by Eden Crowne
“Cabinet under the sink.”
Hauling myself off the couch, I stumbled in towards the kitchen and sat slumped in one of the high counter chairs. He was chopping and peeling fruit with great dexterity, the knife flashing this way and that in his hand with the same intense look on his face as when I woke up. Maybe fruit made him angry as well. Tossing what looked like strawberries, bananas, blueberries – we had blueberries in the fridge? – and I'm not sure what else into the blender, he topped it with a fat dollop of plain yogurt. I didn't know we had that either. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a number of little containers. Metal? Glass? It was hard to tell. They were no bigger than his thumb, each twisted and turned in sparkling spirals, little works of art. Very carefully and deliberately, his brows drawn in concentration, he took tiny pinches of powder from each one, mumbling under his breath as he did so. One of the vials contained a scarlet liquid, he emptied this one entirely into the blender. It ran down the sides like blood and I shivered.
“So, Gordon Ramsay, what are those?” I pointed to the ornate containers.
“My own, um, stock shall we say? Think of them as energy boosts. Like at the juice bars.”
He went back to the fridge, peering inside. “Too bad peaches are out of season. You searched for them.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“Peaches?”
He gave me a sour look, “No, not peaches.”
“Oh, right.” Sighing, I admitted it. “Last night and most of the day today. I went everywhere. No one had seen them, no one would tell me anything. I don't suppose you know where that Reaper bar is?”
“Not today. The entrance shifts position.”
“I'm not even going to pretend I understand what that means.” I paused, my voice trembling. Don't cry damn it. “Around four this morning I thought I caught a glimpse of Vanessa getting into a taxi on the other side of Aoyama Boulevard with someone I didn't recognize. When I called her name, she stared as though I wasn't even there.”
“Because you are not 'there.' Not anymore. You have served your purpose or been served up to it.” He gave a harsh laugh. I didn't get the joke.
With a flick of a switch, the noise of the blender made conversation impossible for a few moments. Pouring the mixture into a glass, he handed it to me from across the counter.
I pushed it away.
He pushed it back. “Drink.”
“I'll be sick.”
“No, you won't. This will give you strength. What I've added, the ingredients from my stock, they're special. Trust me. I'm a professional.”
“Professional what?”
He raised one eyebrow and gave me a knowing look. “There now, the saucy Alexandra begins to rise from the ashes of her pity party bonfire.”
His words, that superior British tone, irritated me. “You don't know anything about me.”
Saying nothing, he handed me the glass again. Sniffing cautiously, I found the drink had a complicated smell, that was the only way I could think of describing it. I took a sip to humor him. The flavor was...was what? Not exactly blueberries or bananas, though I saw him toss those in. I took another taste. Surprisingly delicious, it tasted like... I considered the flavor. Like a summer day, all blue skies and sunshine. The flavor grew as it ran over my tongue, filling my mouth, throat and whole body with delight. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever tasted. Gulping down the thick concoction, I held out the glass for more. With a smug, I-told-you-so smile lurking at the corners of his beautifully curved mouth that I chose to ignore, he poured in the rest.
For a while he just stood there, saying nothing as I finished the drink, savoring every drop. Afternoon darkened to evening, Tokyo Tower shone in its familiar place through the middle of the living room window right where it should be. It was only me who had tilted off center.
“This is a game, isn't it?” I said finally, breaking the silence. “Just a sick psychological game.”
“When you woke up in my flat, I told you the Club was ever so much more than that.”
“Gawd, don't start with that soul stuff again, please.” I rubbed my aching eyes until I saw stars, the rush of images from the past few months playing like a movie, scrolling across the back of my eyelids. My awful first day at school; the aching loneliness that set me on this path. Vanessa, Anders, the people I thought were my friends. Savan. Especially Savan. His hand in mine, his kiss at the Cherry Blossom Ball. I could still feel the contours of his face under my fingertips, the texture of his skin as though I was actually touching him. The words, those words.
“I love you, Alexandra.”
He said them, I didn't imagine that. How could he not have meant it? Why would someone say that and lie? I kept rubbing until it stung; I wanted to rub until my eyes bled, bleed the images out. Two hands on my wrists pulled my fingers away, pushing them down to my side.
“Stop. You'll hurt yourself.”
Where his hands touched mine an undercurrent of energy popped and sizzled. He was very close. So near I could smell the scent of him. Unlike his sunny drink, he smelled like a moonlit night in winter, sharp-edged and cold. I realized I felt the same sort of vibrant quality from him as the Club members. They buzzed with life and vitality, like a live electrical current, sparking and jumping over the bland, mundane lives of other people. Julian Lake had that same energy running through him though the current was icy cold rather than burning hot. He was beautiful, just like all the Club members. I felt awkward and gawky under the scrutiny of that deep green gaze.
“Time is our enemy. The ceremony they performed on you is everything I said. They are stealing your soul. I am going to help you fight to get it back.”
I was about to tell him, again, to stop this ridiculous line of conversation when his body went rigid. Head snapping up and around, he stared at the windows. Gripping my wrists so hard I gasped, he whispered, “Something has found us, stay still.”
Before my astonished eyes, he faded to shadow as though he'd stepped behind a dark curtain. I still felt the pressure of his hand on my arm. Squinting my eyes, I could barely make out a dark form. Letting go, the shadow flowed silently across the room to the big picture windows, two of which led onto our terrace. I swiveled around trying to follow. One of the doors slid partially open and the shadow was gone.
A minute passed and then another while I sat frozen to my seat, staring at the windows, trying to process what was happening. With a rattle and a thump the terrace door slid open further and something appeared to fall inside. Julian shimmered into shape, the shadow slipping from him like a black cloak. He was struggling with someone. No, not someone, some thing. It was wrapped in darkness just as Julian had been. The darkness wriggled and squirmed until it, too, came into focus. I saw wings and a long tail that snaked up to wrap around Julian's throat.
They fought in complete silence and I had no idea what to do except sit at the kitchen counter and stare. Falling over the coffee table, they bit, kicked and punched each other back and forth across the floor. The whatever nearly got away from him at one point, scrambling on all fours. Julian dived after and they scooted on one of my dad's smaller, handwoven Persian throw rugs. We hadn't gotten around to taping it down yet. Arms flailing, Julian and the thing slid under the dining room table in a tangle with the chair legs. Rolling out from underneath, they came up hard against the wall near me causing a large painting to fall. I jumped right into the fray then, grabbing the picture just in time to keep it from crashing down. Clutching the frame to my chest I had to leap, literally, over the two of them as they rolled back, clawing and punching furiously. A cup and saucer on the coffee table clattered to the floor, shattering. Setting the painting down on the couch, I was barely in time to rescue one of Dad's ornate Chinese porcelain lamps as the two of them got wound up in an extension cord.
“Stop breaking things!” I shouted.
Both of them surged to their feet. In some sort of judo-like move, Julian twisted his body to grab the c
reature, flip it over his shoulder and down to the floor. He dropped on top, one knee pressing into its back. The tail and wings clasped in one hand and pulling at his belt with the other, he gasped, “Help me with this!”
“With what?” My voice came out in a sort of frightened screech.
The thing under Julian screeched back.
“My belt, pull the strep.”
I was still holding onto the lamp. Setting it back on the side table, I cautiously inched closer to grab hold of one end of the belt, only to drop it. A charge like the worst static shock of all time shot through my fingers up into my arm and shoulder.
The creature struggled wildly.
“Alexandra!”
Grabbing on and gritting my teeth, I pulled. The belt looked like some kind of braided leather cord, wrapped several times around Julian's waist. It slid off and I handed it to him. One-handed, Julian deftly twisted the cord around the wings, tail and wrists of the thing. I rubbed my stinging palms up and down the sides of my jeans. The darkness had melted away from the creature revealing something out of a horror movie. Scaled, horned, fanged and clawed, it squealed and squirmed, obviously in pain. If the cord was zapping it like it had me, I would be squealing too.
“This is a Fudo cord,” Julian said very calmly, as he knotted it several times. “An ancient Japanese method of binding supernatural creatures. Made from the skin of vanquished demons.”
Skin? I rubbed my hands more rapidly up and down my jeans.
“Did you kill them yourself?” I said with false lightness.
“Yes, I did actually. A few weeks ago.”
I looked at him appalled.
“And skinned them,” he added, giving the cord a last, sharp tug.
I didn't think a person could actually feel themselves turn green. I was pretty sure that was the color of my face at that moment.
“Here, grab these and hold on.” He thrust two large, triangular metal objects he clipped onto loops at the ends of the cord into my hand. “Don't let go!”
I looked at the struggling creature. I must be having a psychotic breakdown.
“Take them!”
I took both ends, not knowing what else to do. It's not like I could run away, this was my apartment. Though they buzzed a bit, the metal tips did not seem to pack the same electrical punch as the rest of the cord. Julian quickly reached into one pocket and pulled out an object that looked like some random bits of wire and string wrapped around a stone medallion and tied together to a leather strap. Wrapping the strap over one wrist, he took the cord back from me.
The creature hissed out a stream of words, none of which I could understand.
Julian kicked it, waving the medallion hanging from his wrist, “Your pitiful binding spell has no power over me, Fetching.”
It snarled out more phrases. The words took form and shape in the air as the thing spoke. Julian brushed at them with the medallion and the words crumbled. His mouth hardened into a thin line and he shouted in a language I didn't recognize. With each word, the medallion glowed green. The creature howled louder.
“Julian, the neighbors!”
With a glance at me, Julian lowered his voice. “I am asking it if the others know I am in Tokyo. It is essential to know the answer for your protection.”
“Could you ask it more quietly? And what is IT? Though I am pretty sure I am either hallucinating or asleep so,” I stared at the two of them, considering. “I guess, in that case it doesn't matter how much noise you make. No one except me can hear. Screech away.”
“You are not hallucinating. This is a Fetch, bound in service to one of the Club members; sent to spy on you. It is imperative to know its master. Whether he is one of the three holding your soul or one of the others, and if they know I am here.”
“Why? We know who the members are.”
“You have met only some of the members. Those they thought would be most compatible to charm you. There will be others. Stay still, damn it!” The creature started to squirm again. He gave a tug on the cord, pulling it tighter. “Where was I? Oh, the Soul Eaters are greedy to feed on souls. Not just any souls, you understand. Rare souls, like yours, are not easily come by. Much less with people attached, ready to fall under their spell. And of course, these splendid creations must surrender willingly – if unknowingly – to their sacrifice. That narrows it down out of literally millions to only several people at a time in any given city.”
The creature twisted and tried to bite through the cord. Julian kicked out and it lay still.
“They choose by lottery, directly after the victim has surrendered to them. Understandably not everyone is happy with the outcome. Perhaps this Fetch is from one of the losers, he might be persuaded to give us some information. If it belongs to one of the three who stole your soul, that is good as well. We must know which of them holds the pieces before we can get them back.”
Julian's brows were drawn together, his face solemn. The scaly thing on the floor stared at me, all fangs and eyes. Topaz eyes, like a jungle cat. Julian's reality seemed a lot more substantial than yesterday.
A wicked looking notched blade appeared in Julian's hand. “Now we must convince it to tell us.”
A chill ran down my spine. “No, stop, there is no way you are carving this...” The thing continued to stare at me. I waved one hand over it. “This. Just no.”
“Don't be so squeamish.”
“No!” I said more firmly.
We stared at each other. His emerald eyes cloudy, his expression unreadable. I tried to match him glare for glare.
The doorbell buzzed. I jumped at least a foot and the creature howled. The bell buzzed again.
Julian grabbed a pillow from the couch and held it over the thing's mouth. “Well, answer it.”
It buzzed twice more. I hurried into the hall. “Coming, coming, coming!” Yanking open the door, I saw one of the building caretaker's in his khaki uniform. The badge on his shirt said Kenji Suzuki. Mr. Suzuki did not look happy.
“Your maid. Your maid is here?”
“What? No.”
He held out a small, lumpy garbage bag in one hand and shook it up and down. The bag made rattling, clanging noises. “Bottles and cans. No bottles and cans tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Burnables and non-burnables, Carpenter-san. Very important. Garbage men do not take burnable on non-burnable day, non-burnable on burnable day. Your maid, she is mixing it up, again. Tomorrow is burnable only. Tell your maid.”
I blinked, considering what he'd said. “Um, how do you know it's our garbage?”
“I know everyone's garbage.” He gave me a narrow-eyed look.
There was a muffled whine from the living room and Mr. Suzuki glanced sharply across the hall.
“You have a cat?”
“No. No cat.” Monster yes, but no cat.
“You must tell the management if you take a pet. Extra charge.” Frowning, he thrust the garbage bag at me and not knowing what else to do, I took it.
“Garbage is serious. Good evening.”
I closed the door thinking this guy had way too much time on his hands. Holding the bag at arm's length, I passed Julian and his wriggling captive to drop the bag out the still open terrace door.
Julian was speaking quietly to the creature. It stared at him. What its expression was, I couldn't tell.
A click at the front door made us both jump; the thing screeched.
“Now what?” the boy growled.
I knew what that 'click' meant, the lock turning. “Oh crap, it's Dad! Get to my room!”
Julian scooped up the thing, pressing the pillow over its mouth as it struggled against the cord. We dashed down the hall to my bedroom.
“Closet! In the closet!” Throwing open the door to my walk-in closet and pushing Julian from behind, I shoved them inside and slammed it closed. Turning on my heel, I ran to the front of the apartment, only then realizing I had shut them inside in the dark.
Dad paused in the d
oorway, talking on his cell phone. He should just have the thing permanently attached to his hand. He couldn't use those hands-free devices because, as he'd told me, his phone had special encryption software. Customer financial security and all that.
My mouth went dry with panic. I ran the long way round through the dining room, trying to put the chairs and lamp back in place, slamming the coffee table into position and kicking the pieces of the broken cup and saucer under the couch. No time to fix the picture.
“Lexie?”
The phone call must be finished. “Here, Dad. I'm here.” I slid across the floor on the Persian rug coming to a jarring stop at the kitchen counter. The blender was still out, along with the fruit and yogurt container. Busying myself, I grabbed the blender pitcher and moved to the sink. Turning the water on and letting it run noisily, I tried to catch my breath.
I glanced over my shoulder as he walked through the hall doorway. “You're home awfully early.”
He was in one of his dark suits, blue business shirt and tie, the Ray Ban aviators pushed up into his thick hair. “I have a couple of conference calls, figured I might as well do them here.” Setting down his briefcase, he laid a jumble of letters on the counter. He started to move towards me, then, hesitating, paused awkwardly, one hand on the kitchen counter. “How are you?”
I had a boy with a knife and some kind of winged monster tied up in magical dead demon skin hiding in my walk-in closet.
“Fine,” I squeaked. “Just fine.”
Chapter 20
Deep in the Closet
“You don't look fine.” He stared at me, frowning. “In fact you look like hell, Lexie. You're pale as a ghost. Out all night, night after night. When can we talk about this?”
I continued to scrub, saying nothing because I didn't know what to say.
Turning away to stare at the kitchen floor, he said very quietly, “I'm frightened for you, honey, please.”
I wished he would yell at me. Yelling was easy to deal with, just yell back. Quiet sorrow was awful.
“Dad...”
He faced me then and gave me a heartbreaking look. I'd seen that look many times after Mom walked out of our lives. He'd worn it for months. I knew he loved me, I said he loved money more; that was just to hurt him. He hid behind the wall of his job, hid from the loss of his wife. Hid the fact that I wasn't enough for him. Just like I hid behind my facade of indifference. I reached out my hands, wet as they were, like any small girl reaching for her father. Like the child I felt myself suddenly to be, adrift on this awful sea of fear.
