Elektra (16 page)

She wandered the camp, going through the old haunts and training areas, places that she hadn’t thought about in years. A glance in one direction showed her a bandaged-up Mark headed her way on what was no doubt a physical therapy outing; he was balancing on a crutch and limping, concentrating on the ground and where he was walking as he moved forward with a teeth-gritting determination. He raised his head and caught her eye, then smiled and started toward her, but Elektra intentionally turned her back and went the other way. She needed to be alone so she \could think about things, about Abby and Mark, about herself… and all their places in this crazy, mixed-up world. There was all the deception, too, that had gone around and twisted up her life, getting her involved in things she was never meant to take on. With all that on her mind, Elektra sure didn’t need Mark Miller around, mixing up her thoughts even more.

Kirigi waited impatiently next to Tattoo, unable to stop himself from shifting from foot to foot. The tattoo-covered man was standing silently next to him, head thrown back and eyes only half open; his mouth was slightly slack as he concentrated, working to keep in sync with the hawk’s rapid-fire movements and human brain–enhanced perceptions. Finally the creature returned to its master, circling the sky to pinpoint Tattoo, then plummeting straight down and slamming into his arm. Tattoo came back to himself with a jerk, then grimaced and rubbed his arm; where the bird had reintegrated itself, the flesh was a fiery red, like a second-degree burn. That coloration would be gone in two more minutes, as would the sting of the bird’s home-coming. Of all the creatures inked on Tattoo’s body, this one liked to come back with a bang, diving to “Daddy” as though it were attacking prey.

“What do you know?” Kirigi demanded.

“There is much tension between the blind man and Elektra,” Tattoo told him.

Kirigi digested this. “The assassin is the girl’s last hope, so I want to know where she is at all times. And we must kill Elektra.
Tonight.”

Tattoo nodded, then took another deep inhalation. A moment later his head fell back and his eyes glazed, and once again the hawk ripped itself free of his flesh and soared into the sky.

E
LEKTRA KNEW
A
BBY WAS INSIDE HER CABIN BEFORE
she even stepped onto the porch.

She kept up her measured pace, never slowing until she climbed the steps, turned the knob, and pushed inside. There was the girl, all right, standing in the middle of the floor and playing with Elektra’s sais, swiping them through the air with practiced, fluid moves that followed first the
lamenco
pattern, then the
doce pares
pattern, executing both with admirable precision even if she was using the wrong weapons for the drills. Elektra watched her for a second, then said, “Still breaking and entering, I see.”

Abby froze in the middle of a double
oradabi
strike, then lowered the sais and gave Elektra a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

Elektra shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. “Forget it. It’s a talent in the shadow arts. Keep practicing—you’ll need it.”

Abby came forward hesitantly, as if she were going to sit next to her, but Elektra stood before the girl had the chance. She started pacing back and forth, measuring out the length of the small cabin, then turning back.

Finally Abby spoke. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Elektra said shortly. Her stride quickened without her realizing it.

Abby nodded, but her expression said she didn’t believe Elektra, so she kept talking. “I didn’t want to lie. My dad didn’t either. It made me sick not to tell you, I swear.”

Elektra frowned and kept going, back and forth, back and forth. “We all lie, okay? None of us tell the truth about ourselves.”

“Including you,” noted Abby.

“Especially me.”

Abby tilted her head thoughtfully. “You mean like the whole killing people for money thing.”

Elektra nodded without slowing. “That… sure.”

Abby watched her for a moment more, then said, “And the counting.”

This time Elektra did stop. “Excuse me?”

Abby nodded. “Like when I was counting windows because I’m a little obsessive-compulsive? So are you.”

“No, I’m…” Elektra started to say, then her voice trailed off. “I used to be. I used to count… when I was a kid. But I haven’t done it in years.”

“You were doing it just now,” Abby insisted. “When you walk like that, what’re you doing?”

Elektra’s frowned deepened. “I’m just… pacing. It helps me think.”

“Yeah?” Abby smirked, then pranced across the room, doing an exaggerated version of Elektra’s walk. “One…two…three…
skip.
One…” The assassin flushed with embarrassment and aggravation, more at being humiliated than being called out on something that turned out to be true. Honesty she could take, but not ridicule. “You’re counting your steps,” Abby continued smugly. “To control your bad thoughts.”

Elektra’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t mock me, Abby. I’m your superior.”

Now the teenager laughed outright. “My
what?”

Up to now, Elektra had simply been holding the girl to warrior etiquette—not to mention courtesy and good manners—but Abby’s flippancy was fast sending her into the realm of irritation. “As a warrior,” she told her coldly, “I’m your superior. Even if I do
count.”

But Abby only gave her a careless shrug. “Maybe.”

Elektra arched one eyebrow. “Maybe? Would you like to find out for sure?”

This time the teenager outright snorted. “I’m going to go look for my dad,” she said sullenly. It was obvious she didn’t like being told what to do by Elektra, and definitely didn’t agree with the notion that the older woman was better at anything than her. She went to the door and Elektra turned away, ready to let the whole thing blow over. Then, without warning, Abby shot out a reverse kick.

She had thought she would catch Elektra by surprise, show her just how knowledgeable she was and how quickly she was picking up her lessons. That would show Elektra that she didn’t know everything, that—

Elektra swept Abby’s kick to the side without even looking behind her. Then she leaned slightly forward and swung her own leg hard into Abby’s, taking the girl neatly off her feet.

Still, even if she wasn’t anticipating it, Abby was good; instead of falling, the teen rolled into a cartwheel, then came back after Elektra, launching blow after blow, each of which Elektra blocked, slipped, or parried effortlessly. It wasn’t until the girl’s back bumped the wall that she realized she’d been slowly forced backward, that it was Elektra, not she, who was in total control of this battle, and the woman wasn’t even breathing hard. Feeling trapped, Abby upped her offensive, her punches and backfists coming faster and faster.

“Don’t force it,” Elektra said calmly. Her eyes were half closed and she looked infuriatingly serene. “Relax and let it flow. Stay focused.”

But there was more at stake here than just a lesson— in Abby’s mind she had something to prove, a sort of self-ranking in the eyes of this woman she so admired. She shot out with a hard punch—

Elektra scooped her fist, then delivered a stinging, pride-crushing slap to Abby’s face.

It hurt—well, not much—but it was
so
embarrassing. Totally enraged now, Abby stepped up her attack even more, becoming more and more frustrated as she realized subconsciously that the harder
she
tried, the less energy Elektra had to use to defend against her. She felt like an idiot but she seemed unable to stop herself, like a kitten jumping up and down in a sort of shadow art rope-a-dope game, and it was a pitiably short time before Abby was panting and sweating and barely able to remember any of the training camp lessons she’d learned so far.

And, as any good assassin would, Elektra moved in to take advantage of her target’s weakness.

She turned the tables, going smoothly from defense to offense, slipping into a level of Jeet Kune Do so advanced that Abby hadn’t even come close to training in it. Abby barely managed to block the first of Elektra’s strikes, then she lost it altogether—she missed first one, then another, taking light, humiliating blows on the side of her head and in her rib cage, shoulders, arms, and more, some of which she had no idea could have killed her had Elektra not controlled her force. Finally, Abby simply surrendered and collapsed to the floor, tears running down her face.

Elektra let her cry for a moment, then her stone face softened and she pulled Abby upright and sat her on the edge of the bed. She sat next to the girl and, when Abby’s tears went into full sobs, she held her while the girl cried against her chest for a long, long time, stroking her hair and not saying anything through the tears, trying to make herself
not
count as she rocked Abby back and forth. After a while, she said the only thing she thought might comfort Abby. “You’ll be better than I am. Very soon.”

Instead of helping, it only made the teenager cry harder. “I don’t want to stay here—I’m just a kid!” Elektra didn’t know whether to laugh or shake her head at that, and Abby sobbed again. “I started doing this for fun, and now people want to kill me because I’m good at it? What’s up with
that?”
Her chest hitched as she tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, but she was still too upset. There was nowhere else in the world that would make her feel better than to be with Elektra right now, so she wrapped her arms around the assassin’s neck and held on for all she was worth. Elektra didn’t fight it, just let the girl hang on, held her back, and let her mind mull over the dangers she knew had to be headed their way.

Neither Elektra nor Abby saw the larger-than-life spider that pulled itself from the colorful material of the jacket Abby had tossed on the end of the table, and cautiously crawled away.

Elektra watched Abby sleep and thought how young she looked right now, innocent and childlike. Her eyelids were a little swollen and her nose was red from the crying; she’d fallen asleep on Elektra’s bed about a half hour ago, and from Elektra’s vantage point it almost looked like Abby was sucking her thumb. But it was just an illusion, the angle of her face; Abby was on her way to growing up, and maybe a little… no, a
lot
faster than she should have to.

Yeah, it was time to take care of this.

Moving in total silence, Elektra found her case— Stick had sent someone to retrieve it from McCabe’s after they were sure that Kirigi wasn’t monitoring it— and changed her clothes, feeling more comfortable than she had in weeks now that she had her familiar red leather costume back on. Sais in hand, she sent Abby a last, almost maternal look, then slipped out of the cabin and into the growing dusk, carefully pulling the door closed behind her. The students had long ago dispersed from training; now they were eating their evening meal and preparing for the nightly shower and meditation. The shadows were growing long and silent as Elektra left the compound. No one saw her…

…except Abby, who had sensed Elektra’s absence the instant the assassin had stepped out the cabin door. Abby had her shoes on and was out the door within seconds, never losing sight of the woman in red as she strode across the grounds of the training camp.

And the spider watched them both from its hiding place beneath the table.

Dropping from a long, silken thread, the spider seemingly came out of nowhere to land on Tattoo’s shoulder, then it scuttled across his collarbone and worked its way into its proper place on Tattoo’s neck. After a long moment, Tattoo opened his eyes and lifted his head. “The girl’s left the cabin.”

Pleased for the first time since their defeat in the woods, Kirigi smiled, then nodded to the others. They rose and followed him out the door, ready to finally finish the job of eliminating Elektra and the treasure.

T
HE DARKNESS SURROUNDED
E
LEKTRA LIKE A COMFORTING
cloak, concealing her movements and letting her slip through across the full expanse of the compound and disappear into the trees. Even though the camp was heavily guarded, she made sure no one noticed her—this was not the time to be stopped or have to answer questions about her destination. The night was perfect, and the heavy canopy of overhead leaves kept even the moonlight from revealing her location. She took an old path that hadn’t been used in years— perhaps the last person to walk this trail had been she herself, when she’d last used it as a child. Even after so many years, her feet found the way almost of their own accord, stepping lightly and soundlessly through the blackness, knowing where the dips in the ground were, that spot where the old tree branch had grown up and out of the soil, exposing itself as a tripping spot for the unwary.

Moving through the dark was a little like trusting your instincts to move you through a time tunnel— Elektra wasn’t sure how long she walked, but she knew it was the right amount of time and that it would take her to exactly the place she wanted to go. Eventually the path followed around and broke at the edge of a lawn, or at least what was left of it after all these years. Now it was more like a clearing on its way to being overgrown. It was filled with weeds and small trees, the precursors to what would someday become just another part of the forest if she didn’t do something to stop it and save the family estate that still belonged to her. She probably never would.

The end of the path joined the driveway, now pitted and cracked by the sun, dissolving at the edges as the grass and weeds claimed a little more of the asphalt each year. There was no tree cover here and the moon was full and strong, a natural illuminator. Elektra followed the drive all the way up to the ornate iron gate; it looked different now that the years had etched its pattern in a coating of rust that the light of the moon made look like dried blood. Atop the gate in stylized wrought iron was the oversized family letter, just as she remembered. The last time she’d left this place, her father’s driver had stopped on the outside and padlocked the gate shut; that same old lock was still there and still holding, but it was rusty and gave easily enough beneath the blade of one sai.

Elektra followed the inner driveway to the double doors beneath the wide portico. The doors were weathered and cracking, just like the driveway, and the paint on the line of once-white columns that stretched to either side of the front porch was peeling away, exposing an underside that had gone gray and black with mildew. Elektra stood there for a moment and listened to the night, then finally pulled out the chain around her neck. At the end of it, next to the ankh that had belonged to her dead mother, was the house key she had never thrown away. It went into the lock and turned with surprising smoothness, as though of all things destiny and the universe had thrown at her, in this one realm, this thing that Elektra
must
do, it would allow nothing to stand in her way.

The door swung open on cranky, grating hinges, and she stepped into the oversized foyer. It was like a tomb tiled in dusty black and white; no footprints marred the layer of gray on the floor—no one had been in here at all, not since her father had closed up the house after her mother’s death and relocated the both of them to New York. As Elektra moved through the house, she found the same thick coating of time draped over all the dust coverings protecting the furniture; here and there cobwebs hung in the air, so heavy with the gray dust that they waved in the drafty air like the tattered remains of ancient lace curtains.

She went all the way through the mansion, back to the far wall of the rear sitting room. That wall had floor-to-ceiling windows hung with thick, burgundy-colored drapes; their color had gone gray with time and yanking them open sent a cloud of pale dirt into the air. The windows behind them were also grimy, but not so bad that Elektra couldn’t see through the glass, across the expanse of the drained and covered Olympic-sized swimming pool to the stone pool house she had known so well. Looking at it like that, through the sitting room window, was like opening a fountain of youth and pouring out all her childhood memories to be relived all over again.

She prances across the lawn in her new summer dress, the one her mother had the seamstress at Nieman Marcus custom make just for her. It’s yellow, bright and cheerful, but the best part is the spray of scarlet flowers down the full skirt… or maybe it’s the hand-tatted lace ruffles sewn around the bottom hem… or even the way the front of it laces up like one of those Swedish milkmaid dresses. This is a great summer, the best she’s ever had, with her mother and father happy and nothing in the world to worry about—

She executes perfect cartwheels, one after another, her feet landing surely on the grass again and again as her father watches with a smile on his face. His laughter is full and it rings in her ears as she performs for him—

The maze, her great and wonderful green hiding place, gives her up to her mother’s knowing steps. She’d never been so happy as right now, as she and her mother play together in
it. Her mother chases and finally catches her, tickling her until Elektra begs her to stop. The world flies by in flashes of blue sky and green leaves as her mother picks her up and twirls her, turning around and around and around—

And then, the demon—or is it a man?—slips out her mother’s bedroom window…

If Elektra didn’t want to talk to him, that was fine, Mark thought sourly. But he wanted to know where his daughter was, and to make sure she was all right. That she was probably in Elektra’s cabin with her was just a coincidence, and he wasn’t going to let Elektra’s anger with him prevent him from keeping tabs on Abby.

As he hobbled up to the cabin door, Mark gritted his teeth against the aches down his legs and for the hundredth time wished he could have healed as quickly as Elektra had recovered from the typhoid fever. He looked around again, then frowned. The cabin was dark, but that didn’t mean anything—Abby had fallen asleep in here before and stayed the night rather than find her way back to their own small place in the dark. He usually didn’t mind, but… All right, fine—so he was going to use this as an excuse to face off with Elektra. It was about time.

He knocked on the door, then knocked again after a long few moments. Balancing on his crutch, Mark finally pushed the door open and swept the wall on his right until his fingers brushed the light switch. It flipped on and even though it was a low wattage bulb, the sudden glare against the blackness made him squint. When he could finally open them, he was facing nothing but an empty cabin with a neatly made bed in the center.

Where the hell was his daughter?

Stick’s cabin was as dark as Elektra’s had been, and at first, Mark thought the man wasn’t there. But no— Stick didn’t need lights to see, so why would he bother? When Mark knocked, Stick’s voice answered immediately, and Mark just had to deal with the fact that he was going to be holding a conversation in an utterly dark room.

“They’re gone,” Mark announced. He stepped through the open door then felt his way in as far as he dared. There wasn’t any sense in being delicate. “Both of them.”

He had to strain his eyes to make out the movement, but he finally saw Stick nodding. The older man was sitting on a straight-back chair with his hands folded on his lap, as calm as Mark was frantic. “I told Abby not to go,” Stick said, more to himself than Mark. “She is as willful as Elektra.” He inclined his head and for the first time, Mark noticed a green-clad ninja standing silently against the far wall. The man had nearly blended in with the shadows. “We should ready the men.”

“Go?” Mark demanded. “Go
where?”
He couldn’t stop himself from emphasizing his question with a thump on the floor with the end of his crutch.

“Elektra has left the compound,” Stick responded with that same damnable tranquility. “I presume, to draw Kirigi’s hand. Your daughter has followed her.”

Mark stared at him in astonishment, but that rapidly gave way to fear. Abby might think she was tough, but she was nowhere near ready to face off against people like Kirigi and his thugs.
“What?
Then what are we doing here—we have to go after them!
Now,
old man!”

But Stick only stared blandly at him, and both he and Mark knew it would do no good to threaten him. “Mr. Miller,” Stick said patiently, “we will go as quickly as we can, but you are in no condition to fight…and you never will be. As for Abby… you must accept that your daughter is becoming a warrior.”

“She’s thirteen years old!” Mark said loudly. He couldn’t seem to control his voice. “She’s—”

“She is strong,” Stick interrupted. “And so is Elektra. Put your faith in them.”

This time, Mark
did
grab at Stick, gripping his upper arm the way a drowning man snatches at a rope hanging from the side of a boat. As much as he wanted to hold on, when Stick swiveled his head in Mark’s direction and fixed that endless blue stare on him, Mark knew he had no choice but to quietly let him go.

“God, you’re a cold bastard,” he said thickly.

“I suppose,” Stick replied, but he was anything but affected by Mark’s proclamation.

Churning with frustration, Mark swung around and hobbled toward the door.

“You’re too late,” Stick said from behind him.
“It’s already started.”

But Mark, of course, had no choice but to keep going.

Elektra had stayed in the rear sitting room, looking out at the abandoned pool and the pool house as she first mulled over her childhood memories, then went into a cleansing, calming meditative state. While she might want to remember only the happy memories— except for her mother’s death, of course—her life in this house had been a mixed blessing. Even so, it had been the only place where she’d had an existence with both parents at once, and that made the time most special and irreplaceable in her mind. Because of that, it was here that she would make her stand—and she was well aware that it might be her last—against Kirigi and whatever other evil he would bring with him. She would honor her mother and father, and their memories, by destroying the worst of those in this world, men—and women—just like the ones who had murdered each of them.

The fine, tiny hairs along the back of her neck suddenly rippled. Elektra tensed and her eyes narrowed as she saw the shadow of a hawk glide past on the other side of the window—danger was close, and she was clearly being watched. The seconds ticked by and one by one, she forced her muscles to relax. Then, lit only by the moonlight, she rose and moved into the hall. But she did not hurry.

She was not afraid.

In the kitchen, she rummaged silently through the drawers until she found the one that held the emergency candles and matches. She lit one, then went back to the stove closer to the living room’s entrance, knowing her plan would only work if there was still fuel left in the propane tanks. Twisting all six of the knobs on the old chef’s range, she held her breath, waiting… then smiled slightly as she heard the faintest of hissing sounds. A few seconds later, she smelled gas. It wouldn’t be long now until she left her father’s estate behind for good, and there was no more time for goodbyes or fond memories.

She was right. There was barely enough time for the gas to build up enough in the air when suddenly all the windows in the kitchen shattered inward. Glass shards crisscrossed the room, turning it into a swirling zone of danger, but that meant nothing to the dozen or more black-garbed ninjas who poured through the ragged edges of the windows.

Elektra never gave them the chance to get close to her. At the same time she vaulted through the living door, she flung the candle toward the stove. She had a tense two seconds when, as the candle tumbled through the air, she thought the flame might go out—if that happened, she had little chance of surviving the next few minutes.

BOOM!

Shadow-black bodies went in every direction as the stove exploded, destroyed the kitchen and everything in it. An instant later, a gout of billowing acrid green smoke that proved their deaths joined the dust, debris and smoke from the fire now consuming what was left of the room.

Elektra glanced back before melting into the darkness of the living room. At the cost of her family home, she’d won the fight—

For now.

The silence of the night disintegrated into a scream of glass and fire. Kirigi, Tattoo, and Typhoid jerked in surprise, then stared at the far end of the house, where orange flames mixed with the telltale death smoke—so much for his ninjas. He’d probably been foolish to think they could take on Elektra anyway, but why waste his own energy if she was idiot enough to make a mistake? Still, he couldn’t help smiling in admiration; once again the gaijin had proven her wisdom in the shadow arts.

“Clever girl,” Kirigi said.

And with that, he turned and stepped into the darker shadow thrown by one of the massive trees that dotted the overgrown front lawn.

And literally disappeared.