Katana (19 page)

He frowned, arching an eyebrow.

I sighed. “I’ll be there, okay? Eight o’clock. Got it.”

“Good. Then I’ll leave. See you at eight.” He opened his car door.

I nodded again, happy to be
alone,
before realizing what that would mean … I’d be alone. Now that there were people actively hunting me down, spending time by myself didn’t hold the appeal it once did.

“Wait—do you think that’s such a good idea?”

He reached to the side of his seat and hit the trunk-release button. “I do not believe that whoever it is would be foolish enough to come for you during the day.” He walked around to his trunk and lifted out a black bag slightly longer than the length of my arm and double the width. “But just in case, I want you to have this.” He held the padded nylon bag out to me.

I stepped forward curiously. “What is it?”

“Senshi’s katana.”

I jerked back, stumbled, landed on my butt, then scrambled to my feet again while dusting off the gravel that clung to my cotton pants. “Wait. No. Won’t that—isn’t that—I thought I couldn’t touch it,” I finally spit out.

Kim smiled. “Nothing will happen to you if you take it. It’s in a bag.”

I frowned. I’d been tricked by him before.

He sighed and held the nylon strap out to me. “I promise nothing will happen to you.”

I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “You said I didn’t have to touch it if I didn’t want to.”

He nodded once. “You don’t.”

“Then why give it to me?”

“Because it’s yours.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“Of course,” he answered. He set the bag down in the road and climbed into his car, pulling the door shut behind him. He leaned out the window. “Take the sword. Touch it. Don’t touch it. It’s your call. I’ll just feel better knowing you have it if you need it.”

“Kim, don’t you leave this thing here,” I warned.

He smiled again. His smug expression disappeared behind the black window as it rolled up.

“Don’t you do it!”

The car roared to life.

“I’m warning you!”

He pulled forward onto the road. I watched him, frozen, until he turned at the corner and disappeared from view.

Great. Just great. I stared at the black bag. Was the key to my past really three feet in front of me? And if that past were unlocked, would it be the end of the person I knew to be me? Or was Kim wrong? It could just be an ordinary sword. An ordinary five hundred-year-old sword, sure to be worth a small fortune. I should just leave it where it was and let whatever happens to it happen. Maybe a car would run over it. That would show Kim.

I turned to leave, but found myself rooted to the road. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave something so valuable lying out, a fact Kim was probably counting on. Damn him.

That left me with the dilemma of how to get it inside my house. I closed my eyes and stuck out my foot. I flinched when my toe brushed against the nylon—nothing. So I pressed my luck further, nudging it against the pavement—still nothing. I relaxed. This was good, but I still wasn’t completely convinced.

I circled the thing once before an idea came to me. Last week, I’d brought home a box of latex gloves so I could dye Quentin’s hair. Aha! I ran into my house, emerging minutes later with the dusted-latex safely covering my hands. I scooped the sword case up confidently and brought it into my house, where I laid it on the breakfast table. Now what?

I pulled the gloves off with a snap. I suppose I could put it in my closet, but what if I needed to get to it fast? The kitchen was in the center of the house, so that made it the ideal spot. But then I had to wonder if Debbie would mess with it. Somehow I didn’t think so. I couldn’t remember the last time we had eaten a meal together, let alone at the kitchen table. Suddenly tired, I sank into a wooden chair. What had happened to my life that I needed to figure out the best place to store a weapon? My hands wanted to fiddle with something while I thought and I almost reached for the bag’s zipper. I caught myself and jumped out of my chair, knocking it over in the process. This was a dangerous place to be.

I scurried into my bedroom and climbed back into bed. I curled into a tight ball and pulled the covers up to my chin. It wasn’t just the kitchen; my whole life was dangerous, and I sure couldn’t run from myself. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me. If I was attacked at home, could I do it? Could I grab the sword and merge with the past? What would I lose? Nothing? Everything? I was so preoccupied with losing myself to the past that I didn’t put my own death into the equation. Wouldn’t that be worse? If you had to weigh it—dead vs. not dead—I thought not dead came out ahead every time.

I shuddered and yanked the blanket over my head, using the faded quilt as my shield from the world. I would do it if I had to. If my life was at stake, I would touch the sword, and if my past self took over I’d still be alive. At least, I hoped the person I knew to be me wouldn’t fade into the blackness of my subconscious. I wanted to ask Kim and the others how it worked, but I wasn’t sure they would tell the truth. If their past selves had taken them over, why would they warn me that mine would do the same? As I trembled, I said a silent prayer that I would never have to find out.

24

I
pulled into the dojo parking lot a little before eight, surprised at how hard it was to find a parking space. Before I could exit my car, my phone buzzed from its perch in the cup holder. I picked it up and opened the text message from Whitley.

Great time last night. Call me.

With a groan I put the phone back in its place. It wasn’t fair that I’d finally won Whitley’s attention only to have to put my love life on pause. It wasn’t like I could call Whitley and tell him, “Hey, sorry I can’t go out tonight. I’m trying to figure out how to exorcise a fifteenth-century samurai spirit from my body. Oh, and did I mention that by hanging around me there’s a good chance you’ll get something sharp and pointy thrown at your head?” Yeah, that’d go over well.

I grabbed my gym bag and pushed through a swarm of children and parents exiting the building. Michelle was in the lobby and gave me an encouraging wave forward when she saw my struggle.

“What’s going on?” I asked, carefully maneuvering around a child sitting on the floor pulling on dirty tennis shoes.

“Pretty wild, huh?” Michelle said. “Kim is the best instructor around. Most of his children’s classes are full.” She gave me a sly wink.

“That’s nice,” I said, feigning interest.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be gone soon, and we can get started.” She jutted her chin toward me. “Cute outfit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I answered automatically. I didn’t really see what was so “cute” about it. I was wearing black cropped yoga pants with a plain purple tank top. I didn’t look all that much different from Michelle, who wore a yellow tank with tight spandex workout pants.

“Come on,” she said. “The guys are in the dojo.”

I followed her in to find Kim instructing several middle school kids on the proper stance for delivering a spinning back kick. Beads of sweat glittered like tiny diamonds across his chest and neck. I wondered if his muscles would feel as tight under my fingertips as they looked.

A grunt from behind me snapped me from my thoughts. I turned to find Sumi, the receptionist from the other night, glaring at me with her hands on her hips. She wore the same traditional white martial arts outfit as the other kids in the dojo, but her belt was brown unlike the kids’ blues and reds. Her eyes blazed.

“What’s
she
doing here?” I whispered to Michelle.

“Sumi? Oh, she helps teach the kids’ classes,” she answered. “I think she’s got a little hero-worship thing going with Kim.” She giggled.

“You don’t say,” I mumbled to myself, rolling my eyes.

“What’s
she
doing here?” Sumi echoed my question to Kim when the last of the children had left.

“Hmm?” Kim turned toward the direction of her stare, his mouth curving in a slight smile when he spotted me.

My stomach fluttered. Stupid Rileigh, get a grip! I had to shake my head several times to snap out of the trance.

“How nice of you to join us, Rileigh.” Amusement flashed through his eyes.

“Wait a minute.” Sumi shook her head. “She just started here. How comes she gets to train in the advanced class? I’ve been here for three years and you won’t let me train with you.”

Kim turned back to her. “Rileigh has a lot more experience than you, Sumi. You will train with us when you are ready.”

“But when—”

“When you are ready.” His tone left no room for argument.

Sumi huffed loudly and spun toward the door, fanning her hair like a long black cape as she walked away. In the doorway, she gave me one last withering glance over her shoulder before she left.

“You know,” I said, “I think she’s starting to like me.”

Kim grinned.

“Hey, Rileigh!” Drew tossed his long braid over his shoulder as he walked through the same door he’d used when they’d originally attacked me. He wore red leg and arm pads over his T-shirt and shorts. Braden followed behind him, securing a Velcro strap on an arm pad as he walked.

“Here you go.” Michelle came up beside me with a set of blue pads in her arms.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, reluctantly taking them. I wasn’t psyched to do
more
fighting, but now that my life was at stake, I was learning to get over it. It took me a minute to decide which pad went where, but they were patient, making small talk with each other while I figured it out.

“All right.” Kim clapped his hands together when I finished tightening the last strap. “Let’s get started. I’ll lead us in stretching today.”

I soon learned that my skateboarding, while it was a good workout and taught me balance, did little to prepare me for the physical demands of martial arts. As Kim bent and twisted, I mimicked his movements as best I could, ignoring the twinges of my protesting muscles. If I was a samurai in the past, my current body was nowhere near that level of athleticism, despite what I was able to do. Pain, like an electric current, shot through both my legs as I tried to touch my elbows to the floor with my knees locked. Sighing, I collapsed to the floor. “I can’t do this.”

Before I could look up I was encompassed by the scent of musk and sandalwood.

“You’re right.” Kim crouched on the floor beside me. “You can’t do this.”

My mouth went slack.

Kim continued. “You can’t defend yourself from muggers. You can’t fight off three samurai. So you sure as hell can’t
stretch.”

Cute. He was using my sarcasm against me. I grunted and rolled my eyes.

He didn’t even flinch, but his tone was softer. “I know this is hard on you and your body. Your mind is telling you that you can do one thing, and your body is trying to convince you that you cannot. It will take time and training for the two to come together. But it will only happen if you try.” He smiled and left to resume his position in front.

I thought about casting him another nasty look, but what was the point? He didn’t flinch anymore, and that took all the fun out of it. But that didn’t stop me from swearing under my breath.

When we finished and my muscles were on fire, Kim paired us off in two groups for sparring: Drew and Braden versus Michelle and me.

Kim brought me the katana I had used my first night at the dojo. “We know that you work well fighting on your own; let’s see how you do with a partner. The rules are simple: no striking the front of the face or hitting the groin, understand?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, Michelle,” Braden said. “No hitting the groin!”

She laughed. “Last time was an accident.”

“Accidentally on purpose,” Drew added.

“All right then,” Kim interrupted. “Let’s arm up.”

Braden and Michelle approached the weapon wall, each taking down a pair of wicked-looking forked weapons with two small prongs on either side of a third, longer, center prong.

Michelle turned to me. “When I fought you, Kim wanted us all to use a katana, something he thought you’d remember.” She twirled the weapon in front of her, one-handed. “But the sais are my weapon of choice.”

“Good to know,” I answered, watching her twirl the two sais around her body with ease. I made a mental note—don’t make Michelle angry while she’s holding the giant forks.

“Sais are not typical weapons for samurai,” Braden said, coming to stand beside me.

“Unless you’re a cartoon turtle,” Michelle added.

Braden laughed. “In our last lives, Michelle and I were raised on a farm in Japan where we used them to shovel hay.” He twirled a sai in his hand. “When war split the country, the working class learned to use their everyday tools as weapons, and we were no exception. We were so comfortable using them during our chores that later on, when we joined the samurai, we’d carry a pair into battle along with our swords.”

“We raised quite a few eyebrows on the battlefield,” Michelle added. “But the sais were only half of the reason.”