19
The vines set me down into a forest of cherry trees in full bloom. Lincoln stands by my side. Before us, an arched wooden bridge leads to a four-story red pagoda. Pink blossoms are everywhere.
This scene should feel familiar and safe. I’ve been on Demon Patrol in Japan before, and there are plenty of places that look like this. Only this spot has an extra addition that makes me feel anything but secure.
A geisha stands at the center of the bridge. The hem and sleeves of her white kimono drip with blood. Even from this distance, I can see her long red nails.
It’s Sakura.
She stares at us intently, her pale white face tilted to one side. She raises her arm and waves us over, but I’m in no mood to move quickly on this one. “Do you think that’s really her or an illusion?”
Lincoln eyes
