Toshi hoped that was the case. He also hoped whoever it was could still shake hands-he wanted to congratulate him.
A woman sighed from the other side of the wall at the far end of the room. Toshi crept forward, peering past the altar, until he saw a loose seam in the wall itself. If the secret door hadn’t been slightly sprung open, he would never have found it. Now, he nudged it open with his toe and crouched as he carefully picked his way through.
The secret door fell shut behind him, but the inner chamber was lit by a pair of black candles atop another, smaller altar. In the soft sphere of yellow light, Toshi saw the back of a woman’s head rustling rhythmically back and forth. He tightened his grip on his jitte, but relaxed when the woman started singing softly. Her voice was soft, sweet, and clear.
“Kiku,” Toshi called. He couldn’t see clearly in the dim light, but he recognized the voice and the silky head of purple-black hair. “It’s Toshi. I’ve come to help.”
“Toshi.” Kiku’s voice was dreamy and somehow sad. “No work for you here, oath-brother. Nothing for the hyozan to avenge. I’m the only one they didn’t kill.”
Toshi stood rooted in place. He was not about to approach Kiku until he was sure of her mind. She might be wounded, or dying, or …
Kiku stood, rising into the flickering candlelight. Her head was tilted forward so that her exotic hair hung down past her chin, hiding her features. She steadied herself on the altar with one hand as she carelessly clutched the neck of a ceramic jug in the other.
“Join me in a drink, oath-brother?” She did not lift her face, but did wave the jug. “The masters were saving this for a special occasion. I think this qualifies. The mahotsukai have survived another night.”
Toshi swallowed. “Sure, Kiku.” He stepped forward with one hand extended for the jug and the other ready with his jitte. Kiku was mercurial on her best days, and she was devastating with her short-handled throwing hatchet. If she were intoxicated, she might remember she hated Toshi for binding her to the hyozan.
But Kiku simply stood, singing softly with her head tilted down while Toshi carefully approached. She was not dressed in her traditional outfit of lavish purple silk and leather armor, but in a sheer white linen shift that left her arms and shoulders bare. The fabric was so delicate it was nearly transparent in the soft light, and though Kiku was a beautiful woman, Toshi kept his attention firmly focused on her hands, where the threat would come from.
Toshi reached out and took hold of the jug. Kiku held on for a moment, resisting him, and then released it. From its heft Toshi guessed Kiku had consumed half of its contents. From its smell Toshi guessed that if you lit a match after taking a sip, your breath would catch fire.
He raised the jug to his lips, keeping his eyes on Kiku. After he was through wincing, Toshi handed the bottle back, but pulled it away when Kiku reached for it.
“Mahotsukai,” he said. “What happened here?”
Kiku let her free hand fall to the altar so that she was leaning on both arms. “Soratami,” she said. “Sent word. We were a threat, unsanctioned magic. We were to vacate, or else.” She lifted her face and smiled wickedly at Toshi. “The elders chose ‘or else.’”
Toshi almost coughed as he met Kiku’s eyes, but his face remained calm. The flesh on Kiku’s forehead, cheeks, and nose was covered in a dark, shifting stain that crawled across her face like oil on the surface of steaming hot tea. Rounded blobs and thin, spiky tendrils oozed and fluttered across her features, forming currents and eddies that alternately encircled and engulfed the topography of her fine-boned face.
It was horrifying to see such a strong person so fractured, to behold such beauty marred by magic. Worse was the undeniable sense of familiarity Toshi got from Kiku’s new appearance. He was not a mahotsukai, so he did not practice their craft, but as an acolyte of Night’s Reach he recognized shadow magic when he saw it.
Still jarred by Kiku’s wild eyes and transformed face, Toshi said evenly, “Listen, Kiku. Tell me what happened.”
Kiku motioned for the jug and Toshi handed it over. She tossed back a long draught and shuddered. Then, blinking her eyes rapidly, she focused on Toshi, and the dreamy, singsong quality to her voice disappeared.
“The masters did this.” She made as if caressing her own face, but her palm never made contact. “Just as the soratami arrived.” Kiku shook her head clear and went on. “You were right about them, oath-brother. The soratami. They are not to be taken lightly. Most of us were dead before the masters finished the ritual.”
“What ritual? What did it do?”
Kiku steadied herself on the altar and then stood up straight. She swayed for a moment. Then she straightened her shift and brushed it clean in two long strokes. She focused on Toshi again, and her eyes glittered like hard, sharp gems behind narrowed lids.
“You use kanji magic,” she said. “Characters, symbols as your weapon. The masters,” she waved aimlessly behind Toshi, where the old men lay dead, “didn’t use symbols. They used me.” She set her jaw, suddenly serious and sober. “I was the tool of my masters’ vengeance. I am their weapon. When they saw they would die, they turned to me. Cursed me, made me more dangerous.”
Toshi took the bottle and sipped. “Did it work?”
“Killed the raiders all at once, in a single heartbeat.” The mahotsukai’s cruel mouth twisted into a sharp smile, then sagged. “But not fast enough. Couldn’t control the power when I needed it. Self-preservation only. You should understand that.” She croaked a hag’s laugh and her eyelids fluttered. Kiku almost swooned, but Toshi caught her shoulder and she clutched the altar before she toppled.
“They’ll be back,” she continued. “And I’ll be ready. All I have to do is sit here and keep killing them. The more they send, the more I’ll get, and the more efficient the masters’ tool shall become.”
“How, Kiku?” Toshi came around the altar and stood beside the mahotsukai. He took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the altar. “How did you kill the soratami?”
Kiku allowed Toshi to turn her around and help her up onto the altar. She sat with her feet swinging freely for a moment and then crossed one leg over the other, the very picture of an elegant lady at a prominent social function. She even tossed her head.
“Solid shadows,” she said. “Something else you understand. You may have direct contact with your myojin, but she’s not the only one who commands the darkness.” Her eyes lost focus as her thoughts turned inward. “Just as ochimusha and ogres aren’t the only ones who knows how to craft revenge magic. Here, I’ll show you-”
Toshi quickly grabbed Kiku’s chin and turned her face to his. “Please don’t,” he said.
The oily shadow on Kiku’s face had begun to churn. Tiny crested ridges of liquid darkness had started to form around her features, like waves made choppy by driving winds.
Kiku held Toshi’s gaze for a moment, then looked away and exhaled. The motion on her face slowed, but it did not stop.
“Kiku,” he said. “We are both bound by the oath. I have work for us to do.” After all she had been through tonight, he didn’t think he could hold Kiku to any promises she had made before, but he had to get her out of this abattoir. As long as there were corpses and mahotsukai liquor to sustain her melancholy, she would probably just sit here going madder and madder until the next group of soratami sneaked in and killed her.
“Can’t go,” she said firmly. “I am an instrument of vengeance. My entire clan is gone. I am the only bearer of the mahotsukai’s wisdom. The last of the Numai jushi. If I do not avenge them-”
“We can avenge them together,” Toshi said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Kiku blinked, her eyes suddenly clouded once more. “You can help me?”
“I can. The soratami and their kami have been on my list for months now. I was just talking with Hidetsugu about finishing things with them once and for all. But I’d go out of my way to hurt them for the sheer fun of it. If getting them helps you, well, that’s just a bonus.”