“You’re exactly trying to hurry her,” Cass snapped. Then he signaled me with his chin. “But yeah, Ev, hurry it up already. Patience has never been my strong suit. You know that. I wanna see what she left you!”
I forced myself to snap out of my melancholic daze, and unwrapped the sword as quickly as I could. I turned the artful sheath around in my hands, noticing the masterful pearl inlay that adorned the black case. “Wow, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen something like this.” The hilt alone was a work of art, engraved with intricate designs of... foxes?
Interesting.
“From the curve of the blade, it looks like a katana,” Brock deducted.
“Evie knows what it is,” Cass clarified. “My girl’s a weapons expert. Top of our class at Supernatural Bounty Hunter Academy. She means she’s never seen a katana quite as fine as this one.”
A soft, appreciative whistle slipped through my lips, while I ignored the testosterone flinging around the room. “That’s for damn sure. It’s incredible.” I pulled the sword from its sheath slowly, and whistled again. “Holy moly.”
A faint purple glow began to emanate from the base of the blade until it flashed along the length of the blade. Cass and Brock leaned in, forgetting in their curiosity that they were each trying to assert their dominance over me.
“What the hell, Ev?” Cass asked, perplexed. “What’s going on with the purple stuff?”
“That’s a very good question,” I muttered, turning the razor-sharp blade this way and that. The purple across the blade brightened for a second before fading back to nothing.
Brock sniffed the air. “Magic.”
I’d never done magic before. Well, before the healing last night, anyway.
I held the weapon aloft, to better admire it. “It’s exquisite and it’s old, a few centuries if I had to guess.”
“How can you tell?” Brock asked.
“The katana, swords made for the Samurai in Japan—”
“I know that much,” Brock interrupted.
I ignored him. “The traditional way to make the swords was by hand, of course. The swordsmiths would pound the hot metal over and again, folding it on top of itself as they hammered. They’d do this for a long time, days at least, until the metal was so strong that it was unbreakable.”
“They were swords for true warriors,” Cass added. “Like my Evie.”
My lips curved into a smile at my bestie’s lavish praise, although I was pretty sure I wasn’t nearly as badass as true samurais were. Still, I liked Cass when he was like this, instead of throwing his grump around.
“Nowadays, katana aren’t made the same way anymore, not unless a person seeks out a real artisan who abides by the old ways,” I explained.
“And how can you tell?” Brock asked, all alpha attitude temporarily absent.
“I took a class on it,” I answered with a shrug. “They have a different feel and look to them. There are lots of little tells if you know what you’re looking for. If you slide the grip off, you can see the maker’s marks. But never have I seen any with fox engravings.”
I hadn’t bothered to share our kitsune theory, and the tiny insignificant little fact that I’d sprouted two tails when I’d last shifted.
“Read the letter, Ev,” Cass prodded. “We need to know.”
Yeah, we did. There was nothing else in the box.
Sheathing the sword, I placed it on the table with infinite care. As if I were showing the warriors who’d owned the blade before me respect, because this was no pretty artifact made to adorn a living space. No, this sword had been used. I could tell. It felt like a warrior’s blade, not a pretender’s, and there was a big difference between the two.
Snatching the flowery envelope from the table, my eyes misted over, only a little, as I read my name scrawled across the front in Gran’s script. I opened the envelope in a hurry, and pulled out the letter. It consisted of multiple pages.
My eyes scanned its contents in a flash, without actually reading everything Gran wrote, but enough to overwhelm me.
“I-I need to sit down,” I mumbled.
Brock, the ever-attentive baby daddy, rushed to slide a free chair under me, right before I collapsed into it.
“What is it, Eve?” Brock asked at the same time Cass spoke. “What’s going on, hon?”
I had no words. I simply stuck my hand out with the letter in it.
16 Holy Mother of Lies
Brock and Cass reached for the letter at the same time, but Cass came away with it. My bestie was wily, even more so than a werewolf.
“I can read it,” Brock asserted.
“Not happening, bud. Get over it. Belinda loved me. You tried to steal her home,” Cass argued.
Brock mumbled something that sounded a whole lot like, “I didn’t even know demon imps could read,” but lucky for him Molly chose that moment to open the front door and distract Cass.
“What is it? What’s going on?” she asked, the second the door closed behind her.
Cass waved her over. “I’m about to read Gran’s letter and find out.”
Even in my semi-stupor, I couldn’t help but notice the way Molly’s hand kept going to her neck, and how she looked tired for someone who’d just woken up from a full night’s sleep. Her skin was unnaturally pale against her purple hair, almost as pale as a vampire’s.
I glared at the door, as if Croft were standing there instead of driving away. Vamps. I’d never found a single one I liked, except for Croft. He owed Gran and he had to feed to survive, but I still wasn’t finished with the issue, only tabling it.
Molly pulled her own chair out, wedging it between Cass’ and mine. Then Cass started to read and I forgot about everything. Despite the fact that Cass spoke in his deep, gravelly voice, his words conjured images of the grandmother who’d nurtured me, when no one else would.
“My dearest Evie,
If you’re reading this letter, then I’m dead. Regrettably, what I’m about to tell you will change your life, and burden you with a responsibility I never wished for you.
You know me, I’ve never been one to mince words, and I don’t suspect it makes a lick of sense to start doing it from the afterlife, or wherever I’ll be going. So I’m going to lay it out for you, plain and simple.
You never were a dud, my darling granddaughter. No matter what the rest of the short-sighted witches, and wizards, of the Black family had to say about it. I had to conceal your powers at birth to keep you safe, even though my heart shattered every time you came home crying for being teased.
You are a kitsune. I wish there were an easier way to tell you, but there isn’t. You’re the last of a rare and ancient breed of fox shapeshifters, unlike any other.”
I shot a quick glance at Brock, whose eyes were glued to Gran’s letter, as if from there he could extract all the explanations and answers his shocked expression desired.
I, on the other hand, was just reminding myself to breathe. There it was. Gran knew I was a kitsune the whole time.
I was a freaking kitsune.
“The kitsune have special powers that no other shapeshifter possesses. I’ve taken all the precautions I could to make sure no one but you reads this letter, because I don’t trust the wolves up the hill. Already I’ve revealed more than I should. If they were to find a way to intercept this letter, you’d be in grave danger.”
Quickly, I cast a glance at Brock, who hovered over me protectively, but he didn’t make eye contact. Gran hadn’t trusted him, but I hadn’t given a thought to whether I should ask him to leave before reading her letter. It was too late now. Besides, I kind of trusted him, though I’d been burned by men before…
“Your father was a kitsune. When he died in the car accident, you became the last of your kind.”
Cass turned the page, reading the back while discreetly wiping moisture from his eyes.
“As far as I know, you’re the only child between a witch and a kitsune. You are certainly the only living one. The kitsunes’ powers are rare enough as it is, and every kitsune manifests a slightly different set of abilities. With your mother’s magic added to the mix, no one, certainly not I, can predict what will happen to you after your kitsune powers reveal themselves.”
Cass’s gaze went to the next page, and continued with a quick nervous glance at me.
“I set an expiration on your concealment spell. In the event of my death, my magic will cease to maintain your concealment, a necessity, because in that event you will be the only one left to protect the property. You’ll have to be extremely careful, Evie. I’ll say that again, because I know your wild ways, and you don’t care for rules any more than I do.”
Cass stopped reading to meet my gaze with a rules-are-for-chumps look.
I sniffled, and three different hands landed on my shoulders and back. Blinking furiously, I stared ahead at the front door, which had long ago become blurry with my tears.
“There are those that seek to end the power of the kitsune, because the kitsune are the gatekeepers of the underworld. Their job is to keep every vile beast imaginable from entering our world. After your father was killed—"
“Killed?” Cass asked, almost to himself.
Gran said killed, not died. Did that mean that my father and mother were murdered?
Cass resumed reading the endless letter, which was going from bad news to worse.
“After your father was killed, there was no one left to protect the gate to the underworld. You were too young to bear the burden, so I did my best to fill the role. Unfortunately, my gifts aren’t suited for the job, it’s been hard on my magic, and a few vile creatures have managed to sneak through over time.
And yes, darling Evie, your father and mother were both murdered by those that wish to see the gate to the underworld opened. I’m sorry I kept this from you, but I felt this was too great a weight for you to carry as a young child. I decided it was better for you to grow into your strength, before forcing these truths upon you. If I made a mistake in doing so, I ask for your forgiveness. This witch was doing the best she could to raise you, and help you build the strength you’ll require to become a guardian of this world.
The katana I’ve included with this letter was your father’s, and it was his father’s before him. I believe it originated with the very first of the kitsune, hundreds of years ago, but your father was never the chatty one, and he was especially tight-lipped when it came to the history of his kind. I suspect he figured it wasn’t my place to know, and he never imagined he’d be killed before he could pass on the knowledge to you.
Wield the katana wisely.”
Cass flipped the page over and I found myself wondering if this letter would ever end? I didn’t think I could take any more of this kind of news.
“Since I’m unaware of the means of my death, I cannot tell you whether or not I myself have been murdered. Though it’s entirely possible if the factions that opposed the gatekeepers discovered who I was, and what I was doing. If my death is suspect, look to the wolves at the top of the hill first and foremost. Maxwell knew of the gate to the underworld, and I’ve long suspected he sought to entirely open it, though I have no proof.”