Sword raised, Hirata lunged at them. The veins of light crackled. He stalled in midair. The ghostly warrior glowed bright, brighter, orange-hot, then white, leaching energy out of Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. Blinded, Hirata had the sensation he’d experienced during his trance, of being sucked up toward the sky, then falling, accelerating, and cartwheeling. He thought, The ghost prevented a battle because it needs us all alive.
Consciousness briefly fled him, then returned. Hirata found himself lying on cold ground by the altar, in the gray dawn. Tahara, Kitano, Deguchi, and the ghost were gone. All that remained was Hirata’s conviction that he must make a clean breast to Sano, shut down the secret society, and consign the ghost to the netherworld from which it came.
If only he knew how.