Chapter Nineteen
The vines set me down into a forest of cherry trees in full bloom. Lincoln stands by my side. Before us, an arched wooden bridge leads to a four-story red pagoda. Pink blossoms are everywhere.
This scene should make me feel familiar and safe. I’ve been on Demon Patrol in Japan before, and there are plenty of places that look like this. Only this spot has an extra addition that makes me feel anything but secure.
A geisha stands at the center of the bridge. The hem and sleeves of her white kimono drip with blood. Even from this distance, I can see her long red nails.
It’s Sakura.
She stares at us intently, her pale white face tilted to one side. She raises her arm and waves us over, but I’m in no mood to move quickly on this one. “Do you think that’s really her or an illusion?”
Lincoln eyes her carefully. “It’s her, all right. She must live in Hell.”
“In that case, I suppose we better go.”
Lincoln moves to stand right in front of me. “Answer me one thing first.”
“Sure.”
“Back in your personal hell, both versions of Maxon were false.”
“They better be.”
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t.” My voice catches as I picture the two tortured versions of my son. “Maxon being broken like that? It’s my worst nightmare. I couldn’t accept that it could be true.” A sad smile rounds my mouth. “I suppose I was too stubborn to follow the rules.”
He gently kisses my forehead. “Keep on being stubborn, Myla. It’s gotten us this far.”
I set my hand onto his neck, feeling his silky hair tickle my palm. “I’ll try.”
Sakura raises both her arms. “Over here, now. I won’t hurt you. I’m must administer your test.”
“Oh, well.” Lincoln slips his hand into mine. “We can’t keep the evil blood witch waiting.”
We step through the cherry trees and climb the bridge toward Sakura. Up close, I can see the sickly blue color of the skin around her eyes and hands. I’ve seen that happen to warriors on the battlefield. She’s dying.
Good. The little bitch had something to do with Maxon being abducted. I hope she keels over in front of us.
Sakura’s gray eyes inspect me from head to toe. “You hate me, Great Scala.”
“Sure, I do. Release my son from whatever spell you cast and maybe I’ll hate you a little less.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” says Sakura. “But I can show you the truth of what happened. Follow me.” She turns and shuffle-walks toward the pagoda.
Once she’s out of earshot, I whisper to Lincoln. “I think we should see where this goes, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t like it. This whole situations screams ‘trap’ to me.”
“Me, too. Glad I’m not the only one.”
Sakura pauses at the pagoda’s entrance and then waves us in. Keeping a tight grip on each other’s hands, Lincoln and I follow her inside.
“Let’s have tea.” Sakura shuffles across the room, the bottom of her robes dragging a trail of blood behind her.
My warrior sense makes me pause at the doorway, assessing the scene for any hidden dangers. The pagoda’s interior is a tall space that’s sparsely decorated. There’s a wooden floor, bare white walls, and a small low table set with a Japanese teapot and cups. That’s it. Nothing screams booby-trap, but that doesn’t stop my sense of caution from flying through the roof.
Sakura sits down at one side of the table and starts to pour tea. She gestures to a line of floor cushions. “Have a seat.”
We walk across the floor and sit down on the opposite side of the table. With each step, I fight the urge to turn and run for my life. Something about this blood witch screams danger.
Our hostess gestures around the room. “Do you like my home?”
I glance about, mostly for show. “It’s nice, for Hell. I guess.”
“I’ve cast many enchantments to make it more comfortable. Unfortunately, this is the only place in the after-realms where my enemies can’t reach me.” She lifts her teapot from the tabletop. “Would you like some tea?”
Now, I know enough about witches not to ever accept anything from them without knowing the fine print, especially if it involves food or drink. I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “What’s the catch?”
She lifts the teapot to her nose and inhales deeply from the nozzle’s steam. “Breathe in the vapor and you’ll see exactly what happened with Connor.”
“You’ll cast an enchantment?” asks Lincoln.
“No, I’ll use the same type of spell that your monopsyche cast. You’ll be able to join in my memory. That’s all.”