A Winter of Ghosts

Chapter Thirteen

Sakura knew she was dreaming,but only in that distant way which never seems to make the dream feel any lessreal. Standing on the shore of Miyazu Bay, she gazed across the bay at theblack pines that grew thick on Ama-no-Hashidate and at the horizon beyond. Theair shimmered with a dim gold light that made it feel like twilight, or likethat moment just before a storm broke, when the air grew thick with static andmoisture and the promise of rain, and thunder would roll in from the distance,like a stampede of horses about to come over the rise.

But there were no horseshere. No thunder. Just the quiet lap of water against the shore.

She wore her school uniform,and yet not hers. Sakura personalized hers as much as possible with pins andbadges, and it had never really fit her well. But what she wore now waspristine and crisp, brand new and a perfect fit. Perfect. That was her. Theperfect student. The perfect child. The perfect sister.

But, of course, she had neverbeen any of those things. That had always been Akane.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice echoing over the water.

But Akane did not answer. Thetrees whispered back in her stead, and as happened so often in dreams, Sakurarealized that she had not noticed them until now. She stepped back from thewater and turned to study the trees. They were so close that their branchesseemed to be reaching for her, but it wasn't the trees that frightened her.

The ground sloped up from thebay and at the top of that slope stood the silhouette of Monju-no-Chie school. Yetwhen she glanced at the school she frowned, narrowing her gaze. Somethingseemed off and it took her a moment to realize that the building seemed to haveshrunk.

No. It's not smaller. Justfurther away.

Of course. So far. Toofar. When the killers came for her, there would be no safety to be found therefor the girl who would die on the muddy slope.

Muddy? she thought, glancingdown. And then it was. She could smell fresh rain, as though a storm had justpassed, and the ground was soft and spongy underfoot. The grass on the slopewas slicked down. In places — where it had been worn away by generationsof students making a path down to the bay — the soil had turned dark andmalleable. Mud.

Fear rippled through Sakuraand her breath came too fast, matching her racing heart. This was all wrong. Sheglanced at the bay again, then spun toward the trees, wondering if that waswhere the attack would originate. Who had killed her? Who would killher?

Not you. They killed Akane.

And then the memories swarmedin. She looked out at the water where they had drowned her sister, but it hadnot started in the bay. It had begun here, on this muddy ground. They hadbeaten her savagely, kicking her nearly to death even before they got her tothe water.

But Akane was still here. Somehowshe knew that.

Grief rolled in like thestorm she had felt before had finally arrived. She wanted to shout at thenight, to cry to the heavens, to tear her hair and scream. Out of the corner ofher eye she saw something white flutter in the darkness and she spun to seewhat it had been. A length of black hair flew behind as the figure darted intothe tree;, branches swayed, and it was gone. But Sakura knew the girl wouldn'tstay hidden for very long and she did not want to see her. . the killer. Perhapsthey were all there, the faceless, merciless girls who had murdered her sister.

She found herself walkingtoward the trees.

Maybe they've come for me thistime, she thought. Immediately the idea took root and grew. She stoodstaring into the trees, breathing hard, something rising up inside of her, ascream, a plea, a certainty she had never put into words before. And, at last,turning toward the water, she let it out.

"Why did you leave mebehind?" she screamed.

I did not leave you, a voicewhispered in her ear — Akane's voice. I'm still here.

Slowly, Sakura turned, andshe saw Akane standing on the muddy slope, a red bow in her hair, her smileironic and teasing all at the same time. Sakura rushed to her sister, crushedAkane in her embrace, thinking of all of the times that they had fought andsaid cruel things to each other, times she wanted to take back. The scent ofripe plums filled her nose, Akane's favorite perfume, and Sakura laughed outloud.

"It really is you!" she said.

"Yes," Akaneagreed.

But Sakura felt her joyshatter, felt the darkness flooding into her heart, and she stepped back fromAkane, shaking her head. After all, she knew. The school was too small, theworld too quiet, the light too surreal.

"You're only a dream,"Sakura said, and even asleep, she began to dread waking. Grief wracked her withsorrow.

Akane reached out and heldSakura's face in her hands, held her tightly so that they were eye to eye, andshe shook her head.

No, she said, withoutspeaking. I am here. You are dying, but I am here with you.

"Like the other ghosts?"

Akane nodded, and now what floodedinto Sakura's mind were not words at all. They were images, moments, spillingout of her head and shifting the landscape around them. Sora's ghost on themountainside, in the falling snow. Daisuke on the train. She had not been thereto see Daisuke's ghost, but she could imagine it vividly. . or perhaps itwasn't imagination at all. Perhaps the image came from Akane.

"I don't understand,"Sakura said. "What does this have to do with Yuki-Onna?"

Akane smiled. "Winterghosts. She's a ghost herself, in a way, the spirit of the woman who died onthe mountain during the season's first snowfall. And when Yuki-Onna comes, andthe snow falls, the spirits who have not yet moved on can rise with her."

Sakura shook her head. "Butwhy haven't you moved on?"

"I wasn't ready to letgo," Akane said. "None of us were. It was too fast, too soon. We hadpeople here to look after."

The world shifted aroundSakura. Akane still stood in front of her, but now they were little girlsagain, no more than eight and nine, and they were in the bedroom they hadalways shared growing up. Music played, but as it happened so often in dreams,Sakura could not make out the tune. She inhaled the scent of ripe plums yetagain.

"I've been looking aftermyself," Sakura said.

A terrible sadness filledAkane's eyes. "Not very well."

Sakura felt cold. Her chesthurt with every breath. Pain swept in, lancing through her side and clutchingher skull in an iron grip, and slowly sounds began to filter into her bedroom. Pokemonlined shelves on the walls. Her little Catbus purse hung from the back of achair.

They had been so happy here.

"Am I really dying?" she asked, her voice so small inside her own head.

Akane smiled. "Nottoday. I told you, I am here to look after you. You need strength. You need toheal. You need life, and I can give you mine."

Sakura recoiled, shaking herhead. She didn't like the sound of that.

"No. What do you mean,life? Akane, what do you — "

The carpet became a muddyslope by the bay, the room vanished around them.

"You need to live,"Akane said.

She reached out to touch hersister's face, her hand passing right through flesh and bone, and. .

Sakura woke, inhaling sharply,pain clamped around her skull. Her eyes darted back and forth but she couldbarely move. Machines beeped. She tried to speak but her voice failed her.

She closed her eyes tightly. Herthoughts were blurred but she wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

And then she opened her eyes tosee the ghost of her sister, Akane, standing over her bed. Sakura feltsomething break inside of her. For days, others had been seeing ghosts and allshe had wanted was to see a ghost of her own, to be in the presence of hersister one last time.

"I miss you," Sakurarasped weakly.

Akane did not speak, only shookher head with that smile.

Though she had put aside so muchof her rage and grief already, Sakura had been holding on to a small, burningshard of fury, hidden deep inside. Often she had hidden it even from herself,because this anger was not directed at Akane's murderer, but at Akane herself,for leaving. It made no sense and it was not fair, but Sakura had nursed thepain and anger for a year and a half, ever since Akane's death.

Now she felt it leave her, andfresh sadness filled her. She wanted to apologize somehow, but already herstrength was fading and the darkness swirled around the edges of her thoughtsagain, unconsciousness about to claim her once more.

Whatever toughness Sakura hadtried to nurture in her outward image, whatever rebelliousness might be in hernature, in that moment she felt her heart laid bare.

"I love you," shesaid, tears welling in her eyes.

Akane reached down to touch herface, bent to kiss her forehead, and even as Sakura's eyelids flickered and shebegan to drift off, she thought she saw Akane begin to vanish. It seemed almostas if the ghost were vanishing into Sakura, and as this thought occurredto her, a surge of new vitality flooded through her. The pain in her headabated dramatically, if not completely.

"Akane?" Sakurawhispered, touching a hand to her chest.

The ghost had disappeared, butSakura thought she knew where her sister had gone. She didn't know how, but sheknew why. Her sister loved her, and something had to be done about Yuki-Onna. Shecould feel the thoughts in her mind, although they did not feel like her own.

Though the pain in her head hadabated, still she felt exhausted, perhaps from the painkillers, and sleep beganto claim her again.

As consciousness slipped away,she felt sure that she smelled ripe plums.

Kara and Miss Aritomo hadoriginally planned to go all the way to the observatory on Takigami Mountain tosummon Yuki-Onna. They worried that if they did not go far enough up themountain that they would not truly be on it, and then the summoning might notbe successful, and then Kubo and the others would have no chance of findingHachiro and Ren. It was Kara's father who had prevailed upon them tocompromise. Halfway up from the parking lot to the observatory and no further.. about the point where Sora's ghost had first appeared. If they could drawYuki-Onna there, it would bring her even further from wherever she was keepingthe boys, but leave Kara and Miss Aritomo closer to the car.

Nobody bothered to point outthat the car would be poor protection from the Woman in White. She could freezethe windows so hard that the glass would be brittle as eggshell. Or smash themout with a gust of wind.

Better all around, Kara thought,if Yuki-Onna did not attack them at all.

She knelt in the snow, rubbingthe smooth stone ward that Kubo had given her between her thumb and forefinger.The leather thong around her neck smelled nice and she relished that for amoment, then let it drop.

"This is the strangestritual I've ever heard of," she said aloud, shivering as an icy breezeblew up, glancing around to make sure that was all it was.

From a small stand of pines offto the right of the path, a polite voice replied.

"Master Kubo is the Unsui,"Miss Aritomo said, poking her head out from between two thick pines. "Hewould not mislead you."

Kara stared at her. Miss Aritomohad once had a great love of Noh theater, until an attempt to perform a Nohplay at school — combined with the curse of Kyuketsuki — had led toone of the most famous demons of the Noh stage coming to life and possessingher body. Now, though she still advised the Noh Club at Monju-no-Chie school,her passion for the art seemed diminished.

Today, however, she had worn amask from her vast collection. Masks were an integral part of Noh theatre,vital to performance and storytelling. Kara knew she must have seen thisparticular mask before — with a wisp of white beard, green horns, goldand black eyes, and a bright red tongue, it had to be a demon or evil spirit — but she could not place it or remember its name. Not that the name matteredmuch. Kubo had said that the wards would be powerful, but that spirits saw theessence of a person, not really their face, and that masks might help hide theperson's essence.

It wouldn't hide Yuuka, but itmight buy her a few minutes of confusion if the Yuki-Onna discovered her hidingthere. Kara had wanted to take the mask for herself and give Miss Aritomo theward, but no one would agree. She and Sakura and Miho were cursed; they — and the boys in whom the Winter Witch had taken such an interest — werethe ones who needed the most protection. But it frightened Kara to have MissAritomo there with only a mask to hide her.

She prayed that Kubo really didknow what he was talking about.

"What are you waiting for?" Miss Aritomo said. "You need to begin."

Kara glanced at her cell phone,saw the time, and knew that Yuuka was right. Kubo, Miho, and Mr. Yamato were onthe mountain, waiting for Yuki-Onna to leave the boys behind. It was time tobegin the summoning.

She took a deep breath and letit out. Her every exhalation plumed into icy mist in the air. The sky hung lowand gray, thick with unfallen snow. But she knew that the storm could begin atYuki-Onna's merest whim.

Working quickly, Kara scoopedsnow from the ground and fashioned a crude snow-woman. From her pocket shewithdrew two black stones Kubo had given her, which she pressed into the snowfor eyes, and then a small swatch of white silk, which she wrapped around hersnow-woman's neck as a kimono.

With a thumb-tack she prickedher finger and she squeezed out a few drops of blood, which soaked into thesnow-woman instantly. Several more drops dribbled onto the snow around it, andthen Kara reached into the pack she had brought and withdrew the book. It hadcome from Mr. Yamato's library, but there was nothing at all special about it. Thetitle translated as Popular Japanese Folktales and the contents werejust as boring and ordinary as described. This was no grimoire full of arcanerites, but something taught to school children.

Kubo had said that it didn'tmatter what the book was, as long as the story was about Yuki-Onna. There weredozens of incarnations of the story, but this was apparently one of the mostcommon.

Kara held the book open to thefirst page of the story in question and dripped three more tiny splashes ofblood onto the paper. Then she picked it up, and began to read aloud inJapanese.

Telling Yuki-Onna's story.

Giving it life.

Kubo had told them all that inthe absence of real worship, storytelling was the modern world equivalent. Theblood, the snow-woman. . they made the story an offering, and such thingswere so few and far between in the twenty-first century that they would turnthe story — when told aloud — into a powerful summoning. Yuki-Onnawould not be able to stay way. Curiosity alone would have compelled her, evenif the power of the summoning did not.

And so Kara read:

"Two woodcutters were ontheir way home one very cold evening when a great snowstorm overtook them. Whenthey arrived at the ferry, they found that the ferryman had gone away, leavinghis boat on the other side of the river. It was too cold to swim, so thewoodcutters took shelter in the ferryman's hut. They had nothing with which tobuild a fire, and so could only cover themselves with their coats and lay downto rest and wait out the storm, which they though would end soon.

"The old man quickly fellasleep, but the boy lay awake a long time, listening to the howl of the windand the battering of snow upon the door and roof. At last, in spite of thecold, he too fell asleep.

"He was awakened by ascattering of snow upon his face — "

Kara paused, frowning deeply,for the wind had picked up. She glanced about, heard some shuffling in thepines — though Miss Aritomo stayed well hidden this time — and onlythen did she notice the snowflakes that floated gently down to alight upon thepages of the open book.

Swallowing her fear, shecontinued to read.

Her hands shook as thetemperature dropped sharply. It was working. If she kept reading the sky wouldchurn and the storm would blast through and them Yuki-Onna would be there. Karatook a deep breath and she thought of Hachiro, and of Ren, and of the peoplewho had already died because of the Woman in White. For several seconds sheclosed her eyes, halting her reading, trying to muster up her courage, soafraid that she would end up like Sora, frozen solid, dead in an instant.

"Why did you stop? Keepreading," a voice like the sighing of the wind said, just beside herear.

It was not Miss Aritomo.

Miho leaned against a tree, itsknots and bare, broken branches jabbing her back. She had sat on the ground inthe snow for a while, but it had gotten too cold for her. The snow did not seemto bother Kubo, however. The old monk sat cross-legged in the snow, barelyseeming to make an impression. His eyes were closed and his expression one ofutter serenity. His hands lay open and palm upward on his lap, and if it werenot for the straightness of his spine, Miho would have thought he had fallenasleep.

Mr. Yamato stood a shortdistance away. The principal had gone from anxious to jittery. He held an unlitcigarette between his lips and from time to time he would take it out and holdit between his fingers, just as he would if he were actually smoking it. Whenthey had first come up the mountain, the old monk had warned him not to lightit, and so instead the principal used it as a personal comfort, like a childmight hang on to a favorite stuffed animal.

They had driven north and comeup to the base of Takigami Mountain from that side. The climb was a bit steeperand the forest there thicker, but it was not really that much more difficultthan the observatory side. What drew tourists to that spot was the convenienceof it, the well-kept observatory and the nearness to the rest of Miyazu City,not to mention the view.

Kubo had guided them up throughthe trees, sometimes following established paths and other times forging hisown trail through areas of the mountain that showed no sign of human intrusion.The silence on the mountain made Miho uneasy. She felt as though spirits lurkedbehind every tree, watching them pass as they journeyed further fromcivilization and from safety. She told herself that was just in her head, thatshe was just being paranoid, but she knew that a girl with a curse on her had agood reason to think that everything was out to get her.

From time to time, Kubo wouldstop, give a little croaking cough, and then spit into the air. At first Mihohad flinched in revulsion and worried about the old monk's health, but then shenoticed that each time the Unsui performed this tiny ritual, he would watch theway the wind took his spittle, studying it as a tracker would study the printsof an animal on the ground. Several times he had stopped for several minutes,closed his eyes, and seemed to be listening to something Miho could not hear.

Not listening, she haddecided after a while. Feeling.

Those weren't the only peculiarthings Kubo had done in their search for Yuki-Onna, and the place she kept Renand Hachiro. The monk had taken out a sheet of rice paper, torn it into tinyshreds, and blown the pieces out of his palm in order to watch them swirl awayon the breeze and skitter across the snow. Some small writing had been scribbledon the paper, but she had been unable to make out even a single character. Kubohad chanted softly under his breath and then, each time, taken a swig of whathe said was plum wine from a small ceramic flask. He claimed that this was partof his search for Yuki-Onna and, watching him, Miho actually believed him.

Perhaps twenty minutes afterthey had started up the mountainside, Kubo had seemed to lock on target,somehow. After that it was not a matter of searching, but of rushing. The oldmonk moved with speed and agility, skipping over fallen trees and duckingbeneath jagged branches so swiftly that both Miho and the cigarette-craving Mr.Yamato had difficulty keeping up, losing sight of Kubo several times as theyfollowed.

The higher they climbed, the colderthe air. But there was more to it than that. If Miho looked carefully, shecould see that in some places the snow seemed more significant, the treesfrosted with ice. Every time she studied their path ahead and tried to guesswhere Kubo would lead them next, she was correct. Yuki-Onna was a creature ofwinter, and she left her mark.

Perhaps an hour had passed sincethey had come up a steep rise where an outcropping of stone jutted from thesnow, walked past a few bare trees that seemed to lean together into a kind ofarch, and found Kubo sitting just as he was now. The old monk had looked up atMiho and spoken a single word: "Call."

Miho had done as she was told,using her cell phone to call Kara and tell her to get in position for thesummoning. Kubo had explained that no return call would be necessary; if thesummoning worked, he would know, and sense Yuki-Onna's departure.

But for Miho the waiting wastorture.

She pushed away from the treeand walked over to Mr. Yamato. He held his unlit cigarette down low as if tohide it, though that was impossible. Obviously the principal did not wishanyone to know that he smoked, so Miho did him the courtesy of pretending shedid not see it.

"I wonder — " shebegan.

Kubo thrust himself from theground so abruptly that he startled them both. The cigarette fell from Mr.Yamato's hand and Miho uttered a squeak of surprise, reaching up to reassureherself that her glasses would not slip off.

The old monk turned to them,grim and commanding. "We must hurry."

And then he was off, dartingthrough the trees, and Miho and Mr. Yamato ran to catch up to him. Brancheswhipped at Miho, the forest blurring around her, her entire focus on followingthe cloud wanderer, whose shoes barely seemed to touch the snow. Mr. Yamatobreathed heavily as he struggled to keep pace with her, but he began to fallbehind almost immediately. Miho did not slow to wait for him; if she had, shewould have lost Kubo's path.

For several long minutes theyran, and before Miho truly understood what had happened, she realized they hadentered a storm. The wind blew. Branches swayed and cracked. Snow whipped ather face. Terror seized her. The storm had come on even more suddenly than theone during their field trip, when Sora had been frozen to death.

But then the truth struck her. Thisstorm had not found them, they had found it.

She came around a thick stand ofevergreens and nearly collided with Kubo. He stood and stared at a formation ofice and snow. It had the shape of a giant ant hill, but twisted and pitted andscoured by the wind. A large, dark, cave-like hole yawned in the face of thething and Miho could only stare at it.

The snow had begun to subside. Didthat mean Yuki-Onna had left?

"We may not have much time,"the old monk said.

But Mr. Yamato came stumbling upbehind them, and he stared at the ice hill. "Impossible."

Kubo sniffed. "Very fewthings are impossible."

"This wasn't hereyesterday," Mr. Yamato said, taking several steps toward the ice hill."The police and volunteers have been scouring the mountain. They wouldhave found this."

Kubo shook his head. "Itisn't always here."

Miho turned to stare at him."What?"

The cloud wanderer looked backat her with eyes like thunderstorms, full of lightning. "Yuki-Onna is anancient thing. She exists now in a world that is neither here nor there,neither spirit nor flesh. The winter she brings is not the winter you know, andit is with her always. Your friends have been with her in that storm, but nowshe has gone to see who has summoned her. But Kara will not be able to distracther for very long. We must be gone before the witch returns. Do you understand?"

Miho nodded. "Enough."

Mr. Yamato ran past them, headedfor the dark cave in the face of the ice hill. Kubo and Miho hurried to catchup. As they reached the hole in that strange, tapered hill of ice, Miho felt afresh wave of fear wash over her, but Kubo did not hesitate and she knew thatshe could not, either.

Mustering her courage, Mihofollowed Kubo and Mr. Yamato into the ice cave. Snow crunched underfoot. Onlywhen she had gone ten or twelve feet did she realize that a dim gray lightfiltered in from somewhere, holes in the twisted surface of the ice hill,perhaps.

Mr. Yamato had paused in frontof her, but once he started moving again, she saw that they had entered a smallchamber, whose floor was dark and textured. It took her a moment to realizethat this was not ice or snow, but earth and scrub and roots — theground.

Two figures lay curled up on theground as though sleeping. Mr. Yamato rushed toward them, but Miho was faster.

"Hachiro, wake up!" she said, crouching beside him, jostling him hard. She glanced over at Ren, whoshivered with the cold, even asleep.

Mr. Yamato shook Ren. "Boys,let's go!"

Kubo remained at the chamberentrance. His breath plumed in the freezing icebox the ice hill had turned outto be. Not far away, Miho could see a sort of menagerie of human statuary thatshe felt sure had once been actual people. But the boys. . she felt Hachiro'spulse. Slow, but his heart was beating. They were alive.

"Come quickly," Kubourged.

"Hachiro!" Mihoshouted.

His eyes opened. He flinchedwith surprise, then scrambled backward as if fearful of them. For a moment itlooked as though he had thought he might be dreaming, and then relief andhappiness lit his face.

"Is Kara-?"

"She's fine," Mihosaid. "Put this on!"

Miho held up the ward Kubo hadset aside for Hachiro, then quickly helped him tie the leather thong around thehulking kid's thick neck.

Ren sat up as well, andsubmitted to Mr. Yamato tying the last of the wards around his own neck, buthis gaze was dark and hopeless.

"You shouldn't have come,"Ren said. "She'll never let us leave her. You're all as good as dead."

Miho smiled. "You'rewelcome," she said, reaching out and pulling him to his feet. "ButYuki-Onna is occupied elsewhere at the moment, so start running, and try not todie!"

The book of folktales fell fromKara's hands and dropped into the snow. A gust of wind picked it up, whirlingit around, lifting it on air until Yuki-Onna plucked it out of the gentlyswirling snow with pale, beautiful, slender fingers.

"What is your name,girl?" the Woman in White asked.

The words gripped Kara with afear deeper than any she had ever known. Yuki-Onna could see her. Girl! Thewitch could see her. The ward had worked before, in the cafeteria kitchen, butnow somehow it had failed.

The snow woman flipped throughthe pages of the book with a gentleness and delicacy that seemed like littlemore than a mask. Kara took a deep breath and studied Yuki-Onna's beautifulface, so perfectly sculpted and so beautiful except for the black pits of hereyes. Her hair moved in the breeze as if she were underwater, swaying andfloating. Her feet did not touch the ground. Her skin was whiter than thewhitest snow.

Yuki-Onna threw the book and agust of wind carried it away, spinning the book, fanning its pages and sendingit soaring up over the bare branches of the skeletal trees around them. Thenthe witch looked at her and -

No. Those black eyes werehard to read, but Kara was certain they were not focused on her. The witch wasclever. Kara had been fooled at first. Yuki-Onna could not see her after all.

But that did not mean the Womanin White could not kill her. Or could she? If Yuki-Onna only saw human essence,and Kara's was masked, would the witch even see her footsteps in the snow ifshe walked away? Kubo had instructed her to say nothing and to stay completelystill, but she could not help the tremors of fear that went through her or theurge to flee. This close to Yuki-Onna, she could feel the cold at the heart ofthe witch, could sense its otherness and its malice.

A rustle came from the trees andKara held her breath. No, no, Yuuka. Stay still, she thought, prayingthat Miss Aritomo would not give herself away. If she believed Yuki-Onna wasabout to attack, Kara knew that her father's girlfriend would try to save her. Please,stay still. I'll be all right.

Yuki-Onna looked over at theplace where Miss Aritomo had hidden herself, with only a mask over her face todistract the witch and no guarantee, even from Kubo, that it would work.

The witch began to glide towardthe trees.

"No!" Kara said.

Yuki-Onna spun, her triumphantsmile revealing rows of little shark teeth. "I asked your name, girl? Whoare you?"

"If you are winter, then Iam spring," Kara said.

Hatred contorted the witch'sface, making beauty hideous. "You are nothing. Just a little girl witha sprig of magic."

Yuki-Onna came for her, then,her fingers elongating into icy knives. Her jaws opened too wide, revealingonly blackness and those shark teeth within. Her eyes sunk deeper, turnedblacker. Kara's lower lip trembled and she thought she might scream or cry. Instead,she held her breath and shrank down, crouching as the witch grasped at the air,searching for her, head cocked to one side. Her icy fingers missed Kara byseveral feet, but they kept clutching at nothing and eventually they would findher.

But then the witch faltered andlifted her chin. Her beauty and poise returned and in seconds it was as if themonster had never been there. Even her eyes seemed soft and almost ordinary inthat moment.

Until the witch's savage grinreturned.

"Stupid girl. I amancient, but I am no fool."

Kara saw it in the witch's eyes.Yuki-Onna knew that she had been lured away, knew that she had been tricked. Thewind whipped into a raging storm, snow churning around Yuki-Onna for a fewseconds before it subsided, but when the moment had passed and the windreturned to normal, Yuki-Onna was gone.

"Oh, no," Kara said."She's going back for them."