The Name of the Blade, Book Two: Darkness Hidden (24 page)

A Shikome swooped into the road. There was nothing here, in the centre of this broad, deserted street, to foil her attack. The chittering noise of feathers filled the air as two more Foul Women appeared over the rooftops. Too many. Could even Shinobu survive being torn to pieces by their claws? Would their supernatural disease have the power to kill him? I had no way of knowing.

Our choices had just narrowed down to zero.

I struggled up onto my knees and reached back for the katana. It buzzed and rattled eagerly against my back.

Shinobu slashed at the first creature. It whirled away into the air. Another – the one who had injured him before – dived down on top of him. He stabbed it in the gut. It shrieked with a sound like a huge, enraged seagull, its massive limbs tearing the air. Shinobu wrenched his sword back, but it was too fast for him again. The monster’s talons raked his face. This time its shriek was one of triumph.

Shinobu dropped to his knees silently, blood streaming down his cheeks. I screamed. My hand closed over the sword grip, lips opening to say the sword’s first name.

A man appeared in the road in front of Shinobu.

I had no idea where he had come from. One moment the road was empty except for us, the next he was there. He stood with his back to me, less than a pace from where Shinobu had fallen. A tall, motionless figure dressed all in black.

A katana glinted in his right hand.

The injured Foul Woman, Shinobu’s blood still on its claws, turned on the new enemy fiercely. The man didn’t raise his sword as the monster plummeted at him. His other hand came up and a missile flew, smashing into the centre of the monster’s chest. Dark liquid splattered everywhere.

The man ducked fluidly into a crouch.

The dark liquid burst into flames.

Rearing up above the stranger, the Shikome was a black silhouette against the white sky, clawing at the fire as if it thought it could beat the flames out. With a dry whoosh, its wings caught fire too. The creature sailed over me in a cloud of sparks and half-burned feathers and ploughed straight into the tarmac in front of the house. Its massive body flopped and contorted on the ground as the fire consumed it. The agonized seagull cries deafened me.

The other two creatures hovered jerkily over the street, the yellow eyes on their wings staring down at their sister’s agonizing death. The strange man had straightened up again. He made an inviting gesture with his sword. His relaxed posture telegraphed supreme confidence.

The Foul Women turned in the air and fled.

The burning Shikome fell silent at last – but the fire that had killed it raged on. The heat was overwhelming. Clouds of dense black smoke and glowing orange sparks billowed down the street. I pulled my hoodie up over my mouth and crawled slowly towards where Shinobu sat. As I reached him, he finally lifted his head. His face was streaked with drying blood. My stomach lurched. The creature’s talons must have almost ripped out his eyes. But those eyes were fine now, and fixed on me.

He reached out his bloodstained hand. I grabbed it. Together, we looked at the man who had saved us. The orange light of the fire and the dancing sparks made weird patterns in the black smoke that swirled around him.

“Who—” I began, then choked on a mouthful of the vile-smelling smoke.

“Sir, where did you come from? Who are you?” Shinobu asked.

The stranger seemed to stiffen. He sheathed his blade with an abrupt movement, then slowly, as if forcing himself, turned to face us.

No. It’s impossible. It can’t be
.

I whispered: “Dad?”

The front door slammed behind us with enough force to shake the house. My father released me, sliding my left arm off his shoulder and letting Shinobu take my weight. He stalked away from us down the hall, got to the kitchen door, then jerked round and marched back.

“What in all the gods’ names is going on?” he demanded.

I blinked at him, dazed. “Dad – what are you doing here? Where’s Mum?”

“She’s in Paris. She’s safe. Which is what you should be. Why were you out there, Mio? Running around in the middle of this – this insanity –
fighting
– my God! What were you thinking?”

Shinobu’s arm tightened protectively around me. “Yamato-san—”

“I don’t even – who the hell
are
you? Are you the one that dragged her into a fight with Shikome? She could have been seriously hurt! She could have died out there!”

“Dad, don’t,” I began weakly. “It’s not his—”

“No excuses, Mio,” my father said, holding up a hand that shook with anger. “We left you alone for three days!
Three days
and London has literally gone to hell. And not a word from you! Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

Guilt clawed at me with ragged nails. I reacted the only way I knew how: defensively. “What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to explain this? I didn’t think you even knew what a Shikome was!” The last word cracked, turning into a semi-hysterical giggle.

“Do you think this is funny, young lady?” he fumed. “Typical! You live in your own little fantasy world where no one ever has to grow up or take responsibility for their actions and you expect everyone else to clean up after you when it all goes wrong!” He dragged his hands through his hair and yanked, as if he was tempted to rip it out.

I flinched. Shinobu felt it and wordlessly touched my cheek, trying to comfort me. I turned my face away from the touch.
Dad’s right. He’s always right. I started this. It is all my fault
.

“Not a single word! Not a single call!” My father was still raging, pacing up and down the hall. “Do you have the faintest idea what I’ve been going through? How it felt to get that call from Rachel, and then nothing? Just silence! I have been completely in the dark. I can’t believe how reckless – how utterly stupid – you have been!”

“Dad, I’m sorry, I—”

“I’m not interested in
I’m sorry
!” he yelled, ripping the katana out of his belt and flinging it down on the hall tiles with a crash of metal. I flinched again. “You’re always
sorry
but it never, ever stops you!
You are exactly like my father!
”

SNAP.

I actually heard the crack inside me as all the fear and guilt of these terrible last days broke free – and caught flame. Rage engulfed me. I shoved away from Shinobu, ignoring the wobble in my legs and my aching head and the shake in my hands. I barely felt them.

“Screw you.” My voice was low and wavering, venomous.

My father’s face twisted with outrage. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” I spat. “You want to talk about
I can’t believe
? I can’t believe you have the nerve to bring Ojiichan into this! Like it was all his fault? At least he made some effort to prepare me for this nightmare. At least he tried to warn me about the sword. If I’m like him, then I’m glad. At least I’m not like you!”

He made a slashing gesture with his hand. “You are completely out of line—”

“SHUT UP!” The scream tore itself out of my chest, ripping my heart with it as it went.

My father took a shocked step back. Then he squared his shoulders and moved towards me. In a reckless, lightning-fast move, I drew the katana and pointed the shining tip at his face.

“Don’t come near me. Don’t you dare. You knew about the sword, didn’t you? You knew about the monsters. I am your
daughter
and you left me completely alone in this. You – you left
me
completely in the dark. You buggered off on your holiday and
left us here with this thing in the house
.”

Fine wisps of white, vaporous fire were flickering down the sword’s length, drifting around my hands like smoke. The caresses felt like the katana’s version of comfort.

S
o much pain. So much sadness. Poor little mortal girl…

“Stop it now,” my father said quietly. His face had gone ashen. “Put the sword down. You don’t understand what’s really going on.”

“You’re going to walk in here and say I’ve got no idea what you went through? Did you think for a second about what I’ve been through? The awful things I’ve seen? Did you spare one second to think about what I’ve had to do to stay alive? What I’ve had to become?”

“Mio-dono,” Shinobu said softly. He placed his hand on my shoulder.

I shrugged it off without looking at him. “The only comfort I had in this – this
horror
was believing you and Mum were safe. You were far away, you had no idea about any of what was happening. And now I find out that you did know? That you knew everything all along?”

“I was trying to protect you—”

Don’t believe him
.

White sparks crackled down the shining curve of the blade. “Liar. You left me. I hate you for this. I swear to God I will hate you until the day I die.”

Both Shinobu and my father recoiled. And
I didn’t care
. This was too much. I just didn’t care any more.

My father recovered first. “Mio—” he began weakly.

“Don’t. Bother.” I ground out. My voice was going raspy and rough, and I realized I must have been shouting at the top of my lungs. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. All I want is for you to get away from me. Go back to Paris. Go to hell. Just leave me alone.”

I rammed the smoking, flaming sword back into its saya, turned away from both speechless men, and marched up the stairs, adrenaline and rage carrying me up onto the second floor. I walked into the main bathroom, kicked the door shut, and bolted it behind me.

Then I burst into tears.

CHAPTER 16

T
he tentative knock at the bathroom door came about ten minutes later.

“Go away, Shinobu.” I tried to snarl the words but they came out as a wobbly whisper.
Pathetic
.

The knock came again, less tentatively this time.

“I said
go away
!”

Silence.

Lying there on the chilly tiled floor, aching, trembling and covered in three different kinds of blood, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that both those men downstairs – both men that I had trusted, and loved, and who were supposed to love me back – had betrayed me. I clutched the katana convulsively to my chest.

Maybe I could forgive Shinobu for his lies. He’d been selfish, but at least I didn’t doubt that he cared about me. He’d
died
for me, and he’d do it again if I let him.

But my father…

The man who had spent my whole life telling me the kendo I loved was a useless anachronism? Knew how to wield a katana. Had walked into this house wearing one like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The man who had hated my grandfather’s stories about Japan and condemned them as gruesome nonsense that was only fit to give me nightmares? Knew what a Shikome was. And how to kill them.

He had looked at the sword,
my
sword – my fingers tightened around it even more, and it responded with a sharp buzz of energy – without the slightest bit of surprise. Even when it burst into flames at his throat.

He had known
.

And he had hidden it all this time.

The scale of that betrayal made the foundations of my life shift and crumble away to dust beneath me. The man I thought was my father, the rigid, uptight dentist who disapproved of fantasy and fairy tales on principle and believed in order and logic and common sense – the man that I had grown up with, fought with, fought so hard to please and then fought even harder to piss off?

That man didn’t exist.

He had never existed.

And the man who should have prepared me for all this – could have warned me – the man who could have
prevented
this whole disaster? Had hopped on the Eurostar and left without a backward glance. Had left me to make the biggest mistake of my life, or anyone’s life, without the faintest attempt to stop it.

There was a quiet scratching noise at the door, like an animal begging to be let in. With an effort, I lifted my head off the tiles and squinted blearily at it.

It swung open.

My father stood on the other side, tucking a credit card back into his wallet.

“Seriously?” I rasped out, letting my head drop to the tiles again. “What part of eff off and die is so hard to understand?”

There was a long pause.

“Oh, Midget … what have we done to you?”

I’d never heard that tone of voice from him before. Guilt, regret, sadness; they were all there. Maybe he’d been too caught up in his self-righteous shit before to notice the state I was in. Well, if he felt bad now – good. He deserved to. My bitterness was strengthened by the knowledge that a few days ago I would have reacted to that evidence of concern like a neglected puppy to a kind word. But it was too late for a soft voice to melt my anger at this stage. Light years too late.

I heard a familiar long-suffering sigh, and stiffened, curling up tighter around the katana. It felt like my only anchor to reality right now. The irony was toxic.

Then suddenly I wasn’t on the bathroom floor any more, but in my father’s arms.

“What are you doing? Put me down – leave me alone!” Treacherously familiar dad-smell enveloped me, but I refused to be comforted. I squirmed weakly.

“I’ve tried that already,” he said matter-of-factly, hefting me across the hallway and kicking open the door to my room with no visible signs of effort. I’d had no idea he could lift a dumbbell, let alone a nearly grown woman. “It didn’t work. It’s time to try something different. The truth.”

He put me down carefully on the bed and straightened up. I scrambled back until I was sitting against the headboard, trying to get as far away from him as possible. My strained muscles and bruises protested against the movement. I couldn’t hold in a tiny whimper of pain. He frowned.

“I’ll get you some painkillers—”

“Stop it!” I burst out. The words were raw and thick with tears, and I hated that he’d made me break. Now he could see how much he’d got to me. “Stop pretending to care! Just stop it!
Get out!
”

I turned away, burying my face in my forearm. The tip of the saya jabbed into my ribs but that was just another tiny thread in my blanket of misery right now. I couldn’t bring myself to care.