Surrender to Darkness by Annette McCleave Page B

unfortunate loss. How do you report this to the authorities?”
    “We don’t.” Kiyoko bent and retrieved Takeo’s katana. It would be destroyed, along with his personal possessions. “All who have chosen to follow this path understand that they will not be buried alongside their loved ones.”
    “They just disappear?”
    “Technically, they disappeared the day they entered the compound. For most, that was several years ago. To the outside world we are a martial arts school, and we open a few sessions to the public to keep the authorities from becoming curious.”
    “And what do you do with the wounded?”
    She pointed to the middle-aged woman kneeling in the dirt beside the sole surviving warrior. “We have a full-time doctor on staff and she has a well-equipped infirmary at her disposal. Many of our senshi have also received training as field medics.”
    The phone holstered at Murdoch’s waist vibrated. He tugged it free and glanced at the display. “You should hire a mage.”
    Kiyoko shook her head. “Healing spells are very difficult to perform and the excellent ones demand a gifted practitioner. Unfortunately, there are too few genuine mystic healers in the world. We’ve not had any luck in finding one.”
    “You know a great deal about magic,” he said with a frown, as he dropped to one knee beside a fallen senshi .
    Curious, Kiyoko watched him. “Our branch of the onmyōji has studied and plied the mystic arts for centuries. Plus, my father was a descendant of Abe no Seimei himself, so we are privy to many of his magical volumes.”
    Murdoch placed a bare hand on the neck of the dead man, seemingly oblivious to the dark red blood still seeping from the fatal wound. He closed his eyes.
    He could have been offering a simple prayer, but Kiyoko knew he was collecting the warrior’s soul. Once, back when she and Lena Sharpe had been on speaking terms, they had talked about the gathering process. Lena had described it as a feathery warmth that floated up her arm and wrapped around her heart.
    “Kiyoko-san.”
    She glanced to the left. Sora stood in the entrance to the dojo, his silvery white hair flowing down his back, his hands folded in the long sleeves of his black robes. The very epitome of serenity.
    “Yes, sensei?”
    “This is a most disturbing event.”
    She nodded. “Our safeguards were not enough.”
    “Safeguards?” Murdoch moved to the second body. “What safeguards?”
    “The two stone niou at the gate,” Kiyoko explained, “are tasked with preventing evil from entering the compound. Yet Takeo was able to walk in yesterday without a problem.”
    “Which means he was either unaffected when he entered, or he found some way to disarm your barrier spell.”
    She nodded. “And of the two, the second is more likely.”
    “Can you boost the barrier?”
    “That particular spell has served us well for centuries,” she said. “I will need to consult my spell books to see if there is anything stronger. I’ll inform Watanabe-san that visiting the city today is not possible.”
    “Nonsense.” Sora descended into the courtyard, the trailing hem of his robes soundless as it slid over the wooden steps. “Go. The compound will survive another day in your absence. Ensuring that your father’s business remains uncorrupted is as vital as any other task assigned to you. Holding back the darkness takes many forms.”
    She blinked. Sora was usually the first to remind her of her commitments to the onmyōji . “Are you certain?”
    “The company car is already at the gate,” he said with a faint shrug. “It would be impolite to keep the driver waiting.”
    “I’ll go with you,” Murdoch offered, standing.
    Kiyoko’s pulse accelerated. Forty minutes of close confinement, breathing that warm, masculine scent, feeling the electric tension dance between them the entire time. The journey into Sapporo would be almost unbearable, but deliciously so.
    “Surely you would prefer to remain in the