Katana (23 page)

What I saw was a bald head with two tattooed horns illuminated by the moonlight. Devil-boy! He continued to talk into his cell phone as he crept along the side of my house with a sword case strapped to his back. My katana! My vision hazed in a cloud of red and I gripped the windowsill to keep from launching myself at him. Even in the dark, I could see the silver gleam of the handgun in his back pocket and I doubted there were any Good Samaritans with pepper spray nearby. Stretching my neck out the window as far as I could without being seen, I managed to grasp a few pieces of his conversation.

“No. I didn’t forget what you paid me for,” Devil-boy grumbled. “But she wasn’t here like you said she’d be.” There was a pause, then, “How am I supposed to know? I can’t snatch someone who isn’t here. I did find the sword, though.” Another pause. “Fine. Get the girl yourself.” Devil-boy slammed his phone shut and rammed it inside of his jeans pocket. He stopped at the edge of my house, looked left and right, then disappeared in front of it.

My pulse pounded a rhythm like the bass beat of a dance mix inside my head. I had to get my sword back … but how? I growled, pounding my fist against the window trim, cursing myself when pain exploded like a thousand needles in my hand. I couldn’t sit and do nothing. Devil-boy was my direct link to the person responsible for trying to ruin my life. If I couldn’t confront him head-on, I could at least follow him to wherever he was taking my katana and call Kim with the location.

I had one leg swung over the sill when a knock at my bedroom door sent me tumbling into a pile on my bedroom floor. “Oof,” I complained, rubbing my sore elbow.

“Rileigh?” It was Dr. Wendell. “Is everything all right in there?”

Great. Just what I needed. I brushed myself off and climbed to my feet. “Just, uh, doing some decorating.”

He was silent for a moment. “Well, I just got off the phone and I was thinking, you looked so upset earlier … would you like to go out for ice cream with me and your mom?”

An alarm signaled inside of my head, but Devil-boy was getting away, leaving me no time to analyze it. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I slipped my foot back over the sill. “I’m pretty tired and have to work tomorrow morning, so if you don’t mind, I’m just going to go to sleep.”

“All right, then. Good night.”

“Night.” I slid both feet out and landed softly in the grass. I was about to take off when Dr. Wendell spoke again. “Rileigh, if there’s anything going on with you, that’s—I don’t know—too much to handle, you know you can always come to me, right?”

With a sigh I leaned back inside my window. Seriously, what was up with this guy? “Good to know.
Night.”

It wasn’t until I heard the soft shuffling footsteps of Dr. Wendell retreating from my door that I began to creep along the side of my house. When I reached the corner, I poked my head around and surveyed the street. At first, nothing moved, but then I heard the soft jingling of dog tags as old Mr. Lewis and his dachshund, Pretzel, came ambling down the sidewalk. He eyed me curiously when Pretzel stopped to sniff a light pole.

So much for my super spy skills. With my head ducked low to avoid eye contact, I peeled myself from my hiding spot as nonchalantly as I could and made my way to my car. There was no point in hiding any longer. Aside from Mr. Lewis casting me suspicious glances, the street remained quiet—thanks to Dr. Wendell, Devil-boy was long gone.

Now what?

My body hummed. I couldn’t sit in my room all night—not to mention that in its current state, there was nowhere to sit. So what’s a girl to do when she’s all juiced up with no one to kick in the face? My answer was to go for a drive to cool down. Who knew? I might even spot Devil-boy while I was out.

27

O
nce I had rolled out of the drive in neutral and coasted to the end of the street, I slammed my foot against the gas. I pressed down the button for the two remaining windows and the warm summer air quickly enveloped me, but for once, it did little to ease my tension. In fact, after an hour of driving aimlessly, I was still shaking, and also coming to the realization that locating Devil-boy was no more likely than finding anything cute on a seventy-percent-off department store rack. Discouraged, I pulled into a deserted parking lot to turn my car around when I found myself staring into the glass doors of Kim’s dojo. I hadn’t even realized I’d crossed the bridge.

I picked up my cell phone to call Kim. Now was definitely the time for reinforcements. I dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail. “Perfect,” I muttered, ending the call.

I wished I could call Quentin, and I felt a pang of regret that I hadn’t had a chance to tell him what was going on. If ever I needed my best friend, now was the time.

I turned off the Fiesta and climbed out. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but it felt right to be here. I walked up to the door and peered into the dark lobby. Empty. I pulled at the door. It didn’t budge. Had I really thought it would? I shook the door several more times before leaning my head against the cool glass in defeat. Brilliant plan, Rileigh.

We can open the door.

I pushed myself off the glass. “Oh yeah?” I asked. “Then do it. Open the stupid door.”

Concentrate,
the voice ordered.

I balled my hands into fists. “Not the deal. You’ve done enough to ruin my life. I’m not helping you do anything.”

CONCENTRATE.

I cringed against the thundering in my head. “All right! You win!” The last thing I needed was a migraine.

Close your eyes.

I felt ridiculous, but I did what I was told.

Still, nothing happened. Maybe the voice got its kicks by having me make a fool out of myself?

Visualize it.

Visualize what? No sooner did the question pop into my head than the image of the inner workings of the lock appeared inside my mind. The gears tightened, pulling each other along with metal teeth, until they had sucked the deadbolt from its resting place. I knew what to do.

“Open,” I whispered.

From the pit of my stomach, I felt the first stirrings of the same icy wind that had breezed through me during the sparring match and with the biker chicks. I held my breath and stiffened against the tickling sensation. Gradually the butterfly wings stopped tickling my stomach.

I sighed. I could see where this was going. I closed my eyes again and focused on relaxing. The wind rose again, but this time flipping and twirling hummingbirds replaced the butterflies. I gritted my teeth, afraid of doing something to make it go away but not enjoying the uncomfortable feeling of having a tornado inside my chest. Just as I opened my mouth to scream, I felt a ripping sensation followed by the rush of wind pushing itself from my body.

I stared at my own wide eyes reflecting back at me in the glass. As the wind poured from my skin, it tore the scream from my throat and twisted my hair into knots, forcing me to double over.

When I thought I could bear it no more, the lock made a soft click and the wind vanished as quickly as it had come.

I stood up and smoothed my tangled hair out of my face. What just happened? I was scared to touch the door, afraid that I was going crazy and had imagined the whole thing. Tentatively, I reached out for the handle and pushed. The door swung inward.

I hung my head. Part of me had hoped that I
did
imagine the whole wind thing. It was nice that I unlocked the door, but that did not make me thrilled to add another item to my list of
Things that Make Rileigh Not Normal.

I walked into the dark lobby, fumbling my hand along the wall until I found the light. I flicked the switches, and the front lobby lit up in welcome. I had to admit, it felt right to be here. It was as if the building had called to me, and subconsciously, I answered.

I wondered briefly what Kim would do if he found me here. True, I was trespassing, but I hoped he wouldn’t see it that way. I had nowhere else to go. He’d understand, right?

I left the main dojo lights off as I walked across the mats to the far wall with the punching bags. This was why I was here. I marched along the line of bags, taking my time to look each over until I settled on one. Most of the bags were filled with water and grounded to floor stands. The one I selected was bigger than the rest and suspended from the ceiling with several metal chains. I tested it with a shove. It moved sluggishly away from me, but then returned with more force. Perfect.

I gathered all the anger inside of me and ripped it out, piece by piece, as I launched my assault. I pummeled the bag with an uninterrupted stream of punches and kicks. The release was exquisite. Punch. Jab. Side kick. Hook. Spinning back kick.

From a far-off place, I realized my hands were throbbing, but I didn’t just ignore the pain; I embraced it. Every time my hands connected with the bag, the biting sting that followed felt like a victory against the rage.

Finally, after I’d purged myself of the fury boiling my blood, a heaviness crept through my body and I became aware of my aching muscles. I readied myself to lash out one last roundhouse kick to the bag when I caught the outline of a man in my peripheral vision.

I froze, silently choking on the breath that my throat refused to swallow. Devil-boy hadn’t driven away after all! He’d only waited for me to get in my car, then he’d followed me!

With my leg still in the air, poised to strike, I watched the dark figure edge closer to my back through the mirrors along the wall, all the while cursing myself for not turning the lights on. I waited, counting the seconds until he stood directly behind me. Then, using my senses as my guide, I pivoted on my foot and released my paused kick.

He effortlessly sidestepped the blow and reached for my outstretched leg. Snagging my foot, he twisted it, knocking me to the floor on my elbows. “Stop,” he ordered.

I grunted into the mat. “As if
that’s
going to happen.” I didn’t remember Devil-boy moving so fast in our last encounter, or maybe I was tired from my workout and moving slower. Either way, I had to get my act together and quick. I pushed off the ground and swung my free leg for his head. The man released my foot as he jumped back to avoid my strike. As soon as I was free, I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at him with a barrage of punches and kicks.

Unfortunately, Devil-boy must have consumed his V8, taken vitamins, and eaten all his vegetables, because he fought with an expert’s skill that he clearly lacked the night before. He sidestepped every hit and kick with ease. In fact, he was doing more damage to me than I was to him. Each time he blocked my strikes, I ended up with another bruise on my arms or legs.

My muscles screamed, but I refused to listen. Hit after hit and kick after kick. I felt like a machine, fueled on rage alone. For several more minutes, I continued to throw myself at him, a flurry of thrusting arms and legs until, finally exhausted, my right leg shuddered and my ankle gave away. I careened sideways into the mat.

He used my loss of balance as an opportunity to grab my right wrist.

With an angry cry, I swung my free hand for his face. He seemed to humor me then, letting the blow come inches from his face, teasing me into thinking I might have a chance before spinning me sharply by the wrist and snatching my striking hand out of the air.

I found myself locked against his chest with my own arms. I struggled for a moment, pulling and twisting, locking myself tighter until, finally, I slumped against him, defeated. “Just get it over with already.”

He said nothing, but the scent of sandalwood enveloped me.

An electric current ran through my body. It couldn’t be …

“Are you finished?” Kim asked.

I was. My legs gave out from under me and Kim stepped into my fall, tightening his grip to keep me from collapsing.

“Why did you sneak up on me?” I asked between gasps. My lungs seemed unable to get enough oxygen.

“Last I checked, this was my dojo. Besides, you attacked
me.”
He held me until I regained my balance, and even then didn’t let go. “What is going on?”

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I was too tired to care. So much for my vow not to cry. “Someone tried to kidnap me, tore apart my room, and stole the katana!” I sobbed.

Kim went rigid against me. He was silent for several moments before finally whispering, “It appears our time has run out.”

28

R
ileigh.” Kim twisted me in his arms so I faced him. “Are you all right?”

I rubbed my burning eyes with the palms of my hands. His hair was in disarray, but his eyes were clear and alert. “Of course I’m not all right. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Are you hurt?”

I almost told him no, but noticed my burning hands. My knuckles looked like they had been run through a cheese grater.

Kim followed my eyes. He gently lifted each of my hands, ignoring my blood as it dripped onto his skin. “You know, you’re really supposed to wear gloves, or at least wrap your hands when you train with the bags.”

I tried to think of a snarky response but came up blank. Instead, I wondered how someone who worked out so much could have such velvety soft skin. And yet, his actual hands were solid, like granite wrapped in satin. He moved his thumbs in circles from my knuckles to my wrists and I shivered in response.