Seeker

Shinobu was still sitting by the pool, staring at the spot where Quin had stepped through the anomaly and disappeared. It was painful to be in her presence, because of the memories she stirred up. Yet he could now feel the places where she’d been pushed up against him, like those parts of him were highlighted in his senses. Had she felt the same way when he’d put his arms around her to help her with the athame? Or was he still just a distant cousin, as pretty as a painting and equally untouchable? No. At least he was too dirty to be considered pretty now.

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. His mother, Mariko MacBain, was crouched on the grass behind him, a dressing gown pulled tight around her in the slight nighttime chill.

If he had expected her to be mad at him, she was not. There was a cautious look on her face, though, like she worried that Shinobu might try to strike her. This made him ashamed.

“You came,” she said softly. “Was that Quin?”

“Did you see?” he asked her quickly. The idea that she might have seen Quin step through the anomaly bothered him. His mother had successfully put their life on the estate behind her—he didn’t want to bring it back.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

“See what?” she asked.

“Did you see her leave?”

“No. I heard her near the house a few minutes ago.” She moved closer on the grass, but not close enough to touch him. “She’s the one who saved your brother this morning. She didn’t know who I was, but I would know her anywhere. She’s gotten quite pretty, hasn’t she?”

Shinobu drew out the bag of herbs. The thick plastic had kept everything dry.

“The medicine you asked for,” he told her. “I’m very sorry about what happened to Akio, Mother.”

He could feel her eyes heavy upon him.

“ ‘Sorry’ does not repair the damage that was done, Shinobu. It was a very near thing with your brother this morning.” She still didn’t sound angry, merely exhausted. That was worse.

“I’ll go through my room, make sure there’s nothing else—”

“I’ve already done that, of course.”

“I meant to drop off the herbs without you seeing me. Please forgive my continued presence here. I should leave.”

He always became more Japanese around Mariko. There had been lectures, when he was a child, about things like manners and honor. Those lectures had meant a great deal to him, back when he’d believed his life would be full of honor.

“Perhaps you should leave. Before I become angry again. This morning I might have killed you if you’d been around.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

He got to his feet.

“Tell me—how did Quin get to Hong Kong?” she asked him before he could walk away.

“The same way I got here,” he replied, sinking his fists deep into his jacket pockets to stop them from shaking. He turned toward the garden gate.

“At the same time?” She was on her feet, catching up to him. She was tiny compared to Shinobu, little more than five feet tall. Her very Japanese face was turned up to look at his, her eyes piercing.

“Yes,” he answered. “We came here at the same time.”

“You never told me. I thought you escaped alone.”

“It doesn’t matter. We were never together, not really.”

“Are you helping her?”

“No—yes,” he corrected himself. He stared down at his boots, still damp and dirty. “One thing, that’s all.”

“Even when you were small, I could see something between the two of you. Your father always liked her, poor girl.”

“I’ll go now,” he said, turning away.

“You’re thinking of your father,” she called after him. “It’s all right. I think of him too, all the time. It’s what he wanted—you here with me and Akio.”

“I know, Mother. It’s what he wanted.”

“Please, Shinobu. You can … change yourself. And come back to us.” She was trying to sound firm, but he could hear the pleading in her voice.

When he had first been reunited with his mother, he’d tried to tell her about Alistair, about that last night on the estate, but he hadn’t been able to make the words come. Mariko had sensed he was trying to make a confession, and she’d told him it wasn’t necessary. She’d said his past was forgiven and they need never speak of it again.

It had felt wonderful, at first, to have that forgiveness. He hadn’t understood that it would be another matter entirely to forgive himself. Only the drug bars offered that mercy. Drugs had made him unfit to be near his family and had almost killed his little brother, but the bars on the Bridge were the only places where he found a small measure of relief. How could he give that up?

“I’m not thinking of my father,” he lied, walking for the gate without looking back. “I’m thinking of a ghost.”

Brian Kwon was not a ghost, but he was getting close. After two hours of searching, Shinobu found him huddled on the filthy pavement behind a large waste receptacle two blocks from Queen Elizabeth Hospital, from which he had apparently run, trailing an IV tube and many half-wrapped bandages.

“I had to leave,” Brian explained. “They started asking questions.”

One of his eyes was bandaged, and a cut on his shoulder had been cleaned but stitched only halfway shut. It was trickling blood across his shirt. He had bruises all over his face and neck.

“You look terrible,” Shinobu said.

“You should see the other guy,” Brian managed.

Brian had led the last of John’s men on a wild-goose chase back on the Bridge, while Shinobu had spirited Quin away. Shinobu examined his friend’s torso and found more ugly bruises.

“It’s not too bad,” Brian told him. “The worst part was this.” He pointed to a long, dark bruise that began on his forehead, then continued down his face and onto his chest. “I ran into a steam pipe while leading them into that east corridor. They didn’t follow for long after they realized your girlfriend wasn’t with me. They gave me a couple shots for the pain—the hospital did, I mean—not the guys on the Bridge.”

“You make a good punching bag, Sea Bass,” Shinobu told him as he pulled the big fellow to his feet. “But she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Barracuda. I’m always getting into knife fights for girls who are just good friends.”

“She’s my cousin—third cousin. Well, half third cousin.”

Brian groaned deeply as he managed to get fully upright. “What’s a third cousin?”

“It’s a … barely related kind of person, Sea Bass, who still thinks of herself as your relative.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Shinobu was trying to steady Brian, who was grimacing, apparently more in response to Shinobu’s poor prospects with Quin than from the pain. He took one unsteady step, then fell toward Shinobu like a wall of cinder blocks. Shinobu grunted under the weight but managed to shift his friend around until Brian was half riding on Shinobu’s back.

How he was able to get Brian onto a bus and all the way down to the Bridge, he was never quite sure.

It was midnight when they got to the Kowloon end of the Transit Bridge, its canopy of sails disappearing into the fog that was rolling across the harbor.

“To whom shall I address your entry request?” the border guard asked him. The man delivered the question as though nothing could be more normal at this time of night than a dirty gang member carrying on his back an equally dirty but even larger gang member who was clearly injured.

“Master Tan,” Shinobu replied.

The man leaned forward to take Shinobu’s picture, which would be sent to Master Tan’s residence for approval. Shinobu smiled winningly into the camera, Brian still moaning on his back.

“He’ll probably remember me.”