by Al K. Line
Looking at them almost naked was fascinating. Their ink was beautiful, real works of art. Both had full sleeves of intense color, vibrant and almost dancing off their skin with life and vitality. I was envious and awed. Their backs were homes for full-color pictures of legendary Japanese demon gods, writhing across their muscular bodies as if ready to do battle.
Head-to-toe, they were as covered in tattoos as I was, difference being mine were not only beautiful but for the channeling of magic, theirs were for another purpose entirely. Many of the markings were signs of the gangster life, showing their progress through the ranks, or lack of it, and one thing became abundantly clear to both Dancer and I as we stripped and shackled them—these weren't exactly high-level. In fact, with the missing digits and the lack of signs of magical prowess, we were probably dealing with pretty lowly types.
They'd tell us little, or nothing. We'd counted on some English, though, and were both getting rather frustrated with the inability to communicate our requests for information.
Leaving Dancer to it for a while, I stepped outside to find out where the hell we were and to make a phone call, one I hadn't intended to make. I breathed deep, filling my lungs with if not clean air, then at least air that smelled of traffic fumes rather than zombie discharge. We were in a warehouse district of some kind, but I could see the city spreading out like a cancer in all directions, hazy air full of smog. I missed Cardiff where at least you knew you could drive for ten minutes and watch a cow in a field to clear your mind and your lungs.
Through a large expanse of cracked concrete, I came to a road, more an alley than anything. Turning right, I walked to the end and stood under an incomprehensible signpost. It would have to do. I made my call, explaining in rather embarrassing detail the way the words were written, trying to pronounce them and getting a delightful laugh in return for my pathetic efforts.
With a promise to arrive as soon as possible, my contact hung up and I walked back to the warehouse with a smile.
"What you looking so happy about?" asked Dancer suspiciously as I stepped beside him.
"You'll see. Help is on the way. My translator."
"You've got a translator? Who?"
"Just wait. It's been a long time since we last saw each other, wonder how the years have treated my old friend?" I wasn't going to call and drag her into my mess, but we'd get nowhere without understanding what the freaked out goons were saying, and besides, she'd never let me hear the end of it if I didn't allow her to have some fun and the chance to get involved in a little danger. It was well past time to get answers, anyway, and by the looks of it this pair were more than ready to talk now.
With time to kill, we decided to go for a walk around the warehouse, just to see what else might be there and to look for clues.
We wandered past the lines of undead, making it to the rear of the warehouse with no flesh missing. There was a massive sliding door that was unlocked—these people really should be more security conscious when they had enough zombies to wipe out the entire country in a few hours. We pulled on an oversized handle and the door slid aside, grating on the runner noisily until it was open enough for us to squeeze through and breathe some better air.
"This country is so freaky." It wasn't what I expected at all. We were in a narrow alley facing a fenced off area backed by huge steel slabs that hid the contents from nosy passersby.
"Do you think we can take one?" asked Dancer, eyes wide, smiling in anticipation, a faraway look in his eyes.
"No, absolutely not." It was tempting as hell but we didn't have time or permission, and the last thing we needed was to cross anyone that might take offense to our thievery. Although we'd probably already crossed that line, what with the whole chaining goons next to zombies thing.
"Come on, not even one? What are they doing here? Bit odd, isn't it?"
"It's odd in the extreme but we've got other things to worry about." I stared at the sight, not sure what to make of it at all. Why were they here of all places? Such beautiful creatures shouldn't be at the back of a warehouse full of the living dead, they should be... I wasn't sure, but they should be somewhere nice and cozy, not in a yard surrounded by rusting metal locked behind a rather ridiculously high chain-link fence.
Without either of us consciously realizing what we were doing, we had opened the gate and were crouched down in the center of the dusty yard. The creatures came frolicking over to us, all uncoordinated legs and playful. Bounding about and then licking our faces and generally acting like the super cute puppies that they were. They were the most adorable things you have ever seen in your life.
If you could take a perfect puppy, dip it in faery dust, douse it in a potion of delightfulness and then add in a handful of extra cute for luck then you wouldn't even come close to describing what these dogs looked like.
I've always wanted a dog, a buddy that would be faithful and forever by my side, and Dancer clearly had the same hole in his life. But our world isn't conducive to such companions, as you can bet someone or some thing would try to eat it or kill it or something else unpleasant would happen. I was seriously reconsidering, and before I knew it I was standing with one in my arms, cuddling the bundle of fluffy love tight, taking in the scent and wondering how I could smuggle it back to Cardiff without anyone taking it off me.
"I want one," said Dancer clutching a puppy close the same as me, pouting like a spoiled child after being told it couldn't have what it really, really wanted.
"Me too," I said dreamily. "Look how cute they are. Ooh, who's a nice little doggy? You wanna come home with daddy and live in Wales? We can go to the park and have lovely walks and I'll buy you a nice collar and a lovely bed." The little fella yipped with pleasure as I scratched his belly and then he licked my nose. It was warm and wet and I was in love.
"Let's do it," said Dancer, eyes gleaming and full of mischief. He looked complete, as if he'd found the missing piece of himself—I knew exactly how he felt.
"Can we?" I asked, smiling so wide my jaw was aching. Hoping Dancer's permission meant I would never be alone again, not even for a moment. "You think we can take just one each and have a pet?" I was lost to dreams of a life running in the park, throwing sticks and cuddling up in bed at night with my new best friend. Somehow Kate wasn't in bed, I'd forgotten about her. It was just me and my buddy, together forever.
I glanced at Dancer and his eyes were unfocused, immersed in imaginings of perfect puppy fun. He looked so happy, so content, I couldn't refuse him such a chance at happiness.
Then the dog licked my nose again and I focused on him. It was so soft and warm, fur like a gremlin's but smelling of something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He had the bluest eyes, clear and focused, innocent and trusting. His little tongue was as pink as a fresh carnation and his sharp white teeth gleamed in the sunlight. I could take him home, I was sure I'd find a way. We'd walk for miles and I'd buy him the best dog food money could buy. We would be best buddies and never leave each other's side. Not ever.
I looked around the yard at the other dogs, jut as adorable, and it was tempting to scoop them all up and do a runner right then. Hop on a plane and take them far away from the dirt and the madness inside the warehouse. Who could leave such captivating creatures alone like this? Why were they here?
Then I got smacked over the back of the head and dropped the puppy.
A Telling Off
"You crazy gaijin," screamed Mitsu as she slapped me again across my cheek and then practically pounced on Dancer, still lost to his dreams of a perfect life, and did the same to him, repeatedly hitting him about the head with her delicate yet surprisingly powerful palm until he dropped the puppy.
In a daze, she kicked us hard and yanked at our hair, dragging us away from the spellbinding creatures and out of their enclosure. She closed the gate on the chain-link fence then slapped us both hard again, one after the other. We both stood there and took it like naughty schoolboys—you don't mess with Mitsu when she's off on one!
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That final sting on the cheek brought me back to my senses and I stared first at her, then at Dancer, doing a double take at his face.
It was covered in scratches and bite marks, little bits of flesh actually missing from his face like something had been eating him. His wounds poured with blood and the end of his nose was missing entirely. It made no sense, like an image of him was overlaid with one of horror.
A strange sensation came over me and the next thing I knew I was moaning as pain hit hard and my face suddenly felt like it had been flayed. I stared at my hands, holding them up just as Dancer did likewise. Some of our fingers were gnawed down to the bone, nails pulled out, oozing yellow liquid. Flesh was missing from other digits, red and raw, blood pouring freely in fat drips like a leaking faucet, a trail of red leading back into the center of the compound where we'd been standing, fondling adorable little puppies.
But the puppies were gone.
I looked at Dancer then at Mitsu in confusion. She tutted and shook her head.
"You are crazy men. Why were you in there? You can't go near jigoku no inu, they will eat you. You know nothing, so stupid." Her accent was there but her English was perfect, just a slightly strange way of talking where she missed out the occasional word. But one thing was undeniably clear—she'd just saved us from being eaten alive while we basked in the abuse, enjoying it, asking for more.
"A... A what? What are you talking about?" I gasped, utterly confounded by the last few minutes.
"Jigoku no inu. It's... Ah, hellhound is how you say it. You were being eaten by the baby hellhounds. Idiots!"
Dancer was as dazed as I was and wandered off, trailing a hand along the fence, a red smear showing his progress as mangled fingers tapped the wire. He stepped away and lifted his hand again and I watched, mesmerized, as he inspected it. Then the pain must have hit him like it had me and his face contorted, mine feeling like it did the same, and we screamed in unison. The dogs—if you could call them that—went wild, howling, barking, snapping at the chain-link, and the zombies moaned and groaned the other side of the door.
Before we could even begin to process what had happened, there was an otherworldly squeal and facing Dancer, at the far end of the alley, I saw a stout, fat gray pig with only one ear come charging toward him, the squeal almost deafening as it bared cracked and rotting teeth and put its formidable head down. It was running right at him, aiming between his legs.
Dancer watched it like he was removed from the situation, as if it was all a dream. I seriously wondered if it was. I knew Japan had some strange Hidden but this was going way too far.
"Close your legs," screamed Mitsu. "Close them quickly or you'll lose your soul."
Dancer was out of it, transfixed by the tattered red flesh that was his hands, but he turned and looked up slowly at her shouts before turning back away from us only to see the pig almost upon him.
"Close them now," Mitsu ordered. "If the pig goes between your legs you will lose your soul."
You kind of know you're having a bad day when you get attacked by zombies, have your face and hands chewed off by puppies, and a soul stealing pig makes an entrance. I really didn't want to think what was next—probably not an invite for tea.
I didn't know what the hell Mitsu was talking about, but one thing I did know was that she was serious. Snapping out of my stupor for a moment, knowing we were seriously screwed, I shouted, "Do it, Dancer. Do it now or it's game over. You have to trust Mitsu. Hurry up!"
A second before the pig was upon him, he closed his legs. The squat, but very fat and very heavy looking pig slammed into him as Dancer snapped his legs closed, shoes clicking where the sides hit each other. The pig bowled him over and just kept on coming, trampling his body as though he was a doormat.
It lifted its head, readjusted its direction, and charged directly at me.
I stepped aside just as it was a whisker away, so close I felt the fetid and poisonous breath as it raised its head and snorted its contempt. It didn't slow, just kept on running down the narrow strip against the building and skeeted around the side. It was gone. Squeals and grunts could still be heard until eventually all was quiet—it hardly seemed real at all.
We ran to Dancer where he lay on the ground. He was covered in dust, and ghostly hoof prints showed the pig's progress over his body, but even as we watched they were gone, the magic dissipating as the pig's presence was no more. Dancer lay there moaning for a moment, then carefully got to his feet.
"Um, Dancer, you might not want to do that, mate. Seriously, dude, stay on the ground."
"Why? I'm all right. It just bruised me," he said, staring after the pig.
"Um, no, you're not. You got more than a bruise." I pointed at his leg and the shard of bone sticking out of his shin and through his trousers.
Dancer looked down where I pointed, then fainted. Couldn't blame him really, it looked pretty nasty even by our standards.
"Hey, Mitsu, nice to see you again."
"Gaijin! Why are you so stupid?"
I didn't really have an answer to that, I guess we were just born that way. Instead, I might have done a little bit of collapsing myself. I didn't faint, but I did have a little sit down.
It allowed me to ponder her question a little better. Why were we so stupid?
Old Friends
Mitsu Sakamoto is a formidable woman. Short of stature, slight of frame, she looks as delicate as a flower and has the grace of a ballerina. Her limbs are slender and she moves like she's floating on air, tiny steps that remind you of a Geisha. Face as pretty as a faery, body rather tomboyish, and still wearing the same style of clothes I recalled from our first meeting many years ago.
She's rather traditional in her dress, plain black clothes with a button-down tunic embroidered in black silk that flattens a chest I know isn't that flat—I saw her naked once when we got a little burned dealing with a rather wayward Japanese dragon spirit I don't want to talk about. It was one of my less successful foreign enforcer jobs and the only good thing that came out of it was my friendship with Mitsu that's lasted through the years.
She is also less than gentle about the feelings of poor enforcers and necromancers after they've been half-eaten by Japanese hellhounds. She called us both names as she bundled us into her car and drove us back to our hotel, dreams of puppies still floating around my mind like perfect, white fluffy clouds in a thunderstorm where all else is black and dangerous.
I protested, saying we had to talk to the goons, but she tutted her special tut and told me that they were eaten. Seems while we were playing with the pooches the men had regained consciousness and rather foolishly got themselves munched on in an attempt to escape.
Dancer did a great job of moaning too much and generally being annoying as hell while Mitsu drove through the nightmare that is Tokyo traffic, but we made it. Our magical auras rendered us next to invisible as we manhandled Dancer through the lobby, into the elevator, then up to our floor. We made it to the suite and I let us into a rather swanky temporary home that Kate had got us upgraded to without extra cost thanks to a little of the old glamoring.
We put Dancer in a chair and Mitsu lifted his leg onto a stool while he went from pale to sweaty to bright red to screaming and back again for a few more rounds.
Finally coming to my senses, I hugged Mitsu and said, "It's great to see you, and you haven't changed a bit in all this time. What's the secret?"
Mitsu frowned at me and pushed me away, but I could see she was smiling. "Staying away from crazy foreigners that always bring trouble with them. I remember last time I saw you I nearly got—"
"Hey, come on, I'm not exactly used to dragon spirits. I live in Wales. They'd never survive there, it's too wet. Although," I added, "we do have a lot of coal. They like it, right?"
"Hmm." She caved and gave me a gorgeous smile, then hugged me tight, surprisingly strong for such a petite woman. Already the magic was working its, er, magic on my face and hands and I watched as the skin spread
over raw fingers like a delicate glove, the fresh growth translucent and as thin as Dancer's lips.
Dancer's flesh was doing something similar. It was weird watching the skin creeping across muscle that knitted back together, repairing itself efficiently. I just hoped my face would be all right. Yeah, I know, I'm vain. But be honest, who wants to walk around looking like your face has been chewed off by a hellhound, mainly because it actually has?
Judging by the deep pain and the weird, taut feeling across my nose and cheeks the job was going well. I'd be fine in no time. It wasn't like I was having to grow a digit or a limb back or anything.
The magic worked away in the background, a strange tingling on the newly formed flesh as nerves popped into existence and skin was reborn to the dangerous world of magic, but Dancer's leg was a different matter entirely.
Tutting and generally acting like a matron from a black and white movie, Mitsu fussed about with what she could find in the very bling bathroom and began fixing up Dancer's leg. He screamed the place down when she snapped the bone back into position and bandaged it up, chanting away as she wrapped her delicate fingers around his leg, secret spells worming their way into his marrow then reaching out and growing new cells that would fuse the bone back in record time.
"It will take one day, maybe two, before it fully healed," she said. "No walking on it and definitely stay away from bad man," she pointed at me, "while it fix itself."
"Hey, don't blame me. How was I to know they were hellhounds? And what's with the pig, anyway? By the way, it really is great to see you. And thanks for saving us back there. I can't believe those puppies were so dangerous. They had us spellbound, I've never known anything like it."
"Neither have I. I don't like it here," moaned Dancer, wincing as he tried to get up.
"Stay put, you stupid man!" ordered Mitsu.
Dancer did as he was told and I think he took proper notice of her for the first time. I smiled as I saw happen what I'd seen happen so many years ago. Dancer glanced at her, then looked again, studying her closely. She has this strange draw to her, not exceptionally pretty but there is something about her that captivates you, and he was no exception. It's that rare thing that is true beauty. Beyond mere looks, but the truth of a person, and Mitsu shone bright with it.
