Shotgun Sorceress - By Lucy A. Snyder Page 0,96

over the entries on Izanami’s other deadly child, the god of fire. If the gods truly feuded as Miko claimed they did, then Kagu-tsuchi wouldn’t want his little sister to complete her task, would he? If all this was real, then I ought to be able to contact the god of fire, somehow.

I went to my bedroom and arranged my medals in a big glass ashtray. I carried it down to the kitchen, set it on the counter, cracked open a bottle of brandy I’d been saving for company, and sloshed the liquor over the decorations. Part of my brain hollered at me for wasting good booze and ruining family heirlooms, but the rest reminded me that I had no real blood relatives left to inherit my treasures … except Miko, if she was telling the truth. And if she was, then contacting the god was a hell of a lot more important than a few medals.

“Okay, Kagu-tsuchi, if you’re out there, tell me what to do,” I muttered, then lit a match and threw it in the ashtray.

It blazed bright, and I stared into the flames. The Silver Star and Purple Heart began to blacken, and the ribbons crackled as they caught fire. The crackling got louder, and suddenly I heard a hissing voice inside my head:

“While the mother survived, the daughter shall die.”

The fire grew hotter, brighter, and suddenly the ashtray exploded. I stumbled back, momentarily blinded, eyebrows singed.

When the gray afterimage finally faded, I saw that the ashtray and medals were scorched slag, a black, bubbled mess melting into the countertop.

The memory faded into another one:

That night, I stood before the mirror, dressed in my old army uniform. The seat of my pants sagged and my belly bulged around the waistband, but the fit wasn’t that bad, considering.

I slipped the shiny Smith & Wesson and a road flare into the left pocket of my jacket. Then I carefully slid a Mason jar filled with home-brew napalm into my right pocket. I’d made the jellied gasoline that afternoon by soaking packing peanuts in gas; I hoped I’d made enough, hoped the jar wouldn’t leak.

I headed downstairs to my old Buick. It was a hot night, so I turned the AC up high as I drove. Mount Nebo was fifteen minutes outside town, hardly a mountain but certainly the largest bump in the flatland for miles. A local rancher had lived on Mount Nebo for a few decades, but five years ago his house had been hit by lightning and burned down, killing him and his family. Somebody back East had inherited the land, but nobody ever came out to do anything with it.

As I turned up the farm road toward Nebo, I saw the ruined chimney and walls silhouetted against the full moon. Below, I saw a flickering light, maybe a campfire? I parked the car off the road, clicked on my flashlight, and began to hike up the hill.

I had to pause midway to massage the rusty ache in my knees, and was wheezing badly by the time I reached the top. My dress shirt was sodden with sweat underneath my uniform jacket. When the blood stopped roaring in my ears, I realized I could hear Miko singing nearby, too softly for me to make out any words, but the sound sent an electric buzz through my chest and loins.

No. She was my enemy, and I had to stop her. I pulled out the Mason jar, unscrewed the lid with shaking hands, then hobbled around the weathered hunks of burned wood and cinder blocks to find Miko.

I turned a corner into what might have been a bedroom, and my breath caught in my throat. Miko was dancing naked on a red blanket surrounded by dozens of candles, from tiny white votives to slim tapers to enormous three-wick cylinders. The thin flames curled and flickered in the hot night breeze, and Miko’s dance mimicked them, her body twisting and rippling, the light gleaming on her hair, her breasts, her taut arms and legs. Maybe she had more muscles than I’d been brought up to think a woman ought to have, but she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The words to her serpentine melody were Japanese, but I understood the message: Come to me.

I wanted more than anything to go to her, to touch that wonderful body, but I knew what I had to do. She was the enemy. Swallowing nervously, I pulled out the road

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