Page 44 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

Chapter Ten

Making her way home, Shumei pocketed her earnings of three kols from the Takebe family. Master Takebe had accidentally sliced his wife’s leg with a hand sickle, but a clean bandage over twenty-two stitches and a poultice of comfrey mixed with a few other herbs now adorned her thigh.

The morning was quiet, and the soft thwacks of field tools could be heard from one’s door. A thick cloud of mist had settled into their little valley, and her cheeks grew moist as she walked along the path that curved around to the northern end of the village.

She had realized recently that she wouldn’t have ever met Vallen if the village had let her grow her medicinal plants within the barrier charms. “Tradition”—a word she’d come to loathe—demanded she not be given any arable soil within eyesight of the village, so she had to walk fifteen minutes on an unprotected path to reach her field.

Not that she’d have been able to grow her sort of plants within the charms. The village’s fields tended to collect water, which made growing rice easier, but which drowned almost everything else.

A month had passed with little change. She had continued to meet Vallen one morning a week, discovering each time new ways to experience pleasure. When they weren’t exploring each other, they talked of his travels and the Dark Court. She always listened with rapt attention, wishing the Dark Court would return someday. The stories he’d told of past empresses and the nobility and their achievements… It all sounded like fiction, but all of it was true.

Meanwhile, the Burning had run its course. Forty-nine people had perished. The neighboring villages deigned to resume trading with the survivors, all of whom had to be in the fields in order to grow a sufficient harvest. Young children and the elderly were spared the hardest work, but even they had to help with easier tasks.

Akiji, after staying low for weeks, had rebounded from being thrown farther than what even a strong man could have managed, and had upped his efforts in pursuing Shumei. The only time he was free to press his suit was an hour before sunset when returning home from the fields, and he usually found her after her evening bath. He even accosted her when Oka was with her, but those confrontations were short.

The days grew warmer. The village celebrated the beginning of summer with an annual festival, from which she was banned of course. Her brother was always extended a special invitation, and most years, she and her mother convinced him to go and enjoy himself. This year, though, he would not be swayed and instead spent the day fishing with her.

She grew more comfortable around Vallen, but not even his story of falling from a tree house in Kito to be left dangling from a rope, naked, had brought a full smile to her face. She was happy, though. She had developed an unexpected intimacy with him, even an easy friendship. There were, of course, times when his overbearing nature tried her patience, but she was all too eager to push back, having grown to enjoy their disagreements almost as much as their mutual pleasure.

Though she didn’t want to, she continued to deliver plants to the witch. If she stopped, Majo would be suspicious, and her weekly visits were still a good opportunity to glean new information. Shumei’s efforts to learn more of the Incubus Curse without any more groping were for naught, though. Majo would not divulge anything about demons without payment, and Shumei was no longer willing to let the witch touch her.

As if on cue, the witch’s hut loomed ahead, emerging from the thick morning fog like a rotten tooth. Shumei had once gotten a thrill when passing by, but after learning of the terrible things Majo had done and the power of the spell book she had locked in her home, Shumei only felt a sickening anxiety.

Coming to a stop, she lifted her hand and hesitantly nudged her magic. It buzzed happily and sent out a trickle of power that filtered up to her fingers. Warmth suffused her arm and hand, and she slowly stepped forward, hoping to feel the alarm spell surrounding Majo’s home.

Time slowed as she walked toward the back wall of the hut. Shumei made sure to keep her hand in front of her feet to avoid accidentally tripping the alarm with the wrong limb. She was ten feet from the house when a sizzle of power passed over her fingertips, making her gasp with surprise. She jerked her hand back and then more cautiously explored the spell’s perimeter. It felt rather like the prickly surface of a cheap blanket.

Her magic fluttered happily in her stomach as she passed by the hut without tripping the alarm. She surmised the alarm spell was on the house rather than on a certain area, for the spell’s edges matched the dimensions of the hut. When she was past the witch’s home, she dropped her arm and continued on her way, walking down the path with her back to Majo’s door. She was almost behind the next house when the witch’s door creaked.

Heart racing, Shumei froze with indecision for a painful second before flattening herself against the house next to her, hiding behind the corner as she watched Majo’s door swing inward. The miller’s youngest child, a daughter of marriageable age, crept from the witch’s home and looked around for any prying eyes. Shumei pressed herself even closer to the house she’d hidden behind, grateful for the field tools hanging on the wall that made seeing her difficult.

The witch leaned out of the doorway, lips curved in an indulgent smile, and Shumei’s stomach clenched. Then Majo kissed the miller’s daughter. Shumei’s jaw dropped, but she refrained from making any sound. The young woman returned the kiss, and when it ended, she sighed happily.

“It was wonderful, madam,” she effused in her high, young voice. “When can I come again?” The witch’s whispered response was too low for Shumei to hear, but judging by Majo’s face, she was saying something flirtatious. The miller’s daughter giggled before giving Majo one last kiss and walking away.

Shumei almost tsked aloud but stopped herself. The miller’s daughter was stupid for having such a relationship with the only woman in the village more hated and feared than Shumei was. Then again, Shumei hadn’t heeded the rumors about how dangerous the witch was, either. She knew that Majo might simply have a sexual relationship with the miller’s daughter, but she doubted that was all that the witch wanted with her. Majo would likely test a new spell on the naïve young lady, if she hadn’t already, but Shumei could do little about it right now.

She backed around the corner of the home she’d been hiding behind, staying as quiet as possible. When she heard the witch shut her door, Shumei allowed herself to breathe. She decided to wait another a moment before continuing on her way, and made sure she escaped without showing herself to the closed door, putting several houses between her and the witch before stepping onto the path again.

Vallen watched from the safety of the trees as Shumei entered her home. Whenever he had nothing else to do, he watched over her and had been waiting for her return from what he assumed to be a house call. Her expression seemed strained as she ducked into her hut, and he faintly heard her call her brother’s name. He made a mental note to ask her about what had upset her.

Lately, new emotions had stirred within him, feelings he hadn’t even experienced when he was human. More than ever, he wanted to have Shumei for his own, but not to own her, if that made any sense in his head. He also felt the warm flare of hope and wondered when he might have an opportunity to filch the Devil’s Hand from the witch’s fortified home.

He remained hidden, thoughts swirling, as the sun rose above the shoulder of the mountain, cutting into the cloud of mist that had settled over the village.

Though she hadn’t said anything, he knew that Akiji had been bothering her lately. He’d occasionally feel a spike of fear followed by a rush of anger, and only after he’d caught sight of them one early evening had he realized who the source of her distress was. They had been too far away for him to hear anything or to see much of Akiji other than his hair color and build—nor could he have intervened even if he had seen him from a closer vantage—but the uneasy dance of their interaction had been clear. Akiji trying to prevent her from leaving the conversation, Shumei trying to walk past him without being within arm’s reach.

A few weeks ago, Vallen would have secretly wished for Akiji to successfully steal a kiss. His deal with Shumei would be broken, and he’d be free to have her the way he wanted her. Now, however, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t want her to be with him because of a clause in their bargain. He wanted her to choose him. He wanted it more and more every week, and it was slowly whittling away at his patience.

He dealt with his selfishness as best as he could by giving her subtler, easier-to-hide gifts such as a few extra logs for her family’s cooking fire or clearing spiderwebs from her path to the field after learning she had an aversion to them. He also savored the small signs of her growing fondness for him. Oh, they still disagreed on occasion—whenever she brought up a new strategy for stealing the Devil’s Hand, in fact—but she played with his hair whenever he carried her to the tent, and kissed him goodbye without prompting or begging. The last time they’d been together, she had even reached for his cock when she’d grown hungry enough for a second round.

And of course, he showed her how he felt whenever he gave her pleasure, always striving to keep her clutching him close and gasping and focused solely what he was doing to her. Besides kissing and rubbing where she was most sensitive, whispering softened vulgarities into her ear never failed to send back a flare of elation. She especially liked hearing, in specific detail, how much he’d wanted her over the last week.

If she was feeling bold, she’d admit her desire as well. How many times had he recalled his favorite whispered confession that she sometimes wanted him so much she wished she could touch herself? But of course, with her brother sleeping nearby, she didn’t dare.

He wondered when she’d admit how often she had sexual dreams. He didn’t sleep, but he recognized the difference between the slower simmer of waking desire and the sudden, intense flare of dream-induced lust. And he was curious to know whether he made regular appearances in her sleep.

I’ll ask next time I see her, he promised himself. And if she were willing to share any details, he’d be sure to make her dreams come true.