Page 48 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

“Oh dueling gods,” she breathed. “Why now? Why all of a sudden?”

“That I don’t know. Now stop asking me questions, crow. Go about your business and leave me to my own,” he grumbled, stepping back. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she heard the soft moaning of his wife from the back of the house. Kimen disappeared down the hall, not even bothering to wait until she had left.

His answers to her questions had shaken her. She hadn’t expected the truth, nor had she expected it to be so ugly. Her hands shook as she brought her medicine bag to her chest.

May the Divine One help them. It was only a matter of time, if everyone was to be believed. Their village would be under attack soon, and her thoughts were wild and confused as she tried to think of how she could protect her brother. She couldn’t protect the entire village, but him… She could at least save him. She only hoped she could save herself as well. She didn’t want to leave Oka behind with no family, no one to look out for him.

There was only one person she could think of who could protect both of them, but she needed to do something first. Turning, she reached for the handle of the door, mind working overtime as she formulated a plan. It would be risky—maybe suicidal. She had to proceed cautiously or else everything could fall apart. As she briskly walked to her next delivery, her mind buzzed with scenarios.

It was going to be a long day.

⁂

Vallen took one last look at the tent he’d pitched—this time just beyond shouting distance from Shumei’s field—and tightened the nearest corner line. Perfect. He was a day early setting up, but his newest effort at surprising her would be a fresh-cooked meal, and he’d need time not only to catch a few fish but also prepare them.

Walking back to his horse, he was already imagining the look on her face. He’d be carrying her when she caught the scent of fried fish, fluffy rice, and whatever vegetables he could find—stewed and generously seasoned. She’d look at him with disbelief, then realization, and then he’d finally see her lovely lips curve upward with delight.

So far, she had refused to let him see what was no doubt a winsome smile, but he had heard joy in her voice the last few times they’d been together, the proof of which she had hidden every time. She’d cover her mouth or turn away or press her face against a pillow. He could guess why she felt the need to deny her emotions, and had concluded that whoever had taught her, either through word or action, to smother her happiness was a dishonorable fool. No doubt her village was full of such fools.

She’d smile for him this time, he was certain. He’d serve her a hearty meal, washed down with the best rice wine he could find within a reasonable distance of her far-flung village, and then he’d bring her such pleasure that she’d forget about the world outside the cloth walls of the tent.

He was a few steps from his horse when trepidation gripped his chest. The anxiety was not his, though, but Shumei’s, and it was far stronger than he’d ever felt from her before. Perhaps Akiji had caught her alone somewhere isolated. If that were the case, her magic would help protect her, he knew that—and he had promised through the binding never to “accost” Shumei outside of their negotiated trysts—but upon mounting his horse, he found himself turning it toward her village. He’d simply check on her, as he had done many times before, and he’d find her unharmed, as always.

So then why was he nudging his horse to go faster?

⁂

Shumei stayed a step outside the border of the witch’s alarm spell, tightly clutching her medicine pouch against her roiling stomach.

The magical aura around the hut had radically changed. Before, she had only felt Majo’s power in a vague sense, like catching the scent of lightning on the air, but now it exuded malice as tangible as a hot, putrid miasma.

The witch had gained a great deal of power practically overnight. Perhaps the other villagers could sense the change in the same way one might decide to avoid a shortcut for no other reason than just “a feeling,” but Shumei had a difficult time acting as though nothing was wrong. Another villager approached, and she tried her hardest to school her face to something resembling normal. He passed without comment.

The miller’s daughter had been found yesterday, hands tied behind her back and throat slit. Everyone was blaming a sex demon, but she knew it was no incubus, real or artificial. Someone like Vallen would have seduced the young woman and moved on, and a real incubus intent on sucking her dry of life energy would not have resorted to cutting her throat. Moreover, the young woman had been raped, and Shumei knew that sex demons were only nourished by the willing.

No, the miller’s daughter had been killed by something else, and Shumei was about to enter the murderer’s home. She had never asked Vallen to teach her defensive magic, but now she wished she had. She hadn’t thought she would need it yet. But if she were to achieve her goal, and soon, all she needed was courage.

She stepped forward, tripping the alarm spell around Majo’s house. The witch’s magic clung to her like cobwebs. The door opened on its own, popping past the catch in the doorjamb and swinging inward with a soft, scraping sound.

“Come inside, young lady,” Majo said, not seducing but commanding, voice brimming with confidence. Shumei entered, guard up.

The door closed on its own behind her, shutting them inside the witch’s candlelit room. Majo wore her spiderweb dress and looked far healthier than the last time Shumei had spoken to her. She stood straight, her posture full of grace. Shumei had the distinct impression of a spider at the center of its web. She tried not to let her fear show, but her magic prickled with anxiety.

Fighting hard not to curl into herself, she asked the obvious question. “What did you do?”

“Something I’ve been preparing for years. I sacrificed a lot to get to this day.”

Shumei’s fright congealed into a cold weight on her chest that stole her breath. The witch’s magic pressed down on her head, brushing close by her ears as if she were an insect flying too close to a web. It surrounded her on all sides, touching her, almost as real as drapes hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t soft… It was wet, clinging threads that oozed sticky sap.

“Have a seat,” Majo invited. “I have some tea you should try. A special blend of leaves that came all the way from Houfu.” She winked knowingly as she turned to the chest in the corner. Shumei didn’t move, couldn’t. She didn’t want to know what would happen if she ventured farther into the witch’s web.

Majo knelt and produced a key from within her belt. The lock on the chest opened with a heavy snap. Inside, a dark, book-shaped object sat on top of the money pouch the witch sought to retrieve. She lifted the book, and a flicker of candlelight flared at just the right angle, just the right second, for Shumei to catch a glimpse of a huge handprint on the cover. She barely stifled a gasp.

So it was true. Majo had the Devil’s Hand. Shumei’s fear shrank as her desperation grew. The book secured within that chest held Vallen’s cure. She had to get it.

Taking the witch’s advice, she made her way toward her usual spot, grimacing at the feel of Majo’s magic sticking to her. When seated, she set out the plants Majo had ordered and quickly slung her bag across her chest to keep her hands free. If the witch noticed she hadn’t removed her shoes, she didn’t say anything, nor did she even look at Shumei’s feet as she lowered herself onto her usual cushion.

Majo didn’t bother to examine her order, hand out to offer payment. Shumei lifted her arm, glad she wasn’t shaking, and ten one-hundred-kol pieces tumbled into her palm. She nearly dropped the money in shock and wondered what game the witch was playing at now.