White Lies: (The Uruwashi Series #4) (3 page)

Ash fell in next to Tristan and took his hand. She squeezed lightly to tell him she was there for him and the turmoil he was shifting through in his locked-up mind. He squeezed back, a little smile curling his lips. Off to the side, Desmond noticed the silent words between them and snorted in aversion, getting the bird from Tristan in turn.

Ash smiled to herself. Behind them, Simon was talking and no one tried to join in on his single breath monologue in which he was trying to persuade Desmond into going into town tonight for fun.

When the group stopped at the back of the house, Desmond turned and shot Tristan a harried look. Something passed between them with that simple look, a touch of understanding that surprised Ash. Tristan was fighting not to smirk as he shrugged. Desmond scoffed again, only to hide his own smirk, and pushed the panel open, filling in the doorway so that the others had to brush past him to get by.

Simon moved to follow, mouth still going, but Desmond stopped him with a big hand that nearly swallowed up the fae’s chest. Simon’s voice cut off with a sudden abruptness that left everyone in deaf silence. Tristan let out a long breath and lowered his head to smile at Ash, making her warm with that one small gesture.

“Oi, Jennifer was lookin’ for yew.”

Simon blinked up at the large Scotsman. Suddenly he broke out into a grin, all teeth, and grabbed for Desmond, beating his palms against the big man’s chest in excitement. “Really?”

Desmond nodded. “Go’n now, sod off wit yew.”

Simon’s face lit up and he spun, disappearing down the hallway back the way they came within seconds.

“Thanks,” Tristan mumbled, surprising both vampires. “Kid’s got a serious case of verbal diarrhea.”

Desmond snorted a laugh before he could stop himself and snapped the shoji shut behind the group. Being paper, they could still hear Simon’s loud voice as he ran through the house, calling out to Jennifer. When his voice dissipated to nothing the whole group gave a collective sigh of relief again.

Yukihime’s private room. There were many memories tied to this place, this room in particular. Ash’s jaw tightened as she looked over the dark space, illuminated only by fire pit set into the floor feet from the bed and the strings of mini Christmas lights strung across the ceiling inside sheer fabrics that gave the room a warm, comfortable glow.

Tristan flinched next to her and when she looked at him, he was staring at the ceiling. “Why don’t they melt?” he whispered, pointing to the tiny ice sculpture cranes built around the bulbs.

“Because she does not wish them to,” Ash said softly her attention shifting to the center point of the room, the Master’s bed. It was “vampire sized”, as Ash had come to think of the excessively huge beds that were hardly ever used for sleep, found in vampire domiciles. Round and big enough for five to lie on very comfortably, the sight of the bed made Ash immediately regret allowing Desmond to lead them here. She’d been in that bed before—and not for sleeping.

Ash took a moment to scan Yukihime’s library, stuffed to the ceiling with books, most old and unreadable, ready to crumble to dust at a single touch. She recognized many of the books, but didn’t see the one she was looking for.

Yukihime’s ornate, delicate desk was messier than normal, covered in papers, notebooks and leather bound books that didn’t appear to be part of the old library. Yukihime was up to something, searching for something. If Ash wanted to find out what that something was, however, she’d have to play her cards very carefully.

The outside wall panels were all open, letting in cold air but not the snow as Yukihime seemed to be playing with the falling flakes, swirling them about to make intricate patterns and designs in the air. The Master herself was on the deck, kneeling in the snow, wearing her white kitsune noh mask with its red and gold accents. There was a big red velvet bag in her lap resting under her hands. Ash wasn’t sure exactly what was inside but she smelled decay.

“You sent for us?” Ash prompted sounding more as if she were a knight called in by her ruling Lord for battle than a vampire seeing another vampire for the purpose of, well, telling her to back off.

They all exchanged little looks when the Master vampire ignored Ash’s words. Desmond only shrugged and went off to make himself comfortable on the bed.

Ash knelt next to Yukihime and said softly, “Shishō?” though she felt the Master didn’t deserve the respected title any longer. Not after all she’d done. Ash wasn’t the grudge sort but Yukihime, Master of Water, had gone too far.

The old vampire looked up slowly, turned her head to look at Ash. The eyes staring through the mask were cold and empty, and Tristan shifted nervously from foot to foot behind her.

“Shishō?” Ash repeated softly and reached out towards the Master vampire, though she was forcing herself to do it. Those empty eyes followed her hand but the owner of them did nothing as Ash gently pushed the mask up to rest on top of Yukihime’s head.

The expression hidden within the mask was sad and tired. Yukihime’s face was that of an eternal youth but after a millennia she’d learned how to express herself well with even the smallest of nuances. And this particular nuance told Ash, who was well versed in Yukihime, that the ancient woman was confused. Ash’d only ever seen the look thrice before, but she understood Yukihime’s condition and actually felt sorry for her. Their relationship may have been complicated, but Ash still loved the Master—in a way—even if she was angry with her.

“Moriakos-san?” she muttered and Ash stiffened. “What are you doing here?” she asked in Japanese.

Ash’s expression fell despite herself. She didn’t like her surname used. “Yukihime, are you well?”

“Where are we?” The old vampire blinked at her before shifting her gaze behind Ash. “Graham-san? Is James here too? I want James.”

Ash frowned hard. It’d been a
very
long time since she’d been called Moriakos-san, and as for James… Behind her she heard Desmond’s angry thoughts boil up and he made a rude noise, scrambling off the bed in a flurry. Tristan jumped out of the big vampire’s way as he stormed from the room. The sliding screen smacked shut behind him, leaving behind a confused Tristan and a dismayed Ash. 

“Shishō…?” she tried again, putting infliction into her voice she usually didn’t bother with. Ash needed the woman to come to her senses and Ash not looking like herself didn’t help anything. Her appearance startled her whenever she caught a glimpse in the mirror, she could only imagine how it affected Yuki. Maybe she should have put up an aura to look like her Master self again. Hindsight and all—something she’d been lacking lately in her distraction.

“Shishō…?” Ash said again, this time with demand.

Yukihime’s expression suddenly lit up with a smile as recognition filed them. “Asta-chan! Good evening. So good to see you…
Yare, yare
, look at you, are you well?”

Tristan’s thoughts suddenly bombarded her. He was wondering if it was wrong that a normal Yuki worried him more than a crazy Yuki?

Ash smiled, more at Tristan than the vampire before her. “Very well.”

Tristan’s loud thoughts hit her again and both women looked up at the same time, making Tristan stiffen. He’d been thinking that she seemed too normal, that she was like the proverbial nice old lady at the bus stop that liked to talk to everyone.

Something passed over Yukihime’s face, her mind always locked up tightly, and her expression changed completely. This was the Yukihime they all knew—the not-so-serious girl who liked to play games.

“Ryōshi-san! Come in, come in, no need to linger so far from me. I don’t bite much.”

When his expression screwed up, Yuki laughed, that sensual creamy laugh that covered his skin and gave way to tingles, made his ardor unwillingly stir.

The infliction did nothing for Ash and she cleared her throat in warning.

Yukihime feigned an innocent look. “I will not bite, Ryōshi-san.” She held her hand out. “I promise. Please.”

He groaned and went to stand close behind Ash.

“I’m so very pleased you two have come.” The ancient vampire paused, tilting her head to the side in thought. “Where have you been? I sent for you months ago.”

“I’m not your fucking pet to call home,” Tristan retorted.

Ash chuckled and stood, shifting to stand next to him in a united front. “That’s right,” she said, smirking down at Yukihime. “We’ve only come to you today to tell you that we are leaving Japan.”

Yukihime’s crystalline eyes lit up. “Yare yare…”

“That’s all you have to say after all the shit you’ve put us through?”

Yukihime stood, still smiling in that secretive Yukihime way, and went across the room towards the overflowing desk, cradling the big bag to her chest. She placed the red bag down on the desk with a heavy thunk. “What else do you expect—” Yukihime stopped short, her eyes widening in delight as her attention jerked down to the bag under her hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tristan’s confusion but Ash, she knew exactly what Yuikhime was reacting to. She heard it all too clear, the deep, angry voice that she’d once loved as much as she hated. And he was talking directly to Ash.

She let a high pitched yelp that rose out of nowhere and before she could decide to move, she had, plastering herself against the far wall, panting and wide-eyed.

“Uh…” Tristan turned to her looked confused and a little spooked.

“You didn’t burn him?!” Ash screamed, voice shaking and cracking with fear despite herself.

Yukihime’s expression slowly slipped into a dark smirk. “I thought it a fitting enough punishment. Don’t you agree?”

“No!” she yelped. She was borderline hysterical and hated that she couldn’t control the fear, the revulsion and horror she felt.

“Hey, what the fuck’s going on?” Tristan took a few steps towards her, his uncertainty staining the air around her, stinging her skin. “Ash?”

“Head,” she whispered through trembling lips as he came to a stop close to her. She looked up, her whole body shaking ever so slightly. “It’s his head. She kept his fucking head!”

The outburst surprised herself just as much as Tristan. It was as if putting the truth to words made it suddenly real.

It took Tristan a moment of contemplation before he spun to the ancient Master, a look for pure disgust on his face. “Holy Christ.
Why
?”

“Like I said, to punish him. Don’t you think Malik deserves to be punished?”

The night they killed Malik, Ash and Tristan took off his head. Ash burned his body herself but had lost track of the head during Yukihime’s dance with it and tending to Tristan. She’d always assumed it’d been burned but now she knew the truth of it. Yukihime kept Malik’s head to punish the vampire.

“He,” Ash started in a warbled voice. “Did you hear what he said too?”

“
Mochiron
,” Yukihime answered with a nod.
Of course
.

Ash hissed some words she knew Tristan wouldn’t understand under her breath but she wasn’t talking to him. “He is so very angry.” Malik had been talking to her, all his anger, the stain of death and being trapped threatening to consume Ash too. Malik blamed her, of course, but more than that he was disappointed that she took the “dirty Uruwashi’s” side. Her Master had always been delusional, but for him to believe that she would pick him over Tristan, it just didn’t compute in Ash’s mind. Tristan was it, her one, her all.

“Of course he is!” Yukihime chirped about Malik’s disposition. “He’s trapped in his head. And it’s your fault. Both of your faults.”

To kill a vampire for good, one had to take their head off their body. But it didn’t completely kill older vampires unless they were also burned, unless their brain was fully destroyed. Even then, there was a slim chance that their spirit, their soul, could still be trapped in their ashes if they weren’t properly dissipated. It was why burning and scattering a vampire’s ashes had been standard protocol, no matter the age—one of those old folk tales that had actually been true.

“What—
fuck
.” Tristan had to stop for a second to get his breath and swallow back the nausea Ash felt building in him. “He, uh… can he hear us?”

“Mochiron,” Yuki answered sassily.

Tristan shook his head in disgust. “And what happens when the head rots out?”

“Then Malik’s being will leave his fleshy prison,” Ash whispered. “Until then, he’s trapped in his own rotting hell.”

Tristan gave her his full attention. “And how long will that be?”

Yukihime shrugged, the sly little smile on her lips not so subtle. “For someone as old as him? Who can say, really…”

“Guess,” he snapped, shooting her a dirty sneer.

She shrugged again. “A few decades, perhaps.”

Tristan blinked, processing. “Jesus,” he hissed and then turned back to Ash.

She met his eyes, feeling more collected on the outside even if she still shook down to her soul with anxiety. “I used to starve myself as a fledgling, unwilling to kill… but I always ended up fed, one way or another. But Malik, he was angry with me once, for trying to escape after I’d been made a prisoner. He starved me, not a single drop of blood, for over a year. Around fourteen months I realized I was starting to rot.”