Page 13 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

The foreboding in her chest clarified into guilt, shame, and, worst of all, yearning. Her stomach cramped with remorse even as she blushed at the most vivid of her memories. She could still feel his lips and his hands. She swore she could even smell him on her.

Conflicted, she glanced helplessly around the one-room hut and wondered what she was supposed to do with this new and haunting memory. No one could know how much last night had changed her, but how was she supposed to look or act in order to keep it a secret?

The first thing she wanted to do was take a bath, but she forced herself to pour the last of the medicine from the pot into an empty jug. The pungent aroma of the fuki made her gag, and she realized she wasn’t well. Perhaps she needed something in her stomach? If so, that had to wait because her next task was cleaning out the cooking pot so they could use it for breakfast.

The smell of the herbs hit her again. Her throat seized. She dove toward the area that would be easiest to clean and lost what little food remained inside her. She gasped for air, vision blurry with tears.

Taking a break outside, she walked around her home a couple of times. On her fourth circuit, her stomach rebelled again, and she leaned down to retch in the tall grass where no one could see her. Hoping she had a moment of reprieve before it happened again, she cleaned the spot in the hut where she had previously thrown up and decided to leave washing out the pot for when she returned from the river. She looked to her mother, whose chest slowly rose and fell as she slept. Then she grabbed a pat of soap and a handful of mint leaves.

The rest of the village was already awake. Smoke rose from several roofs, and a couple doors were open. The last of the villagers who hadn’t succumbed to the illness were busy working the rice fields down the hill. A light rain overnight had been good for the newly sown crop but had also muddied the paths. Shumei was too filthy to care.

The river between the village and the local temple was the only place where anyone felt safe bathing. Not only was it protected by the barrier charms, but bushes lining the banks also afforded small spaces where people could bathe with some privacy.

As she walked toward the river, chewing on fresh mint, memories of last night haunted her mind’s eye—and her mind’s skin and nose and ears. Memories of a slow, wicked smile, of slick friction and passionate kisses, of spicy cologne and gravelly moans. As it had ten times already that morning, a cold wash of shame followed those memories. She told herself that hiding her crime from the rest of the village wouldn’t be hard—no one cared about her enough to notice any change in her. But hiding it from her mother and brother?

She was only a moment away from the river when she passed the home of one of the wealthier families in their little community. Ikuro, the lady of the house, was outside, observing one of her sons as he scrubbed the porch.

“Once you’re done with that, you can have breakfast. That is, if you apologize to your sister when you come in. No more pulling on her braids,” she admonished, lightly whapping the boy on his head. He was the same age as Oka and already handsome, and he stuck out his tongue at his mother before returning to his chore. Ikuro turned to go back inside her house, which was when Shumei noticed Ikuro was pregnant with what would be her fifth child.

Shumei continued walking, lips tight, hating Ikuro’s good fortune. Her children were wonderful, she was a wonderful mother, and even her husband was wonderful. Though they weren’t rich, they had enough, and that was wonderful too.

She was jealous, yes, but not of how well off Ikuro’s family was, although that was certainly enviable. Rather, she coveted Ikuro’s family. She wished for a partner and for children of her own. Though Oka was still young, he was her brother, not her baby.

Tears slipped down her face as she thought of how her lost virginity, if anyone learned of her indiscretion, would severely and irrevocably narrow her options for an honorable husband. Not many families would accept a black-haired bride. Almost none would tolerate a “lustful” one. Of the few offers of marriage the village leaders had secured, all but Akiji’s would be withdrawn if anyone were to find out what she’d done. And if they learned who she’d done it with? She’d be lucky to escape the village alive and in one piece.

At the riverbank, she slipped between her favorite grouping of bushes. Though the branches were thorny, they extended well over the water—enough to offer some concealment from the other side of the river, and if she was careful, she could hang her clothing to dry. The water by the bank was only hip-deep, but it was clear and clean, and sometimes had tadpoles in summer. When she was small, this private section of river was enough for her and her mother to bathe together, but it would hardly fit two adults.

The water would be quite cold, but she was too desperate to be clean to care, and quickly undressed. She left her makeshift belt hanging on a branch but brought her soiled dress and the soap into the river. Goosebumps rose on every inch of her skin.

Letting her lower half get used to the temperature first, she found a couple of large, smooth pebbles and leaned down to begin scrubbing at the stains on the back and skirt of her dress. A few spots of mud came out quickly, but she grew more and more dismayed as the grass stains resisted. Her mother’s soap could usually get anything out. She flipped her clothing over to find another spot to work on, and then stopped and stared at a few red streaks inside her dress. With a swallow, she soaped up the area and began scrubbing. Thankfully, the bloodstains quickly vanished.

When satisfied, she wrung out her thin dress and hung it over the side of the bush where the morning sun would hit it—assuming the sun came out soon. Then she returned to the water and sank to her knees. Using the last of her soap, she methodically washed every part of her body and scrubbed especially hard over the places where he’d touched her, hoping she’d not be able to smell him on her skin afterward. Not that she’d need the reminder. His scent was imprinted on her.

Having soaped up her hair, she leaned to rinse it out, and gasped at a strange stirring in her core. Was she going to throw up again? All that was left in her stomach were the mint leaves she’d eaten specifically to cleanse her mouth, and she really didn’t want to see them again.

She lifted her head out of the water and ran her hands through her hair for any soap she’d missed. Finding some over her left temple, she leaned down again, but a jolt of some indefinable sensation shot through her loins. She held her breath and slid her hand between her legs, wondering if he had left some sort of magic there. The feeling grew, and she softly moaned, eyes fluttering. Eager to be out of the water, she rinsed herself off and stood.

Her sex throbbed and her knees shook as she waded toward the grassy riverbank. Water dripped from her body, but she was wet in another place for an altogether different reason. She cursed the demon for leaving his magic on her and tried not to panic over how she’d remove his evil charm without anyone’s help. She was about to step onto the bank when the sensation flared, lighting her up with desire. She stumbled back.

Then she heard a rustling as someone entered her sanctum. Her head snapped up. Her heart leapt. Before she even saw him, she knew it was the demon. When he appeared, though, her first reaction was neither anger nor fear. Rather, she was surprised to see his hair wasn’t blond, but white. Stark white.

And his eyes, they were the purest blue she’d ever seen, save perhaps a clear, winter sky. The color betrayed the coldness of his soul—while the rest of him produced only heat. Though she knew last night’s transgression was the result of her own weakness, she couldn’t help blaming him as well. He had seduced her with his wickedly attractive looks and a voice that could soften stone.

“How are you standing in daylight? You’re a demon,” she said.

“Yet here I am,” he replied, which didn’t speak to her confusion in the slightest. The evasion frustrated her. His presence enraged her. Why was he even here?

She lowered herself into the water, anger keeping her warm, and hid her nudity from his possessive stare.

“You’re angry,” he observed.

“You used my desires against me, seduced me. I’ll be angry for the rest of my life.”

“At me or at yourself?” he asked, stepping forward.

“Don’t come any closer, demon. Y-You…you spun your magic and confused me,” she said. “You’re cruel to return and taunt me.”

“Cruel? I pleasured you greatly, and even cast a spell to suppress your virginal pain. As promised, I did not kidnap you. In fact, I made sure you returned home safely. I could have left you to fend for yourself. Other things in that forest would have done far worse than a brutal death, and you say I am cruel?”