Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [58]
They were a concern, but a minor one. Summer Hawthorne had been chosen for a reason. Hana Hayashi would never have entrusted such a treasure to someone who couldn’t keep it secure, nor would she have shared her knowledge. It was a great tragedy that he hadn’t been able to make the old woman talk, a sin that he’d let anger overtake him and he’d ended her life before he found out what he needed to know.
He’d been much younger then, and only beginning to understand his destiny. It had been ordained since the beginning of time that he would run his aunt over with an automobile before he found the family treasure he was searching for. The treasure that would assure his ascendance and transfiguration.
But it hadn’t been his time. At that point he had only a few hundred followers, and his path wasn’t as clear to him as it was now.
No, all was unfolding as it was meant to be, and each new hurdle was simply to test his readiness for the coming storm. He would handle each obstacle as he faced it.
The girl had thrown her sacred water at Brother Kenno, a crime of such blasphemy that his holiness was only glad that it hadn’t been Brother Heinrich. But then, he’d kept Brother Heinrich far away from the girl. The Shirosama’s tools were varied and well honed, but one didn’t need to use an ax when a dagger would suffice. At this point there was nothing to be gained from having Jilly Lovitz undergo Heinrich’s inventive ministrations.
Perhaps she would be a reward to his faithful follower when all finally came together. Though in fact he’d promised him the older sister. While Heinrich might prefer the softer virgin flesh of the young one, his rage toward the older one would feed his pleasure.
The Shirosama shook his head. Heinrich was still so young, so driven by fleeting gratification that he was unready for the higher purpose in store for him.
But that would change. Events were coming together. The Shirosama could feel the winds of power swirling around his head, and he knew his time as a mortal was short.
The time and day most suited for the reunification ceremony were almost upon them. The True Realization Fellowship would retrieve the true urn. They would find where the ruins of the old temple were. Summer Hawthorne was the only living human being who had the information, passed on by his distrusting aunt, though she seemed not to know she had it.
He would help her remember, once he got the Yakuza off his back and the younger sister to break. And then all would unfold accordingly, and the end of the world would be set in motion. He would ascend, chaos would follow, and then nothing but blessed emptiness.
He folded his hands over his belly, let his eyes drift closed, and meditated happily. All would be as it was written.
If only he could find the rest of the text.
The woman moved through the Spartan halls of the True Realization Fellowship with purposeful strides. She had been brought in from Germany, an acknowledged expert in the gift of eliciting information, with or without pain, and she’d been summoned to Los Angeles at great expense. She carried her Hermes bag with her, the silk-wrapped pouch of tools in the bottom.
The brethren ignored her, as they’d been trained, their belief in the Shirosama’s will absolute. Most female followers were devout and plainly dressed, their heads shaved. This one was wearing the requisite white, but if anyone had looked they would have known it was a designer suit, and the sleek chignon of dark hair, the perfectly made-up face, were an affront to their ways.
Even her shoes were an insult—the sharp tap of high heels on tile floors seemed to mock the barefoot followers. She was there for a reason, however, and she must follow the Shirosama’s teachings despite her flagrant disregard of modesty.
The brethren turned their heads away, moving on as the woman stopped by the cell that held the noisy girl. They knew better than to linger—his holiness tolerated no questions, and