Falling Through Glass Page 13

  Aren’t you forgetting something? A part of Kae asked from deep within. Aren’t you forgetting how she came to you? From within the depths of a smoldering mirror?

  Of course he wasn’t forgetting it, because it had never happened. Yes, at first he’d thought it had happened that way, but obviously he had been drugged. He must have imagined the entire thing. Emiko had come to Aneko’s room, yes, but she must have been running from someone much as she had been that night when Matsuyama’s treachery had come to light. Apparently Matsuyama had planned an attack upon him at that earlier time, but Emiko’s unexpected appearance had prevented it.

  But what of her own words about being from another place in time? Kae refused to speculate and silenced his inner questions once his first destination appeared in the distance.

  * * * *

  “I don’t want you to buy me anything,” Emmi said flatly when Kaemon indicated the sprawling kimono maker’s shop.

  “I want to,” he said so sweetly that her resolve began to wane. “The garments you arrived in were finely made, but they aren’t quite proper to be received at the palace.”

  “What?” Emmi asked, sidestepping two women who exited the shop.

  “My father wants to meet you tomorrow evening after dinner.”

  His father. The angry, snooty man from the secret passage. He was a scary little noble.

  Kae glanced around before stroking the side of her cheek with his fingertip. “He wants to meet the woman who has me so thoroughly distracted these days.”

  “He does this to all your women?” Emmi muttered.

  Kae gave her a long look, and Emmi noticed the earlier warmth in his eyes fading as he spoke.

  “Would you rather have your family provide your clothing? It seems that your uncle has arrived in Kyoto at last.”

  “Here?” Jake was here? Could it be true? Could he have found a way to the past?

  Kae pulled her off to the side as more people entered the shop. “Takehito, brother of the Maeda lord.”

  “Takehito?” Emmi repeated slowly. “I don’t want to see him. I can’t. Not now.” Emmi grabbed Kae’s hand. “Please don’t force me to see him. Do I have to meet your father? I’m no one important. He doesn’t need to meet me.”

  Kaemon’s expression became even colder. “No one refuses my father, Emiko. Not even me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  This is not good, not good at all, Emmi thought as she followed Kae inside the fabric shop. She occupied herself by studying the bolts of silk and cotton displayed along the walls and on large tables as a man and woman scurried from the back of the shop to offer Kae assistance.

  What was she going to do when she met his father? Why did he want to meet her anyway?

  A deep red silk caught her eye and Emmi wandered over to it, reaching out to smooth her index finger along the edge of the bolt. It felt so thick and rich, so different from the filmy designer silk blouses her mother liked to wear.

  “Emiko.”

  Emmi breathed a dispirited sigh and went to Kae’s side. She smiled at the older couple and wished they wouldn’t lower their gazes or bow so deeply for her. She was no one special. Well, she did have famous ancestors, but still, she was just plain old Emmi from L.A., and her family was no more important in America than the majority of the population.

  Kae placed his hand on the small of her back and gave her a nudge forward. “Emiko, Muroku-san will help you choose the proper fabrics for your kimono while her husband and I discuss the particulars in the back.”

  Emmi offered the older woman a smile as Kae disappeared through a curtained doorway.

  * * * *

  Entering the rear room, Kae narrowed his eyes the instant he noticed the lingering odor of tobacco and saw a sake bottle with a half-empty cup beside it. To his knowledge—and he’d been here numerous times—Muroku-san did not smoke.

  Muroku quickly swept the half-filled cup away and took two new cups from a small chest. “Forgive the mess, Fujiwara-sama. My wife and I were relaxing when you came in.”

  “Really?” Kae asked, scanning the room as he removed his katana to sit. He kept it resting across his knees, however, and was quick to note that the action did not escape the older man, who was definitely hiding something today. “And when did your wife take up the pipe?”

  The pause before Muroku’s nervous laugh was all the confirmation Kae needed. “The pipe is mine, of course,” he said as he poured the sake.

  “Then where is it?”

  Muroku’s eyes darted to the left at the same instant Kaemon heard the slow sliding of a shoji door.

  “Die, you shogunate pig!” a samurai shouted as he burst into the room, sword drawn and aimed at Kae’s head.

  The ronin was an equal match to Kae in terms of strength and quickness. He blocked Kae’s moves as Kae did his. They locked swords, tried to throw the other off balance, and knocked each other into the walls and furniture.

  At last Kae had the advantage and slashed at the other man’s waist but, unfortunately, caused little damage as the cut in his clothing revealed chainmail beneath.

  When his foot caught a fallen sake bottle Kaemon slipped, giving the ronin the opportunity to land a glancing blow, aggravating his previous injury. Kae gritted his teeth at the pain in his leg but forced himself to stand. He laid into the ronin, slicing the man’s arm and breaking his sword.

  The ronin dropped the useless weapon and pulled a revolver from inside his yukata.

  Kae froze, and the ronin grinned like a fool. What’s more, he was a fool, for Kae pulled his iron fan from his belt and threw it at the man’s groin. It connected squarely and the ronin’s shot went wide, going through the thin wall.

  Women’s screams echoed throughout the building, and one rose above all the others. Emiko.

  Charging at the doubled-over ronin, Kae swung his katana with both hands, decapitating the man in one blow. Heedless of his wound, he ran past the cowering Muroku and plowed into the main room of the silk shop.

  Emmi was still holding one of the bolts of silk that Muroku’s wife had been showing her.

  “Kae!” Emmi shrieked, but her eyes remained fixed on the gaping bullet hole in the other woman’s head and the growing puddle of blood that was about to reach her own feet.

  Blood. So much blood.

  Emmi screamed again when Kae grabbed her. “Stop touching me! What are you doing? Trying to kill me, too?”

  “Are you injured? Tell me! Are you injured?” he shouted, trying to feel around the blood spatters on her face and clothing.

  Muroku stumbled from the back room, fell upon his wife’s body and began to wail. The customers and the worker who’d fled now crowded the shop entrance.

  Kae threw his arm over Emmi’s shoulders and hurried her out of the shop. Three of the Shinsengumi patrolling the area pushed their way through the crowd as well, blocking Kae’s way.

  “Saitou-san. A ronin in Muroku’s shop attacked me.” Kae paused and winced. “He had a gun. Muroku may be hiding more or concealing weapons for them.”

  Saitou ordered a few of his men into the shop and another to secure transportation for Kae and Emmi. He pulled a white cloth from beneath his haori for Kae to use as a bandage.

  Saitou said, “Our compound is closer than your home. The doctor is in today. He can tend it.”

  Kae nodded as he bound the wound. “There’s another merchant I have my suspicions about.”

  “Hijikata-san will be appreciative of the information.”

  Though her heart pounded like mad and her stomach was twisted upon itself, the shock Emmi felt was easing, but the name Hijikata was the last thing she wanted to hear. She brushed aside thoughts of the obnoxious vice-commander.

  Once inside the palanquin, Emmi saw that the makeshift bandage wasn’t doing much for Kae’s injury.

  “The blood has soaked through already,” she muttered.

  She had to do something but what? She was no nurse. Closing her eyes to focus, she thanked her
grade school friend for talking her into joining the Girl Scouts.

  “Give me your dagger,” Emmi said, reaching out.

  “What?”

  He looked pale, as though he was about to pass out. How far was the Shinsengumi compound anyway?

  Emmi took the tanto and cut through the hem of her kimono. She cut it almost to her knees and folded it upon itself to make a thicker binding.

  Emmi loosened his hakama ties to free his injured thigh. Thanks to so many years of seeing her dad and Jake covered in realistic wounds and gore Emmi was no longer squeamish, but she wasn’t about to lift the piece of cloth already on the wound. Emmi slid the silk under his leg, wound the ends in opposite directions a couple times, then tied it in a knot. This didn’t seem like it would be that much better, but at least it made her feel less helpless.

  “Such a fine nurse,” Kae said softly.

  “If only,” Emmi answered, watching as this cloth too began showing spots of blood. “How far is it to the doctor?”

  “Not far enough,” Kae said, reaching out with surprising strength to pull her against him.

  The press of Kae’s lips against hers blotted out everything in her mind. Emmi automatically slid her hands up to wind around his neck and gave herself over to the exploration of his tongue against hers. She wasn’t even aware of the stopping of the palanquin and the opening of its door until a familiar, sarcastic voice assaulted her ears.

  “Why, Yamanami-san, it seems we are to be entertained with an erotic display.”

  Emmi jerked away from Kae, not missing the glare he gave to the Shinsengumi vice-commander. Nor did Emmi miss the deep, apologetic bow Hijikata gave in return.

  “My deepest apologies, it was a most regrettable slip of the tongue.”

  “See that it doesn’t happen again,” Kaemon muttered as he tightened his hakama and eased himself out and to the ground.

  “Of course,” Hijikata responded brusquely, gesturing two men forward to help Kae. “Did you recognize your attacker?”

  The kindly Yamanami drew Emmi’s attention by stepping into her line of sight. He offered his hand to help her out of the carriage. “Please, Maeda-dono. I’ll have one of the kitchen girls find you other clothing and assist you in cleaning up.”

  While Kae’s kiss had calmed her for the moment, Emmi felt her insides tensing and her emotions building into a tight coil when she undressed in the bathhouse. Blood covered her clothing, her tabi socks, her hands… She felt like Carrie when she poured water over her head and saw the red-tinged water pool on the wooden floor before dripping down between the spaces in the floorboards.

  Emmi scrubbed herself until her skin tingled. Satisfied that the blood was gone, she stepped into the big tub to soak and try to relax. But no matter what she did, she could not get rid of the blood beneath her fingernails. She got out of the tub, searched her soiled kimono for the long hairpins and used one to scrape beneath her nails. She poked the pin in too deeply in places, but she didn’t care.

  Emmi dried herself roughly and pulled on the clean clothes the kitchen maid had given her, but tension and fear began to well up inside her once more. This was no movie. This had been real. So real. And she knew from history that it would only get worse from here once the fighting between the shogun’s military and the rebels escalated. The stupid anime lines were undoubtedly true—the streets of Kyoto were going to run red with rivers of blood. Next time, she might get swept away.

  Emmi was shaking with an inner chill as she approached the door to exit the bathhouse. She opened the door, only to be confronted by the scowling Hijikata.

  “Why is it,” he began, stepping forward so Emmi had no choice but to back up, “that you are always at the center of violent disturbances lately?”

  Emmi trembled as his hard, dark eyes impaled her. This man had killed, and Emmi knew as surely as she knew the sky was blue that he could kill her and feel nothing afterward.

  “I don’t know,” Emmi said, backing up until she bumped against the wooden tub. “These things just happened.”

  “Well, I certainly have my suspicions,” Hijikata said in a tone that set her nerves more on edge. Emmi raised her arms as if to fend off his mean look and words. He grabbed her wrists so tightly they ached.

  “Who. Exactly. Are. You. Helping?” he asked, pronouncing each word slowly, inching in closer and closer.

  Unable to contain the emotions she’d been trying to keep in check, Emmi shook harder, hating the way this guy made her feel like a frightened girl. “I’m not helping anyone do anything! I don’t know why these things happen when I’m around. Do you think I like it? Maybe Kaemon’s the cause of it. People are after him, not me!”

  “Indeed,” Hijikata said. “And you may be the tool they use to get him. It certainly would throw the court into turmoil, perhaps long enough for the rebels to get near the emperor, if his closest advisor and protector were distracted by the death of his only son.”

  “How dare you!” Emmi cried out, trying to hit the angry vice-commander’s chest. He held her wrists in an iron grip, and Emmi tried to pull away.

  “Or can it be that you have second thoughts on helping whoever hired you? Perhaps…you’ve fallen in love with young Kaemon…?”

  “I’m not in love. I hardly even know him.”

  “Is there a problem, Hijikata-san?”

  Emmi squirmed free of the vice-commander’s grasp and saw Kae standing on the bathhouse steps.

  The instant Hijikata let her go, she ran to the door. She reached for Kae, but he turned his back, went down the steps, then spun around to scowl at both her and the Shinsengumi vice-commander.

  “How is your leg?” Hijikata asked flatly.

  “Fine,” he snapped before turning his attention to Emmi. “I need to speak with my father. I will ask Yamanami-san to secure you transportation to the Katsura Villa.”

  “What?”

  “Katsura Villa,” he repeated. “Where your uncle is staying.” With that, he walked away.

  Emmi ran after him and tried to grab his arm, but he shook her off and glared at her.

  “I can’t go there. I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  He turned his back and left her standing speechless, more afraid than ever. Emmi couldn’t meet her ancestors. They’d think she was some psycho or imposter and have her imprisoned—or worse.

  “An unexpected complication, Maeda-dono?” Hijikata asked with a smirk as he strode past like some damn proud peacock.

  * * * *

  More than once Emmi considered simply jumping out of the palanquin that carried her through the busy streets of Kyoto, but each time common sense—or maybe stark fear—stopped her. Sure she could run away, but where to? She had no place to go, no one to turn to. She doubted she could ever make herself really “fit in” in this century.

  The closer the bearers carried her to the Katsura Villa, the sicker Emmi felt. She guessed they’d arrived when the men passed through thatch-roof gates and started down a graveled, tree-lined path. No building was in sight, so Emmi hoped that maybe they were just passing through some fancy park. However, all too soon, the unmistakable outline of a tiled roof appeared in the distance.

  Obviously the Maeda in temporary residence here wouldn’t be expecting her, since, technically, she didn’t exist. Maybe she could pretend to be some distant relative? Some daughter of a cousin five times removed—or something? Emmi wilted. As far as totally dumbass ideas went, that had to be the prizewinner.

  Inhaling a deep, calming breath and swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Emmi stared at the entrance to the villa proper. She almost hoped that the palanquin bearers would drop her and render her unconscious as they walked up the wide steps to the veranda. Maybe she could plead amnesia and forget which possible long-lost relative she was.

  Fate could not be so kind as to give her that easy out, and Emmi took yet another deep breath once the palanquin bearers stopped and slid open the door. Emmi nodded and tried to present
a pleasant face to the servants who greeted her, despite her fear that she’d throw up and ruin the pristine tatami mats at any moment.

  Though her mind was spinning and her stomach was churning, Emmi noticed the covert sideways glances the servant girls gave one another. She didn’t look much like a Maeda in the borrowed maid’s clothes, did she? More like some stray plucked off the streets.

  Emmi’s blood ran cold the instant one of the girls said, “Lord Maeda has been expecting you. He is on the moon-viewing platform. Please follow.”

  Expecting her? Emmi swallowed, though her mouth was close to bone dry, and she followed the girls like a prisoner heading for the lethal injection chamber at You’re Toast Now Federal Prison.

  Pain gripped her heart when Emmi was shown to the room that led out onto the moon-viewing platform. This was just like the room back home that her parents had added to overlook the backyard and pond. Finally her brain registered the presence standing just outside the door on the rear deck. This was him—Lord Maeda, her great-great-great-grandfather Takehito.

  Emmi stood wringing her hands like the heroine from an old romance movie would when about to come face to face with the villain for the first time. Emmi gasped when he spoke—the words that came out were English, very good English.

  “Do you find it strange that it pains me to stay in any place bearing the name Katsura?”

  “Considering the state of the nation, I suppose not.” Where did that come from? Emmi wondered as the words poured out of her mouth. Emmi knew that Katsura Kogoro led the rebels, but the political sentiment of her words still felt foreign.

  “But it is strange and rather foolish to be troubled by a mere similarity. After all it is my—our—birthright, since Maeda money helped preserve this place.”

  “I know,” Emmi whispered as one of her great-grandfather’s old tales came back to her.

  ‘Then Prince Toshitada married Fu-Hime, the daughter of the lord of the Kaga clan.’

  Slowly her mind finally began to take in Takehito. He still had his back to her. He was rather tall for the time, like Kaemon, but he had a more solid build like her father and Jake had from their martial arts training and stunt work.