Author's Note: Kudos to djkauf for betaing this for me. Pic Credit: Found at Comicvine.
This story is unfinished at this point. Thanks for all the comments, reviews, etc. I was able to finish the 4th chapter in this story. So we've got that much at least.

Chapter Two

Friday December 16, Year One

“Rise and shine, cupcake.”

I groaned. “Five more minutes.”

“Museum opens in three hours. You coming or what?”

Cracking one eye I looked up at him from my cot. “What museum?”

“Get dressed in your leathers. We’ll talk over breakfast.”

Tossing the cover off, I sat up. “You cooking?”

“Yeah, I’d rather not have food poisoning, not that I wouldn’t get over it quick enough, but it’s the cramps I can’t stand.”

“Ha… ha…. Ohh,” I faked my laugh. “Stop, you’re killin’ me.”

Logan had already made it to the kitchen portion of the one room cabin while I was digging in my pack. Storage room was at a minimum; that’s why all my clothes were still in the duffle bag. Leather was supposed to breathe or else it gets funky and grows this white stuff on the outside. I have no idea what it is; don’t ask.

Slipping them up my legs, I relished the feel of the soft processed animal hide. Over the last three months I’d only worn them a few times to go to the store for some more clothes and to the post office to get my new ID.

The wood chopping was paying off in spades. Even as a guy I’d never felt so good. While I wasn’t bulky, I had definition again and my stomach was as hard as a rock. It really didn’t take long for the daily workouts to produce effect. I was only soft, I wasn’t flabby, so Logan had me doing muscle and stamina building exercise/work tempered with katas after the first month.

He was big on Japanese martial arts, owned one of those katana’s and everything. He would never let me touch the thing. I tried once and nearly got sent home as a result. Needless to say, I just stared at it now and again ever since.

Once I had a thick red sweater and boots on I grabbed my jacket and hung it on the chair as Logan was dishing out scrambled eggs, homemade link sausage — you really don’t want to know how that was made — and filled the rest of the plate with hash browns.

I poked the sausage to the side of the plate and he frowned at me.

“That’s good deer meat. You need your protein.”

“If I have any more protein I’m going to start growing hair on my chest. I need carbs. I have no fat on me.”

“Eat and I’ll pick up some bran muffins on the way back.”

My eyes darted up at him. “With blueberries?”

He dropped the skillet on the table and sat down. “Eat.”

I cut the sausage in three pieces and added a lot of hash browns and eggs on top before taking a bite.

“Why are we going to a museum?”

I watched as he swallowed an entire link. He may have chewed enough to break it in half. It was hard to tell with him.

“Have to check on something. I donated something to them and every three months I check to make sure it’s still displayed as promised.”

That kind of shocked me. “You actually have something a museum would want?”

“I have hidden depths.”

With a shrug I dug in and finished breakfast. After I brushed my teeth, I sat down and tried to put on a little makeup. Lucille’s instructions were a big help and since I only put it on a couple of times when I went to town, I still wasn’t very good at the process.

“What are you doing?”

Waving a tube of mascara at him I said, “Putting on makeup. I need the practice.”

He shook his head in confusion and went to his dresser to get ready. Over the three months I’d seen Logan with his shirt off more times than I could count, but I was still frozen in time whenever he took it off. After the first month, when I wasn’t in so much pain at the end of the day I figured out that I was attracted to him.

You’d laugh at the thoughts that ran though my head during that week. Most of them ran along the lines of, was I gay? It didn’t matter that he was probably twenty years older than me; whatever his metagene did, it gave him a youthful look, only a handful of years older than I was. I guess that was enough.

The remaining two months I spent dealing with that revelation. I know he’d never go for me. I mean he had sex with my mom. How freaky would that be for me to do that same? Not to mention I still wasn’t on the pill and I seriously doubted Logan was a condom type guy.

In case you haven’t noticed it yet, the man can literally live off of the land. He only goes to the general store for some staples and the occasional pallet of eggs. I mean, who really makes their own flour? Nobody. While he did have a garden for vegetables mostly, there’s something to be said for keeping in touch with humanity.

Anyway, once he had on his flannel shirt I could breathe again.

“Stupid. He’ll never notice you. And why would you want him to? That way leads to badness, and you’re not ready for that anyway.”

“Did you say something?”

I threw a look over my shoulder. “No… I’m just… stupid eyeliner.”

“I thought that was called mascara?”

Looking at the tube in my hand, I frowned at him. “Whatever.”

Forgetting about his improved hearing I mentally kicked myself. Oh that’s another thing. His freaking senses. He can smell everything.

The first time I had my period was a nightmare.

I was running along and he stopped to check me over. I’ll never forget that day for the rest of my life.

“Are you cut?”

“What?”

“I smell blood.”

“Oh my freaking God!”

What all of this is leading to is he can tell when I’m turned on, if you get my drift? The first time I noticed it was during one of his many shirt removing episodes. I had myself a little fantasy in my head much like I did as a guy. Except girls and guys react differently. I was sitting in front of the fire and he had just come in from chopping his own cord of wood. Off comes the shirt and up pops a scene in my head where I accidently trip and fall onto him, then we kiss and a bear skin rug entered the picture, I have no idea why.

It was then that Logan’s nostrils widened and he looked right at me, hard and somewhat steamy. Then he was up and out the door a second later to take a shower.

Needless to say, I was mortified.

He hasn’t walked around without his shirt off for more than necessary ever since. Dammit.

“Do I need anything,” I said as I slipped my jacket on and made sure my hair was pinned underneath. It really saves on tangles, wearing it that way.

“No.”

I clipped my hip purse on and made sure I had my cell so I could give Mom a call. Service sucks in the forest. While I was doing so, I watched Logan take his sword off the wall and slip it into a long plastic tube that I was pretty sure was supposed to be a map holder. Then he slapped a small padlock on it and tossed the whole thing over to hang on his back.

“Why are you bringing your sword?”

“Because we’ll be gone most of the day.”

Like I was supposed to understand that and just go along like it was another one of his weird idiosyncrasies. “Oookay. Do I need to bring my Uzi?”

He looked up at me and blinked. “Do you have an Uzi?”

“No.”

“Then don’t bring it.”

~O~

Logan had his own motorcycle, and I spent most of the trip to his right and one bike length behind. By the time we entered into the parking lot of the foreign history museum, my butt was numb.

I locked my helmet down and followed him in.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said.

“Do I look like I’m five?”

He just grunted and went inside with me in his wake.

We wove through the mostly empty corridors until we reached the Japanese Hall. As you’d expect, there were a lot of swords and pointy things that you poke people with, ceremonial masks, a big red dragon’s head and lot of silk things. In other words, boring!

“Logan,” an old Japanese guy came in with a smile on his face.

I made myself busy while Logan pressed the flesh and did geeky Japanese stuff that I had no interest in. Yes, I kept my hands in my jacket so I wouldn’t touch the ancient priceless swords.

If they didn’t want anyone to touch them, I don’t know why they didn’t put up those red ropes or put the stupid things behind glass. I mean they were just asking for some preteen to come in there and try to reenact a scene from Naruto.

Looking at Logan and the other guy, I sighed. It looked like they were going to be at it for the long haul, so I tried to slowly make my way around the entire hall to keep myself occupied.

“Sword… sword… pokey thing… bamboo thing… long boring written history about something Japanese that nobody in their right mind would care about… sword… another pokey thing… freaky devil mask.”

I stopped at the freaky devil mask behind a glass enclosure and read the placard.

One fine morning, in those younger days when he still wore steel instead of a wooden sword, Myamoto Musashi came to a bridge, only to find his path blocked by another samurai. Musashi said that the way is only wide enough for one. It is only fitting that the lesser man step aside to let the better one pass.

The samurai agreed. So, if Musashi would be so kind as to do so, then he would be on his way. Musashi bowed, telling him it seems they have a difference of opinion that only their blades can settle. The samurai agreed, also bowing.

And as one with blinding speed two gleaming katanas leapt from the lacquered scabbards. For one minute, the men stood poised, their eyes locked and then they sheathed their steel, bowed and went their separate ways, never to cross paths again.

“What the heck does that have to do with the mask? Japanese people are weird.”

Leaning in, I took a better look at the mask. It wasn’t ceramic or plastic; in fact, I didn’t know what it could be made of. Since it was in a museum, it had to be old, so it probably wasn’t latex. The slightly open mouth had a set of teeth inside. The canines were enlarged and pointed, demonic looking if you will, and there were two fairly good-sized horns on the upper portion of the forehead. All of it, except for the teeth, was a uniform red.

My hand hovered in front of the glass and before I knew it, I had the mask in my grasp. It was stiff, but not hard. The inside was just as red as the outer portion.

Don’t ask me why, but I had an overwhelming urge to hold it up to my face, just for a moment.

I’m young again, no more than four or five. Master Ogun, my sensei stands in front of me, ordering me to match his movements. I do so, being clumsy but determined. Trying again and again.

Slightly older, he begins teaching me the shuriken. Again, I am not good enough, but I slowly get better. Then the bo staff and the sai.

Years stack onto years in my memory. He is standing, meditating with his sword and I sneak up behind him. As I reach out to touch, sensei turns, swinging his blade around. I become like a ghost and the blade passes harmlessly through me.

More years pass. I learn the way of concealment, espionage, sabotage, assassination, counter measures, tactics, disguises, and the ways of Kuji-kiri.

I am a young woman, standing before my master, battling him with the katana. We are evenly matched, my youth and speed countering his experience. He backs away slashing with his hand. I block the hand-seal of cutting with the hand-seal of shield then lunge.

Master Ogun stabs forward with a killing strike. I ghost through the sword and hold my katana at his neck with my own.

“Musume-san, I am proud of you.”

He calls me daughter, instead of student, for the first time.

He orders me one last time to match his movements, this time with the katana. Both of our movements match precisely as we act in perfect synchronicity. Each movement brings us closer, form, thoughts, realities flowing together, until at last, in reality there is only me.

“Kitty!”

The mask is torn away from me from behind. I grabbed the attacker’s wrist and spin around, slamming his elbow with a palm strike. Hearing a satisfying snap of cartilage indicating the dislocating of his forearm, I pulled him forward and down to deliver two knee strikes to his face.

“GRRAAAHHH!” he screamed.

He reached for me and I ghost through and behind him delivering an elbow strike to his neck, but this time he is too fast and grabs my leg to unbalance me. Instead of allowing it to happen, I jump into the air and twist around to kick him in the face with my free leg.

This only seemed to enrage him even further. Before I could ghost away again he grabbed my other leg and slammed my back onto the floor knocking the wind from me.

“Kitty, stop! This isn’t you!”

I reached for my katana strapped to my back only to find it isn’t there. His grip is like steel until I ghost through it and roll backward, regaining a proper defensive stance.

A second to measure my surroundings is all I need.

My attacker pointed his finger at me. “Don’t,” he said. Warning was in his voice, but I have been trained to ignore threats. They have no meaning to me.

I feint to the right and lunge to the left, leaping high atop one of the displays to retrieve a proper weapon. There was only time to grab one katana and dodge to the side avoiding my attacker’s weapon. I spin in the air and land in a crouch, bringing the katana to bear.

Tiger Claw is his chosen weapon, though they are unlike anything I have ever seen. Instead of the traditional three-bladed weapon held in the opponent’s fist, it seems to be coming from the fist itself.

“Kitty, don’t make me do this,” he said.

I ignore him and lunge. His blades come up in an excellent defense stopping me from getting even close enough for a crippling or killing strike.

A thought goes through my head of annoyance that I didn’t dislocate his right arm as I had originally thought, though he was favoring that side of his body. I’d hurt him, but not enough to cripple.

Ghosting through his defense I scored a hit on his left shoulder, but not deep enough. He was unnaturally fast and rolled away before I could take his arm off.

Before he could regain his footing I leaped to his right to take advantage of his weak side only to be blocked again. I realized, far too late, it was a trap. I only caught a glimpse of his fist before it connected to my face.

~O~

My jaw was throbbing when I came to on the couch in some office.

“Oww,” I whimpered as I lightly touched my jaw.

The door opened and Logan was standing there looking at me with concern and wariness all rolled up into one.

“Waa happen?” I slurred, mainly because I could barely make my mouth work.

He frowned. “What do you remember?”

I shook my head. “I was jus’ lookin’ at stuff, and now mah jaw hur’s.”

Logan took a couple of steps into the office. I could see his fists clenched like he was right on the edge about something.

“You got a power kid, and it don’t got nothin’ to do with sleepwalking.”

Throwing my feet to the floor, I sat up. Logan tensed again so I relaxed and didn’t bother standing.

“What’d I do?” My jaw hurt talking like that, but at least I didn’t sound like I’d just taken a trip to the dentist.

He grunted. “You dislocated my elbow and broke my nose.”

There were spots of blood on the front of his shirt and a good amount on his left shoulder, not to mention a pretty nice piece of his shirt missing at the same place.

My mouth opened and I stared at him.

“I told you not to touch anything. When did you know you could phase?”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Phase… make your body move through things.”

“I…”

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

With a slow shake of my head I watched as he relaxed his hands then motioned to the door. “Come on, half pint. I’ll buy you lunch.”

When I got up, I winced a little at the pain in my back. Logan kept an eye on me as we went outside. In addition to his map carrier he had a package with him which he stored in his motorcycle’s saddlebag.

We drove to, where else, a Japanese restaurant. I hated Oriental food.

Noticed I said hated, as in the past tense?

When I got in there, the smells overwhelmed me and I had to have an order of Crab Rangoon and Eggplant with garlic sauce. And here’s the thing. I ordered it all in fluent Japanese.

“What?” I sat there looking at Logan who was eyeing me with a great amount of concern.

“When did you learn Japanese?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just ordered in perfect Japanese with a Kōgo accent.”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I did not. What’s a Kōgo?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Does the name Ogun mean anything to you?”

I moved to say no, but stopped myself. “Uh… it sounds familiar.”

That earned me a grunt. “He was once a samurai who made himself into a warlord. Kōgo was the region he ruled over in Japan. I assume you’ve heard of the term, Ninja?”

He had me right up until there. “You mean like short guys all dressed in black with those funky toe shoes and…”

His face screwed up. “No, I don’t mean that stupid Hollywood manufactured bull. I mean real Ninja, Shinobi.”

“Oh, yeah, I have that game on my old PS2. It’s kind of lame though. I didn’t know you played video games… or had a TV for that matter.”

“Kid, you’re killin’ me here.”

Then I saw he was serious. “You’re not bullshitting me?”

The waiter reappeared with our appetizers and I slipped my chopsticks out, attacking the Crab Rangoon.

“Ogun was around in the mid-fifteenth century. There were a lot of skirmishes and wars at the time and the local warlords were always looking for an advantage.”

He was losing me again. History was always my worst subject.

“Ogun trained a bunch of his students in combat, and spy shit. Then he hired them out to go in and burn down enemy castles. That went well, so he started training them for assassinations and so on. They were called Shinobi.”

I swallowed and sipped at my tea. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Do you remember that red mask with the horns?”

Again, I was about to say no, but I did remember. A piece of my appetizer was halfway to my mouth when I remembered sticking my hand through the display case and pulling it out.

“Oh… shit…”

I set my chopsticks on the table trying to recall more. It was just out of reach, like trying to remember something that was on the tip of my tongue, except it was on the tip of my brain.

Do brains have tips?

“What the hell was that thing?” I said.

“Ogun’s mask.”

“Oh, okay. Whew, and here I was thinking that it was one of those Japanese party favors they use for Chinese New Year celebrations.” I gave it a three count. “You want to expand on that little tidbit and maybe tell me why I have the feeling I did a Jason Voorhees? Oh, and don’t leave out the part where it’s just sitting there for anyone to pick up and have their brains scrambled.”

His lips were pursed with annoyance at me. “I’ve tried destroying it. It just comes back.”

“Did you try fire, acid, active volcanoes, the space shuttle?”

“I haven’t tried the space shuttle. Odds are it’ll come back. It’s an ancient…”

I raised a hand. “Hold on… you really tried a volcano?”

“Diamondhead, 1993. Can I continue now?”

“Not if you’re going to talk about ancient history. I just don’t have the attention span needed to follow along. Can you give me the Cliff’s Notes version?”

It looked like he pondered that for a moment before beginning. “Ogun is the Japanese version of the Dread Pirate Roberts. That mask contains his evil soul or whatever you want to call it. Someone puts it on, and after a long enough time he comes back in their body, sets up shop, and starts selling Shinobi to the highest bidder.”

The hand that was holding my tea cup started shaking. “H-how long is long enough?”

His eyes dropped down to the table. “I don’t know.”

The waiter returned but my appetite had already left the building.

“Is he inside me, Logan?”

The answer was long in coming and I patiently waited.

“A portion of him is, or else you’d never have been able to fight me. I don’t know if the mask had enough time to… I don’t know.”

I reached across the table for his Sake cup, filled it and then downed the shot. “I want to go home.”

I sounded pathetic and scared, like an eight year old that knew Mommy could make it all better.

He immediately shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. Not until I know for sure.”

I didn’t ask the next question, because I already knew the answer, and a happy ending wasn’t involved. Instead, I moved the subject along.

“How’d you get involved with this?”

Logan gave me a quirk of his lips. “I met him after a skirmish. One of his men tried to stick me in the back and Ogun killed him for his lack of honor on the battlefield. We traded words and before I knew what was happening, he was training me.”

I was somewhat surprised. “You actually knew him; the real him?”

He nodded.

“Wait a second… I thought you said this guy was around in the fifteenth century.”

“That’s right.”

My breath caught. “Exactly how old are you, Logan?”

He filled the Sake cup and looked at it for a few moments. “Old enough. Let’s get out of here.”

~O~

The two hour trip back to the cabin was a lonely affair. I led this time. I guess Logan wanted to keep an eye out on me to make sure I didn’t run off and start a secret ninja school in Idaho or something. That left me plenty of time to think about the whole he’s older than dirt scenario.

I wondered about his healing ability, if that was the cause.

From what I remembered, Logan looked pretty much the same as he did when I knew him in Canada, in the face I mean. He was obviously a lot bigger, muscle-wise. The only thing I remembered that changed was his hair, and how simple would that be to run a few comb-fulls of bleach or white shoe polish or something in there to make it look like he was aging.

Maybe that’s why Mom couldn’t stay with him.

Maybe that’s why he lives in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe that’s why I would never have a chance with him.

I closed my eyes briefly, chastising myself for thinking about him in that way again. It was like I was a stupid lovesick teen girl. All I needed was the heaving breasts and the cliché would be complete. Being a chick sucked.

So here I am, a recently transformed metahuman who might or might not be possessed by the spirit of some whacked out ninja wannabe. Why not go for the Murphy’s Law trifecta and throw in something that will cap off a perfectly screwed up life?

What could top those two?

~O~

“Go meditate,” he said after I changed out of my leathers.

“Why?” I normally don’t question Logan when he gives me something to do. There’s usually a purpose behind his activities. Considering what happened, I thought we’d sit down and talk through this thing.

Thankfully he didn’t give me any grief for asking like he normally would.

“Because, if Ogun is in your head, then you need to strengthen up your mental reserves. I don’t want him gaining anymore of a foothold than he already has.”

The area in front of the fireplace was cleared since it started snowing outside. Minnesota in December wasn’t really friendly to bare skin or even light winter wear.

I went to change into my workout outfit, which was still short stretchy shorts and a sports bra, grabbed my hanbō and began going through my katas.

You may be familiar with the bo. It’s just a stick of wood about six feet tall. There are different variations, makes of wood, metal bandings and so forth. A hanbō is generally half the length. Mine was thirty-five inches long, coming up to the tops of my hips. It’s a weapon that pretty much anyone can carry with them without being arrested. Ever heard of a cane?

Granted, almost anything can be a deadly weapon if you knew how to use it properly.

I practiced with both and that was the extent of my informal weapons training. However, being inside is not conducive to training with a lengthy weapon. Hence the hanbō.

Normally, I warm up and then begin my kata. There are only sixteen movements at the start. I still hadn’t gotten the first form down without mistakes and until I did, Logan wasn’t going to teach me anymore. The man was severely anal about his martial arts.

After the warm up I centered myself and tried to blank out my mind so there wasn’t anything to think about except for my lesson. It’s harder than you think. I was painfully aware of Logan’s movements throughout the cabin, even though my back was to him. Not to mention all the crap that went on in Duluth was weighing on my mind. I began anyway.

By the time I’d entered into the third movement I felt a lot more centered and I was able to push away the events in the city. By the time I entered the sixth movement, Logan wasn’t a distraction anymore, even though I still knew exactly where he was standing. By the ninth movement there was nothing but me and my hanbō.

The movements felt fluid, one moving into the next with no effort beyond what I put into them. When I felt the end approaching, I concentrated on searching for the bad guy in my head. Not that I had any idea what I was doing, but what would you try in my place?

I tried opening my senses and looking in the darkness, standing in the museum staring at the red mask and my hand reaching through the display case to pull it out.

Flashes of holding a pair of Sai entered my head and then after that, throwing a handful of Shurikin. Throughout it all I never saw a face to put to the bad guy. Wielding a wooden practice sword was next.

“Kitty.”

My eyes snapped open. Logan was standing behind me and there was a faint smell of blood in the air.

Slowly turning my head, I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

“What’d I do wrong this time?”

It was traditional for Logan to point out bad positioning or a skipped movement. It’s how I learned.

“Nothing. Tell me what you just did.”

His voice was even and concerned, much like it was in the office when I woke up to a severely bruised jaw… which didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“Uh… the sixteen movements of the first form and then I went searching for Ogun. I remember a little of the training, but I didn’t see him personally.”

There was an unfamiliar sound, kind of like a snick. I couldn’t place it quite right.

He grunted. “You did all nine forms without a single mistake, and then some glowy thing at the end.”

My stance was still. I hadn’t moved since I’d turned my head. Since I only knew the first form, performing all nine was kind of freaky and worrying.

“Are you going to kill me now?” I almost whispered.

“No. You held it together. Dinner’s ready. Eat and get some sleep. Tomorrow I’m going to see exactly what Ogun put in your head.”

~O~

I either didn’t dream or I don’t remember doing so. Logan had me up right before the break of dawn, dressed, and eating breakfast. Inside, in front of a newly stoked fire, I spent a lot longer than I should have showing Logan my knowledge of unarmed combat styles.

He’d tell me to do something in Japanese and I’d either immediately know how to do it or he’d start showing it to me and I’d finish the movement.

All told, I knew and could flawlessly perform twenty-seven katas of Shōtōkan-ryÅ« Karate, an untold amount of Pre-World War II Aikido — apparently there’s different kinds and I knew a crap-load of them — and lastly, the nineteen Bugei JÅ«happan which was some sort of samurai fighting art skills which were adopted and corrupted by Ogun for his super-secret Ninja school.

According to Logan, I had more than a lifetime of martial arts knowledge downloaded into my brain. All of this was from putting a red mask on my face for an untold amount of time. Aren’t I the lucky one?

The one thing I didn’t like was the grim look on his face throughout the day. Every time he thought I wasn’t watching, I saw his jaw tightening and his fists clenching.

By day’s end I was told to go shower and start on dinner. I kept an eye on him sitting out on the porch smoking his cigar and nursing a beer. It looked like he was talking to himself every once in a while. It made me wonder exactly how much time I had left.

What do you do in a situation like this?

I could run, but if Ogun was really stuffed in my head, did I want to unleash him on the world?

Should I just grab that katana hanging over Logan’s bed and finish it myself?

Dinner was a somber affair. We ate our salads and the grilled deer meat. Logan drank three beers. I had bottled water.

When I was finished, I pushed away from the table and sat there staring over Logan’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you just do it and get it over with?” I asked. “We both know I’m fucked.”

I caught him in mid-swig. He stopped and looked at me, then set his bottle on the table.

“Because I ain’t seen no sign of him.” He picked up his beer by the neck and pointed a finger at me while he stood. “And I don’t want to hear you talkin’ like that anymore.”

When he gathered the empty bowls, I looked up at him. “What about at the museum?”

He shook his head. “That was different.”

“How?”

He walked away from me, toward the kitchen. “It just was.”

“Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

“It won’t help.”

I hated it when he started his short answers BS. It meant that I was getting shut down. This time was different; it wasn’t some need-to-know-secret that I didn’t need to know.

“It’ll help me understand. I need to understand. Who was this guy? Why is he evil if he taught you? Why is he stuck in a mask and gets his jollies from making more evil ninjas?”

My voice started cracking at the end. “Why won’t you look me in the eyes anymore? Am I that disgusting?”

The bowls clanged around and I watched as Logan gripped the edge of the sink, squeezing the wood until I heard it groan under the pressure.

“I’m ashamed of myself, okay!” he snapped. “I should have warned you. Even if I thought it was safe enough behind the spelled glass, I should have warned you to stick next to me. It’s my fault.”

I jumped when his bottle went flying and crashed against the wall. He turned to me and I could see the anguish in his eyes.

The thought never occurred to me to blame him for what happened. Logan had never raised his hand to me in anger. Sure, he chewed on my ass every once in a while when I did something I wasn’t supposed to, but I considered that natural. The thought that he would knowingly hurt me before that day was a foreign concept.

“Logan…”

He shook his head and walked determinedly to the front door, grabbing his jacket along the way. “I’m going hunting. Don’t wait up.”

When the door closed I sighed and ran my hands through my hair.

“It’s not your fault,” I said to nobody.

~O~

It had to be three degrees outside and Logan wanted to go hunting. I lay in my cot, staring at the fire, wishing he’d show up so I could let him know I didn’t blame him for what happened, but he was likely to be gone for most of the night. Even in freezing temperatures he liked to run around in the middle of the night chasing deer. How he caught and killed them without any sort of weapon or trap I had no idea.

Just as I’d finally given up hope he’d return, my eyes went from half-hooded to wide open.

Something wasn’t right.

I looked at the front door for a moment and then threw off the covers. All I was wearing was my football jersey and a pair of panties as I sat up and stretched out my senses.

The only thing I heard was the crackling of the fire, but something still felt really off, like I wasn’t alone.

“Logan?” I whispered.

No answer.

I grabbed my warm up pants and slipped them on before picking up my hanbō.

Without moving the curtain, I peeked out the back. Nothing. My next trip was to the front door, avoiding two floorboards that I knew squeaked when pressure was put on them. Again there was nothing, but I knew something was out there.

I stepped into my bunny slippers that Logan thought would be a funny gift the last time he went into town, then I opened the door.

The night was very still, with no wind and no snow. Taking a step out onto the porch I looked out over the forest. There wasn’t much to see in the black of night since there was only a half moon and its light was filtered through the trees.

“Who’s out there?”

My voice sounded strong, but I was shaking inside.

In response I heard something whirring through the air. The hanbō was up in a quarter of a second, vibrating slightly as two throwing stars imbedded themselves in the shaft.

I saw something green and fluid on the points which I somehow recognized as poison.

“Seriously?”

Before anything else was sent flying at me, I jumped inside and slammed the door, dropping the two by four across the middle to make sure it didn’t open for anyone but me. Turning around, I raced to the back and did the same there.

I looked at the hanbō and tossed it aside. “Screw this.”

Three steps later, I jumped on Logan’s bed and grabbed his katana, unsheathing the blade.

Giving it a twirl to get the feel of the balance, I was impressed. It felt so incredibly right in my hand.

Besides the two doors, there were two windows and there wasn’t much I could do about them at the moment so I hopped down off the bed and stood in the middle of the cabin with the katana in the ready position.

Slowing my breathing was the first order of business. Panicking would get me dead. I reached down underneath the fear that was making itself known and found the calm that had been taught to me.

“Center yourself, Kitty,” I whispered.

Once I was collected I reached out again and listened. Something was running across the ceiling. It sounded like a squirrel, but I knew better.

“If that’s you screwing with me, Logan, I am so going to kick your ass.”

Glass crashed and a small figure, dressed in black rolled to a stop on the other side of Logan’s bed. I could have sworn it was someone dressed up like a ninja.

“You’re got to be kidding me.” Taking a step forward, I kept my guard up. “You picked the wrong cabin to play ninja, bub. And you’re paying for that window.”

I saw a black blur and moved instinctively to the right, batting away three throwing spikes with the sword. Instead of waiting, I rushed him and my blade met his for a brief second before I counter attacked. Two brief flashes of metal and I opened his throat.

Bile rose up into my mouth as blood sprayed across my face.

He crumpled to the ground and I spat the acidic taste out on the floor in front of him. Without waiting around, I unsheathed his tantō, for lack of a better word, a dagger, and gripped it in my left hand.

Crossing the floor, I pushed the piece of wood barring the door and pulled it open. Holding up the tantō I extended my ring and pinky fingers.

“On jiterashi itara jibaratanō sowaka,” I said in a faint whisper.

My senses expanded outward, becoming one with the forest and my surroundings, feeling for things that did not belong; there were a lot of them.

Without waiting, I turned to the left and sprinted toward the closest one. Leaping off the porch, I met him jumping out of a tree that overlooked the cabin. It was probably how one of them got on the roof. Our blades met and I drove the tantō into and out of his chest before either of us landed on the ground.

I kept to my feet as I felt the others converging on my position. More shurikin were thrown and I ducked out of the way before three of them were upon me.

Releasing the air in my lungs I ducked under their attack and swept my katana across two of their midsections while I sank the tantō in the crotch of the third, ripping upward.

Spinning around I faded into the shadows. Ten more were in front of the cabin, frozen in place searching the tree line for any sign of me.

Raising my right hand, I extended my index finger into the air.

“On irotahi chanoga jiba tai sowaka.”

Time seemed to slow for those dressed in black while I moved forward. I could see their eyes start to track me, but they couldn’t move their blades fast enough to block me before I was upon them. I left the tantō in the first ninja’s chest and took my katana in two hands, decapitating the second, cutting open the third from shoulder to hip and disemboweling the fourth, all the moves flowing flawlessly into the next, using the minimum amount of effort need to accomplish the task.

The fifth lost his hands and the sixth actually blocked my blade a half second before I kicked him across the clearing and engaged the seventh.

Then everything started speeding back up. Sensing something behind me, I arched my back underneath the seventh opponent strike and let his blade pass harmlessly over me before three throwing spikes appeared in his chest.

“GRRAAAHHH!”

Logan exploded out of the tree line and I saw three blades appear out of the chest of my cowardly attacker as his head was twisted almost completely around.

The remaining two ninja-wannabes made a break for it and I chased them down.

“Kitty, wait!”

Not a chance. I just happen to get the gigabyte torrent of some ninja master downloaded into my head and all the sudden guys in black were attacking. It was all too convenient for me and if Logan wasn’t going to give me any answers, I’d get them myself.

Once they hit the tree line, they split up and I chose the larger one to trail. After spending three months running around those woods, I knew them like the back of my hand so I didn’t get tripped up on any felled trees or trap myself in a thicket, unlike my prey.

I heard Logan roar off to my right. Apparently he didn’t feel like leaving the other guy to his own devices. That left the last one for me.

His costume blended well with the shadows, but I already had his number. He was too close for me to lose this easy. Once he made a quick turn that lead to the thin trail approaching the cabin, I cut him off and leaped out to meet him face to face.

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?”

This one had two blades which he was wind-milling in front of him like some bad Benihana commercial in a lame attempt to confuse me.

“Seriously? I just killed eleven of your douchebag buddies and you think that’s supposed to scare me?”

“On ishanaya intaraya sowaka,” I quickly said, slashing my hand in the air across his body.

He screamed out in pain and dropped his swords. Before he had the chance to roll away, I slammed the point of my katana through his midsection and into the ground pinning him like a butterfly to a cork board.

“Who sent you?” I yelled.

I was about to jab him with a rather sensitive pressure point but white foam started coming out of his mouth and his body shuddered before going still. The scent of almonds filled the air.

“Cyanide? Are you kidding me?”

Footfalls sounded in the area. I grabbed the katana and jerked it out of the suicide and turned to face whoever thought it was a good idea to try to assassinate me.

Logan raced around a rather thick tree and slid to a stop raising his hands to me with three wicked blades coming out of each of his fists.

I dropped my guard and glared at him. “Friends of yours?”

He grimaced and the blades retracted with a snikt-snikt sound into his hands. I watched as he lowered his arms and looked down at the fallen ninja.

“Get his weapons,” Logan said.

I raised an eyebrow at him and watched as he picked the guy up and tossed him over his back.

“Come on. We need to get back before you freeze to death.”

Curiously, I wasn’t cold in the slightest, but thought it was better to be cautious at the moment. Scooping up the ninja’s two ninjatō, I trailed behind Logan until we reached the cabin and the slaughter I left behind.

He tossed the one he was carrying on the ground.

“Get inside and clean up. I’ll get rid of the mess.”

TBC...

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