Tokyo Blood Magic (Shinjuku Shadows Book 1)

by Travis Heermann

  “Go where?” Django said, still handcuffed to the table. “And who the hell are you?”

  “You really are dense,” Cat said. “Now jump through the mirror.”

  “What?”

  “Have I a speech impediment?”

  “Do you want me to throw the table through it first?” He held up the handcuffs.

  “Your Third Eye will work now. The kijo blinded it temporarily.”

  Django took a deep breath to absorb the pain, opened his Third Eye, then focused his will. Leaving his handcuffs behind, he Shadow Blinked into the glass, but instead of re-emerging from a shadow, he went into and through the glass.

  Where he found himself made his head spin.

  A verdant glade, dripping with a fresh rain, bathed in sunset through dispersing clouds. Sparrows and warblers twittered in the trees. A nightingale sang melodies, alone, mournful. A profusion of cicadas chorused in the distance. The noble white shape of a crane stood placidly in the shallows of a mirror-bright pond. Directly overhead, an enormous full moon hung like a lantern.

  The tiger burst from midair a few feet away and landed in the grass, light as a feather.

  Django stared.

  Cat nodded at him with appreciation. “My faith in your abilities is well-founded, it seems.” His voice was much deeper, but the personality could not be mistaken.

  Django tried to find his voice with a dry mouth and throat. “Thanks for getting me out of there. You saved my life.”

  Cat dipped his head, which was the size of small-block Chevy engine. He was the biggest tiger Django had ever seen. “Fear not, I am keeping score.”

  Django asked, “Where are we?”

  “Do you not recognize Jianghu, the Realm of Rivers and Lakes?”

  Django’s mouth fell open and stopped working. The concept of having left the mortal world altogether and entered a different plane of existence battered against the side of the skull, refused entry. Every hair on his body stood up straight for counting, which made certain parts feel really weird.

  After several tries, he managed to make words come. “I...I’ve read about Jianghu for years. I even tried to cross the Veil a few times, just playing around.”

  “One does not come to Jianghu just by ‘playing around.’ The ability to cross the Veil at will is possessed only by the greatest mahō users, especially in a city. You are still but a cub.”

  “There are stories of martial artists and monks able to do it.” The Annals said that sometimes the most skilled martial artists and most spiritual monks, those who had cultivated their skills, their chi, their essences pools, could transition from the mortal world to Jianghu, where they could live nearly immortal lives and practice their arts forever.

  “From a few isolated mountaintops and primeval forests, yes, but it requires special meditation techniques and supreme mastery of mind, body, or spirit.”

  Django gingerly rubbed the raw flesh around his wrists. Jianghu was the border realm between the Earthly plane and the deeper realms of existence—Heavens, Hells, lands of Dream, and everything in-between. As such, it was said to be crawling with yokai and other supernatural creatures. The Veils between Jianghu and those other realms were thinner than the one between Jianghu and Earth and easier to penetrate. Being in Jianghu did not mean he was safe, only that he was no longer in police custody.

  For a moment he lamented losing his swords and duster, but with each passing moment here, he felt more energized. Mahō essence of every type trickled into him, filling his pools without meditation. He would be more powerful here, his spells more potent.

  “I would love to explore,” Django said, and it was true. Who knew if he would ever get to come back here? “But time works differently here, right? At least that’s what it says in The Annals.” The stories of journeys into Jianghu were among the few things he had read. They read like fantasy stories or the mythic adventures of Hercules and Thor. “I still have to find Yuka. And the Yamabushi Scroll.”

  “Days or weeks can pass in Jianghu but only minutes in the mortal world. But that means space works differently, too. If we want to step back into the mortal realm outside of police headquarters, we’ll have to walk some distance.”

  “Why did you bring me here? Why not just Shadow Blink out of the police station?”

  “Too complicated. And being here gives us a chance to regroup, so to speak. We must assess our forces.”

  So they set off toward the setting sun, which seemed to hang just at the cusp of the horizon. Django wondered how long the days and nights lasted in Jianghu. If the position of the sun in Jianghu was tied to the sun in the mortal realm, that meant days here could last for decades...and so could nights. Woe unto an unprepared mortal who found himself in Jianghu during the night.

  Cat said, “So we’ll have no more talk of you cutting my head off, shall we?” Then he leaned in. “Henceforth, you owe me.”

  “All right, fine. One condition. You have to tell me who the hell you are.”

  Cat shrugged. “Very well. I was human once.”

  “I already got that. So which is it, transformation or reincarnation? A curse, maybe?”

  “Reincarnation. I think. But it could be a curse. I’m uncertain.”

  “So who were you?”

  “About that, I’m also uncertain. You see, that’s how reincarnation works. One carries the burden of karma, but not of past-life memories.”

  “But that’s not entirely true either. You do remember things. You know how to be human.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I’m not a cat as well. I remember generalities, but not my life as a human. I know about humans, but I do not recall my own history.”

  The way Cat said it made Django think this was not entirely true. Perhaps Cat still possessed half-grasped recollections. “But you know about mahō.”

  “Oh, yes. That is knowledge I still possess, possibly because it is grounded in my very soul. However, as a cat, I do not possess the same essence pools as human warlocks.”

  “What pools do you possess?”

  “If I knew that, I would be better at using them. But my magical ability is limited. I clearly have a Third Eye, however. That and the Celestial are the only pools of which I am certain. All yokai possess the Celestial pool.”

  “So how is it that you’re a tiger? Which is it? Are you truly a tiger or truly a cat?”

  “Alas, only a cat.”

  “Then how did you get to be a tiger?”

  “Have you forgotten that yokai are more powerful during the night of a full moon?” Cat pointed at the huge full moon above their heads.

  Django scratched his head. “I guess I did. From cat to giant tiger is a bit of a leap, though.”

  “I shall take what I can get. I must say, I enjoy my point of view being higher than four inches from the ground.”

  They walked on for a while. In the distance, the ground sloped down into a valley, in which lay what looked like a medieval village surrounded by a patchwork of rice fields. The figures working the fields looked human, but from this distance, he couldn’t be sure and didn’t exactly want to discover differently.

  One of Jianghu’s laws, or perhaps rules of nature, described by returning travelers in The Annals, was that technology could not exist here. The beings that resided here, including humans and mahō users, could only create or possess the most rudimentary of tools and structures and use only natural means to create them. Wood and earth were the only building materials that existed. Metals could be worked, thanks to the abundance of Fire essence. It was a world locked in the pre-industrial age.

  They walked for a while, and the air was pleasant, scented of lush greenery, bamboo and grass and pine forest.

  Django said, “The cops are going to have fun dealing with that kijo.”

  “I doubt they will realize her true nature. The two eyewitnesses saw only that a female officer went rogue and attacked a suspect. Their cameras will show nothing at all, because the same power that sealed you in t
he room blinded their technology.”

  “But you ripped her head off!”

  “Her body will disappear into ash, to be swept up by the custodian. They did not see me. They will enter the room to find only an overturned table. The eyewitnesses will not be able to explain how you disappeared into the very mirror through which they watched you. So they likely will remain close-lipped about what they thought they saw.”

  “But I’m a fugitive now.”

  “There is that, yes.”

  Abruptly, Django slapped his forehead. “Holy shit, I’m dense.”

  “I completely concur.”

  “That was you in Lush! You killed those Sumiyoshi-kai gunmen.”

  “They would have killed you and everyone there, including the innocents. There was insufficient protection there to repulse a force of that strength.”

  “You sound like a general or something.”

  Cat shrugged. “Perhaps I do. Isn’t that interesting?”

  “So how do I find the Yamabushi Scroll ahead of the Black Lotus Clan?” Django said. “Wouldn’t the Council know something?”

  “If the Council knew anything, the Scroll would already be in their possession. I suspect that if anyone knows anything, they are actively hiding that information from both the Council and the Black Lotus Clan.”

  “Why? Wouldn’t they want the Good Guys to have it, not the yakuza?”

  “I cannot speculate on the reasons of an unknown person or persons. You must ask who might be interested in such a powerful artifact but has no vested interest in using its power.”

  Django thought for a moment. “Antiquarians. Historians. Librarians. Collectors.” One of the things that fascinated him about Japan was the wealth and depth of its recorded history, almost two thousand years’ worth. Modern historians had an excellent view of what court life was like, even twelve hundred years ago, thanks to the Japanese cultural penchant for record-keeping. Emperor So-and-So had tea with Lord So-and-So on the fifth day of the fourth month at the Hour of the Snake, in attendance with various lords and ladies. There were untold scrolls full of such information if you could read Old Chinese characters and their sometimes arcane brushstrokes. The Japanese kana writing system wasn’t invented until the mid-900s CE. Prior to that, it was kanji for everything, imported directly from China. “But if they know something and they’re withholding it from Council, that means they’ve got a monkey in this circus.”

  Cat shot him a quizzical look.

  “There’s an expression, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’ If it’s not my business, I don’t have to deal with other people’s monkeys.”

  “Perhaps just eat the monkeys...”

  “What? Ugh.”

  “Tigers most definitely prey upon primates...of all sizes.”

  Django gave the tiger a long, uncomfortable look. “Uh, point taken. So if I find someone who might have information, I won’t let on that I’m a Hunter-Seeker working for the Council.”

  The denizens of the village noted Django and Cat’s passage but made no attempt to greet or contact them. Nevertheless, they shielded their eyes and watched until the two were well past.

  “Not a terribly friendly bunch,” Django said.

  “Jianghu is not a terribly friendly place. Oni pass through here on the way to the mortal world. Foxes and tanuki are everywhere. Ghosts haunt the deep woods. Kappa and other things prey upon the careless who get too close to the water. One must keep his wits about him here. But there is power to be found. The kami of the earth, the wind, the trees, all of them, they’re stronger here, easier to hear. Their voices are not drowned out by the noise of the mortal world. You can learn to listen to them, and they might serve you.”

  “I can already feel it.” Django knew such kami to be capricious things, equally prone to anger or bribery. But their essence filled all things. There were theories that kami were the origin of mahō essence. Even objects could spring to life with their own minor kami if used long enough, honored well enough.

  “I believe we have traveled far enough to reenter the mortal world away from the police station,” Cat said.

  “First, I need to meditate for a while,” Django said. The flow of mahō in Jianghu would replenish his pools quickly.

  “Very well,” Cat said. “I shall see if I might find a nice, plump monkey.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  DJANGO CHOSE A SPOT on a rock outcropping that overlooked an expansive plain. River tributaries spread across the landscape like capillaries among lush, vibrant grasslands. Mountain silhouettes shadowed the distant horizon. The sky was ablaze with celestial bodies, stars shining through the last remnants of day. Amid birdsong, the caress of the breeze, the scent of moist grass, and the trickle of streams, he sat cross-legged atop a coarse boulder and faced the sunset. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then another, and another. The sun warmed his face and the flesh of his arms.

  The sheer majesty of it all settled into him, and he closed his eyes and opened himself to the cosmos. His Third Eye enhanced his senses such that he could smell animals in the grass, hear the flapping wings of birds in the distance, feel the slithering of worms in the earth. The feel of it all was like entering a familiar house for the first time, a kind of deja vu. Perhaps some aspect of him had been here before in ages past. He settled into this womb of pleasant sensations, unencumbering his thoughts. Or trying to.

  But there was worry about Yuka. And worry about his own remaining lifespan. And the itch to attack the Black Lotus Clan and wreak havoc until there was nothing left of either him or them.

  “But here you have all the time in the world,” a voice said.

  A tingle of warning shot up Django’s spine as he opened his eyes.

  About ten feet below him at the foot of the outcropping stood a diminutive man who might have looked human except for his gourd-shaped head. Kind, inquisitive eyes sparkled in a face that looked like a withered apple, rosy cheeks and all. A straggly white beard hung to his waist, which wasn’t far as he only stood about four feet tall. A little potbelly rounded his saffron-colored monk’s robes as he leaned on his pilgrim staff, a staff with several metal rings attached to the upper end. The jangle of its interlocking rings should have announced his presence, but Django had been caught completely unawares.

  “Am I disturbing you?” the strange monk asked.

  “Yes, actually,” Django said. “I’m trying to meditate.”

  “Not very successfully, it seems,” the monk said, settling his narrow, bony haunches onto a rock with a grunting sigh.

  “I must ask you to move along, old-timer,” Django said, his annoyance growing.

  “Does this pile of rocks belong to you?”

  “I was here first.”

  The monk chuckled. “Ah, so you’re five years old, then. Did no one teach you how to share?”

  Django’s ears heated. “I can’t meditate with you there.”

  “If you must meditate right this instant, then do so.”

  “You’re disturbing me.”

  The monk’s eyes sparkled. “How so?”

  “Well, by talking to me, for one.”

  “You did not have to allow it.”

  “I don’t wish to hurt you.”

  “That’s good, at least,” the monk said, grinning. “I do not wish to hurt you either. So we’re agreed.” The monk took a deep breath and smacked his thin lips with a sigh of pleasure, as if enjoying the scent of the breeze. “How are you finding Jianghu?”

  “Peaceful. Beautiful. Strange.”

  “It is all of those things. And much more.”

  Rain clouds gathered in the north, casting a gray veil across the distant plain.

  Django took a deep breath himself, letting his former calmness creep back over his annoyance. There was something about this strange monk that put him at ease, a kind of playful serenity. There was nothing timid or meek about him but nothing violent or aggressive either, as if he would simply step aside and let pass any danger
that approached him. What was unnerving about him, however, was the depth of knowledge sparkling in his eyes, like looking into the vast starscape of night and seeing eternity, if eternity could reside in the skin of a monk with a strangely shaped head.

  Given the infinite strangeness of yokai in all their forms, this monk might not even be human.

  “It is good that you are cautious,” the monk said. “There are many things in Jianghu to be wary of, other humans not least among them.”

  “Should I be wary of you?”

  “Only if you fear truth.”

  Django laughed. “What is there to fear from truth?” But as soon as he said it, he sensed the lid he’d jammed over all the truths of his life he couldn’t bear to face.

  The monk raised an eyebrow that looked like a snow-white caterpillar. “Nothing, surely. Then why do you fear it so?”

  Django stood. “I’ll go find a new meditation spot.”

  “How can you find peace enough without if there is no peace within?”

  Django came down from the rock. “I don’t need any lessons in New Agey bullshit.”

  “That, my young cockerel, is the oldest of lessons from all the way back to the beginning. I know you, Kenji Wong.”

  Django stiffened and faced him, fists clenched. “The last yokai that said that to me almost killed me.”

  “You can believe me when I say that is not my intention. Well, perhaps certain parts of you need to die so that the rest of you can live.”

  Crossing his arms, Django scrutinized him with his Third Eye.

  The monk’s aura shone glistening white.

  Django bit down on a gasp. He had never seen a white aura before. What could that mean? But there was no deception in his appearance. The monk’s true shape was exactly as he appeared.

  The monk poked Django in the chest with the ring end of his staff. “Your entire life has been one of anger.”

  Django could only stare. What disturbed him was not the monk’s words but that he had poked him with the staff with such quickness he hadn’t even seen it coming. Otherwise, he might have side-stepped or deflected its approach, being too wary to let anything touch his person. It wasn’t a sharp poke or a gentle poke but precisely measured to gain his complete attention.