Page 39

The bite was the center of everything.

Each time it pulsed, the heat spread farther.

Get around people. I need witnesses.

Most spirits preferred to conduct their wickedness in private just like kidnappers, serial killers, etc.

I headed toward a wider street where headlights passed in the distance.

My foot landed on something sharp.

Pain cut across my sole.

“Damn it.”

I stumbled, caught myself against a building, and kept going. Blood mixed with rain beneath my foot.

The street ahead blurred.

Using my grandmother’s power had taken too much out of me. I felt scraped hollow, as if the loa had reached inside and scooped out a glowing handful of my strength.

I tightened my grip on the gun.

The cold should have helped me cool off, but it didn’t. Heat continued to burn through me.

Then, I spotted a figure walking forward with an umbrella, and the alluring scent of cedar drifted through the rain.

Oh, no.

I stopped and squinted my eyes. That figure was not a muscular man. In fact. . .I was pretty sure it was a woman. I slowly walked forward. My heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

Yoichi’s other signature scents rose in my nose—moss, cold stone, ancient smoke.

He’s close. He must be hiding in the shadows.

I looked behind me and only saw an empty street.

Alright. It’s just me and this chick out here right now. That’s witness enough.

A minute passed and I got closer to the woman, finally able to really take her in.

She’s beautiful. Where is she going?

The Japanese woman was beneath a large black umbrella, and absolutely untouched by the panic surrounding me.

And the closer I got, the more I realized that beautiful did not seem like a big enough word for her.

She was tall and slender, with long dark hair pinned up in an elegant style. Several jeweled ornaments glittered near her temple. A strapless black dress hugged her body and parted high along one thigh.

A detailed tattoo covered one of her arms from shoulder to wrist.

She looked like she belonged on the cover of an expensive fashion magazine, not alone on a rainy Kyoto street after midnight.

Her gaze moved over my wet gown, bare feet, and gun.

“Oh, my God.” Her English was flawless. “Are you hurt?”

Probably.