrances made a perfume hash that had me at the edge of sneezing.

  Chains rattled. I heard Vanessa pop a bubble in her gum. She said, “Chains aren’t going to work on a fox.”

  Missy said, “Just hold her until I finish the chant and get the knife in.”

  I’d had more time to recover from the MRI disaster, had drunk two tasers of electric juice, and had shape-shifted to fox to further strengthen my system. There was a chance I could now cross over to the ghost realm long enough to save myself.

  Missy shouted, “Bring the drugged incense over. We don’t want her ghosting off on us.”

  Crap!

  Someone held it near my face, fanning blue smoke in my eyes. I tried to tug the veil. It slipped from my mental grip somehow. My heart pounded in my chest. I seemed to hear it very clearly, or was that my pulse in my ears?

  Thunder filled the space and the hands holding me jumped in response, coming right back before I could take advantage of the momentary freedom—though with tied paws, I couldn’t have done much. Maybe bitch-slap a few people with my tails. The thunder thinned into a high pitched, female voice that could never have come from a human throat, “Stop! This one is mine. I have come to claim her myself.”

  Huh?

  A sour lemon light washed into my eyes, and suddenly everyone was backing away from the altar. Missy craned her neck, looking up at the statue. I squirmed to see better myself. The light spilled from the eyes of the statue. As if Isis had possessed it, the stone figure leaned over me, peering down with interest. Her stiff lips flowed into a smile.

  Now that’s just wrong. I’d been in many churches in my time, some of them with statues, and those had never so much as waved. Of course, they’d never tried to kill me either. Maybe I’d been lucky.

  Missy skirted the altar, moving off with her suddenly terrified flock. I guess the things people worship aren’t supposed to answer, becoming all too real.

  The statue froze, as if sensing rejection. At ground level, a line of light made a rectangle in the stone folds of the robes, outlining a person-sized block of stone. The line brightened. The block vanished, becoming a door to another world. Harsh yellow sunlight poured in from desert country. A hot wind gusted in carrying the scent of sage, baked earth, and the stink of creosote bushes. A female shadow filled the doorway. The shadow walked through to our world, up to the altar.

  It was Isis, human-sized, same hooded cloak, a full moon in one hand, a crescent moon in the other. The stupid incense smoke had blown away, but was back in my face again, deadening my sense of smell. The cloaked woman tossed the moons into the air. They hung there a second, then faded to nothing. I was scooped up by the woman, cradled against her chest. She held me gently. I stared into her hood, looking for details of her face.

  Her smile widened. Without a word, she turned with me and headed back to that doorway to elsewhere. Since it didn’t look like I was getting a knife stuck in me any time soon, and anywhere else was better than here, I didn’t struggle. We passed into the base of the statue, through it. Heat slapped me like a wave off a blast furnace. The sage and creosote smell was back. There seemed to be a lot of boulders around. And not much else. Isis turned. I expected to see the backside of the statue, but it was gone, along with the door to my world.

  So, where the hell is this?

  Taliesina gave me a foxy shrug, her golden eyes moving off into my inner shadows. Let me know when you get this figured out.

  Hummmph, you’re a lotta help.

  Isis knelt and put me on the hot ground, prying at my bindings. Soon, I was free, and a trillion miles from home. On all four feet, shaking out my tails, I looked up at Isis, wondering what was coming next. She met my gaze steadily, a bit of yellow light making ghostly coins out of her eyes.

  “So, Grace, we meet again.”

  I simply stared. Again?

  “Ah, of course you wouldn’t remember me like this.” As she spoke, her voice deepened, growing masculine. The robes darkened, writhing over her like rogue shadows. Height and bodily proportions altered as the rest became male as well. He stood, a dark-haired man in a coal-black suit. Familiar sulfur yellow eyes burned, fixed on me with eager attention. A small, mischievous smile twisted his lips. He played with a silver cross on a long chain, treating it with little respect.

  Coyote. Raven. The Trickster. It was Fenn’s dad. His preferred alias leaped from memory. Father Vincentia, allegedly a special agent for the Vatican. One thing was sure: saving me wasn’t a matter of altruism. Eventually, he’d present a bill for his services.

  ELEVEN

  “Branded with a clinging heat,

  pain and need have one face.

  Spit me up and chew me out,

  but get me outta this place.”

  —Bed of Coals

  Elektra Blue

  I had things I needed to say, needed to know, and Trickster was the dude to tell me. One hitch, I was a fox, a naked fox under my fur. I had no clothes to cover me if I turned back into a sixteen-year-old human girl. There might be lots of shape-shifters, werewolves, and such that don’t mind parading around in the altogether—but I wasn’t one of them. I could count the times I’d shifted to fox on one hand. Besides, it looked like wherever we’d be going, it would be on foot over rough country. As a fox, I had tough pads on my paws. As a
human, I had runners’ calluses that would be no match for sharp rock, cactus, scorpions—and who knew what—that might be lurking about.

  “So,” Trickster asked, “how long are you going to stay that way?”

  I shot him a dirty look. Pervert.

  “What?” he said.

  I lashed my tails in irritation.

  His face lit up with understanding. “Ah, you don’t have the skin-walker’s mentality, do you? Trust me, kid, I’ve seen it before. I won’t be shocked.”

  I added a growl, letting it hang low in my throat.

  He sighed. “Fine, I’ve got a camp just over that rise.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a lump that wanted to be a hill when it grew up. “I think I can turn up something that will fit you.”

  I stopped growling.

  He took that as agreement, turning his back to lead the way. Such an irritating guy, three-piece black suit and not a drop of sweat on his thin, angular face. He whistled a jaunty tune that seemed familiar. I ran it through the vast collection of songs stored in my memory for my morning runs, and soon identified the melody of My Heart Will Go On from the Titanic movie. Ironic in that there probably wasn’t a body of water within a hundred miles.

  I padded up the rise, pausing at the top to stare down at a couple of canvas-covered wagons that might have rolled out of the Old West. Under the shade of a bright blue silk canopy, a small fire danced within a circle of rocks. A grill lay on top, supporting a pot of … I took a deep whiff … very burnt coffee. The breeze fluttering up the bank also brought a delicious, mouth-watering scent. Peach cobbler, yum. Okay, I’m prepared to forgive him for not sweating. Taliesina was back, golden eyes twinkling in the shadows of my mind. She said, Double yum. We hadn’t been getting along so well recently, but we were in perfect agreement now.

  Trickster tromped down the backside of the rise with me hot on his heels. In the shade of a lone mesquite tree, four sleek, well-fed horses whinnied a greeting to us. Trickster told them, “See, told you I wouldn’t be long.” He went on to the back of the farthest wagon, climbing inside. Short as I was, I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I heard definite sounds of rummaging. In a minute, he came back into view, a black cowboy hat on his head. Looking down from the back of the wagon, he draped a yellow-white cotton sundress over what would be the tailgate on a more modern vehicle. He propped up a rice-paper parasol with hand-painted cranes on it, and held up a pair of moccasin boots with fringed cuffs. “Anything else you need, just look. You’re likely to find anything in here, and I do mean anything. I love my creature comforts.”

  He climbed out, and jumped, landing beside me. “I’ll be over at the fire, having a bite to eat. Come join me when you’re decent.” He strolled off, whistling that Titanic song again.

  When I’m decent? I’m always decent, just not always dressed. But I can fix that now.

  I concentrated fiercely, holding my own image in mind. Heat flushed through me. My foxy form burst into cold foxfire that wound around me, stretching higher, pulling me upright onto two feet—two human feet. As I straightened, red-orange fur fluffed away on the wind, leaving bare, lightly-freckled skin. The fire drained into me, filling me out so that I was full-sized once more. I looked down at my flat chest with a deep sigh sifting through my spirit. A larger bra size was one change I would have embraced. In the plus column, my side showed only smooth skin. No surgical scar lingered. I might never have been shot at all.

  I hurriedly dressed, leaving the parasol where it was. I’d have preferred a straw hat actually. And there it was on a steamer trunk in the back of the wagon. I helped myself to it, and used the attached pink scarf to tie it on. Dressed, and starved, I headed back to the campfire.

  The Trickster sat on a sun-bleached piece of tree-trunk that should not have been in the middle of a desert. Another similar prop had been dragged to the opposite side of the fire circle. I sat there, leaning forward, forearms on my knees. The canopy created a nice shade. The poles holding it up were white cedar. The breeze sweeping through brought relief, though I wouldn’t have said no to a frosty glass of lemonade. Or a soda. There was a canteen at the feet of the Trickster. I pointed at it. “What’s in there?”

  He smiled. “What would you like to find inside?”

  “Mountain Mist Cola.”

  He picked up the canteen and tossed it to me.

  I caught it, unscrewed the cap, and took a cautious sip. I stared across the fire at him. “It is Mountain Mist Cola.” I leaned my head back and guzzled heavily. Leaning forward again, I replaced the cap and set the canteen down.

  His smile widened. “Told you. By the way, you’re welcome.”

  “Huh?”

  “You were going to thank me for saving your life, I believe.”

  “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

  “Please stop,” he said, “your enthusiastic gushing is embarrassing me.”

  I scowled suspiciously. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but how did you happen to know I was in trouble? And how did you know where to show up—in the nick of time?”

  “You forget who I am. An incarnation of the Trickster. Old Coyote in human form. I am Chaos-Bringer. A force for change in all realities. And you, my girl, are a cornerstone of the future. There are several alternate worlds waiting in the wings to exist. Which one comes to be depends on the path you choose for your life.”

  “That can’t be true. I’m not that important.”

  “Not yet. But that will change.”

  “Not if I can help it.” I have a big enough target on my back as it is.

  “You can’t help it. Some rip glory from the stubborn teeth of a belligerent universe. Others are born as Destiny’s Child.” He whipped a finger my way. “Like you.”

  I just glowered.

  He sighed, bent forward, and removed the lid from the pot with the peach cobbler inside. The thick caramelized aroma grew stronger, making me drool. He spooned some onto a tin plate, added a spoon, and stood. He skirted the fire to hand me the dish. “Here, you’ll feel better with some food in you.”

  I took the plate and dug in. I blew over the first spoonful, careful not to burn my mouth. Warm, buttery crust, cinnamon and sugar, mushy peach, simmered for hours with all the steam locked in—even in this heat, the bubbly stuff was a delicious treat. The only thing missing was vanilla ice cream.

  “Want some ice cream with that?” Trickster asked.

  I stared at him. “You know every trick.”

  He gave a short bark of a laugh that reminded me of Fenn. “Goes with the territory.” He picked up a white Styrofoam cooler that I knew hadn’t been there before. He opened it and pulled out a round carton and an ice cream scoop. I stood and circled the fire, returning to my seat with melting ice cream plopped onto my cobbler. “Speaking of territory, where exactly are we?”

  “This is a world more real than others, more barren too. This is the proto-world of Native American legend. Here is where the Great Spirit worked out the archetypes, getting the patterns right before shaping your world. In this place, the stars come to earth as kachina—the star people—to dance the night away, climbing threads of light at dawn to return to the black web jeweled by stars. Bear is here, and Snake, Sun and Moon, Badger, and Grandmother Spider among others. This world once had men, but the people—as they called themselves—migrated to your world long before the pilgrims landed.”

  “Looks like Arizona to me.”

  “Find the right trail and believe, and you could walk to Arizona from here. You can walk anywhere from here—past any ward or barrier—if you know the trick. We are everywhere and nowhere, at a kind of cosmic crossroads. Here, more than anywhere else, reality is a point of view, an opinion.”

  “So, like Dorothy in Oz, I can go home and not even need ruby slippers.”

  “If you know the trick, but I can’t let you go just yet.”

  Reluctantly, I set my plate down, stood, and put my fists on hips. My voice went frosty, “What do you mean you won’t ‘let�
� me?”

  He smiled at me, tugging a little on that fake priest’s collar of his. “Well, you see, I sort of lost you in a bet while playing cards. I got to turn you over to her. Of course, I never said I wouldn’t rescue you from her clutches, eventually.”

  “You don’t own me to give me away. And who is this her you keep mentioning?”

  He grinned. “Well, darlin’, there is an old belief that you become responsible for a life if you save it. And I did save your life. So, I’ll hand you over, and you’ll save my life, and we’ll be even.”

  Frustration bubbled deep in the caldron of my soul. And to think, I never used to be a vengeful person. “Even? Oh, no, but I’ll get even. You can believe that. And you never did say who this her is.”

  “That would be me.” The voice floated in on the wind, sweet as a songbird’s trill. Earthier scents followed: fresh-plowed earth, fields of poppies, lavender, iris, roses, and lilies. They were followed by scents of cool forests, carpeted leaves, the mustiness of moss and rotting logs, and the warm aroma of mown hay. I was nearly overwhelmed by the olfactory calling card as a woman walked into camp.

  The horses should have alerted us, but found the woman no threat. She didn’t look dangerous. Her eyes had Asian folds and her face was painted white. Her hair was coiffed high, a pile held in place by jeweled pins. She wore silks in summer green, belted with a sash of Aspen gold. A folded, black lacquered fan protruded from that sash, and she carried a leather bag slung over one shoulder, hanging at her hip. Her feet were encased in beaded slippers.

  As she came closer, I noticed a white ceramic fox-face mask hanging around her neck.

  A movement low to the ground drew my attention to the skirt that hid her feet. Two foxes stuck their faces and necks out from under her robes. The foxes were albino, studying me with unwavering intensity.

  And suddenly, Taliesina was crowding my thoughts, her gold eyes blazing in the shadows of my mind as she looked out of my eyes. Inari.